CHAPTER 90: DAD’S THE KING OF THE GODS FOR A REASON.

Zeus met Hera’s gaze, unreadable as always.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then he let out a breath and cracked a faint smirk. "You always show up after the warmups. Never for the fun part."

Hera stood tall, regal as ever in her gold-trimmed robe, her eyes cold despite the soft breeze brushing through her dark hair. She didn’t respond, just placed a kiss on Ares’s head and slowly stood back up.

Zeus motioned toward the edge of the training ground. "Walk with me."

She said nothing. Just followed.

The marble beneath their feet echoed with each step as they moved past the columns lining the terrace. Behind them, Ares and Athena resumed their sparring, but the silence between Hera and Zeus was heavier than the strikes.

They walked along the vine-wrapped path that curved around the outer wall of Olympus. Far below, clouds drifted like lazy sheep. The horizon shimmered where the sky met the mortal realm.

Zeus broke the silence first. Of course he did.

"So," he said casually, hands behind his back, "no greeting? No ’how’ve you been’? No kiss on the cheek for old times’ sake?"

Hera gave him a sideways glance. "You’d have to come to my chamber for it."

He clicked his tongue, grinning. "Ouch. Straight to the heart."

"You don’t have one."

He laughed. "Sure I do. You used to bite it every time I smiled at someone else."

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even blink.

They walked a little further.

Zeus raised a brow and continued, tone still playful. "You’re still mad about Metis?"

Hera stopped walking.

Zeus slowed, then turned halfway toward her.

"I’m not mad," she said, voice cool. "I’m just curious. Curious how you managed to crown a queen without consulting the rest of us."

Zeus shrugged, eyes scanning the sky. "I didn’t need to consult anyone. I chose her. She earned it. And as long as I can remember, you all knew what I was doing."

"Of course we all did." Hera’s tone dipped—slightly venomous. "And now she’s in your bed. How convenient."

Zeus looked at her now. Really looked.

"You wanted the crown," he said quietly.

Hera held his stare. "No. I wanted what I was promised."

There it was.

The weight. The old sting.

They’d danced this dance too many times.

Zeus smiled again, this time tighter. "Last I checked, I did not promise to make you queen of Olympus. And you scheming for it ruined any chance of you ever being queen."

She looked away. "Don’t pretend you’re clean."

He chuckled. "I don’t. But I don’t hide, either."

They resumed walking.

The wind picked up, brushing strands of Hera’s hair into her face. She didn’t fix it. Her eyes stayed hard, fixed forward.

Zeus, meanwhile, was annoyingly relaxed.

"Don’t look so sour," he said with a stretch of his arms. "You still have your temple, your followers, your status... and your son. And he still loves you more than anything."

Hera’s lips pressed tight.

Zeus kept going, as if he didn’t notice the brewing storm beside him. "You know, if you smiled more, people might stop calling you terrifying."

"I don’t care what people say."

"You always did."

"Not anymore."

Zeus stopped again, this time completely. Hera took a few more steps before realizing he wasn’t beside her anymore.

She turned, and he looked at her—no jokes now. No smirks.

Just the god behind the thunder.

His voice dropped, calm and low. "Don’t do anything stupid, Hera."

She blinked. "What?"

"You’re thinking something. I don’t know what yet. But I know that face." He pointed at her. "That face means you’re planning something."

"You’re paranoid."

"I’m careful."

The breeze quieted. Even the sky felt still.

Zeus walked closer. Not fast. Not threatening. Just... closer.

He stopped a foot from her.

"I’m not the same fool you pushed around before," he said, eyes steady. "And I’m done pretending we’re still playing nice."

She said nothing.

His tone sharpened just enough. "Try anything. I mean anything—and I won’t be merciful again."

A flash of something crossed her eyes. Guilt? Anger? Sadness?

She hid it fast.

But Zeus saw it.

He stepped back, the tension bleeding from his shoulders as quickly as it came.

"Now, if you’ll excuse me..." He gave a long, exaggerated stretch. "I’ve got two kids to beat up."

He turned on his heel, headed back toward the training ground.

"Hera."

She looked up again at the sound of his voice.

Zeus didn’t turn this time. He just spoke over his shoulder.

"I love you, you know."

Then he was gone.

Back to the kids. Back to Olympus.

Leaving Hera alone in the breeze, the silence pressing in again.

She closed her eyes.

Then opened them slowly, sharp and unreadable.

She turned and walked the other way.

Ares crouched behind one of the white columns, hands braced on the stone as he peeked around the edge. His breathing was quiet, but his chest was tight. He wasn’t supposed to be there. Wasn’t supposed to be watching. But the moment his mother followed Zeus away from the training ground, something in him told him to follow—quietly.

He saw everything.

The way she didn’t smile. The way Zeus did. The tension, the warnings, the sharpness in their voices. He didn’t understand all the words, but he understood the weight behind them.

That wasn’t love.

That was war in disguise.

Ares’s jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists on the marble.

He wasn’t stupid. He’d heard whispers. The other gods talked. The attendants. Even Athena, when she thought he wasn’t listening.

His mother wanted the throne. Zeus wasn’t giving it to her. Metis wore the crown instead. The woman who always looked at him like he was something wild to be tamed.

And yet...

He still loved them. All of them. His mother. His father. Even Athena, annoying as she was.

But something inside him burned. A slow fire in his chest that didn’t go away.

He stepped out from behind the column, eyes trailing the way Hera had gone.

"Don’t," a voice said beside him.

He turned.

Athena stood there, arms crossed, one brow raised. Her spear rested against her shoulder, and her hair, normally perfect, was a little messy from the sparring. She looked like she’d known he was there the whole time.

"I wasn’t—" he started.

"Yeah, you were," she said, cutting him off with a sigh. "You always are. Hiding behind things. Watching. Thinking."

Ares frowned. "She’s my mother."

"And he’s our father," Athena said quietly. "And he just warned her not to try anything. You saw that."

"She’s not doing anything," Ares muttered.

Athena stepped closer. "Yet."

Ares looked at her, eyes narrowing. "You don’t know her like I do."

"No," she said, voice calm. "But I know Dad."

Ares didn’t answer. The silence stretched between them, full of tension and something else—old, quiet pain.

Athena tilted her head. "Don’t have stupid ideas, Ares. Dad’s the king of the gods for a reason."

He turned away, jaw tight. "I’m not stupid."

"I didn’t say you were," she replied. "But being angry doesn’t make you strong. Trust me. I’ve tried it."

He didn’t say anything.

She let out a slow breath and softened her voice. "Look, you’re strong. You’re probably going to be stronger than all of us one day. But don’t waste it chasing shadows."

Ares looked at the floor, hands still clenched. "...She’s hurting."

"I know."

"She just wants what’s hers."

Athena hesitated. "Maybe. Or maybe she wants what she was never meant to have."

Ares looked up at her. "That’s easy for you to say. You’re everyone’s favorite."

Athena actually smiled at that—sad and small.

"No. I’m just harder to disappoint."

Then she stepped away, walking back to the training ground with her usual calm, every footstep measured.

Ares stood there for a moment longer.

He looked at the sky.

Then at the road Hera had taken.

And then he turned, slowly, heading back toward the marble ring where they sparred—not because he wasn’t still burning.

But because part of him wanted to understand what made his father so untouchable.

He wasn’t ready to challenge him yet.

But one day... maybe.