Chapter 3

“Truth is the beginning of every good to the gods, and of every good to man.”Plato

She had fallen asleep easily enough. Zeus had enjoyed himself with her. She was rough around the edges without a doubt.

He had brought her to his bed after the sex. She had the spirit even if all she had done during the sex was scream her head off. It was reassuring for her skills, but she needed to do more than cry his name out.

He exhaled, realizing he needed a solution to a different problem. He could find himself content to marry Demeter. Even if she was a bore and a less than good lay, she was amicable to allow him to have other partners, Zeus could find himself open to an ongoing partnership with her. Besides, if nothing else, her body was amazingly sexy. He could live with that.

With all of that in mind, the Lightning King made his way out of his bed chambers and headed for the single temple that could lead him to answers.

Under the shroud of darkness, in the dead of night, Rhea arrived back on Olympus. Her heart dropped, seeing the differences of the city to when she was Queen. Cronos and Ouranos had made the city for their own private uses. While she had been to Olympus after Zeus’ ascension, this was the first time she could really inspect her son’s handiwork.

She was thankful that the night cloaked her movements as she walked through the divine realm.

Everything was more welcoming for the other deities. She could not quite place why, but it felt wrong. Olympus had been meant for the King and Queen. And yet, before her eyes, these children called ‘gods’ were staying in the palaces.

As she neared the celestial palace where she had lost her virginity to Ouranos, Rhea’s resolve wavered momentarily. Her mind filled with the weight of centuries-old grievances against her son. He was meant to be better than Cronos, but he was disobedient, ungrateful, and willful.

He needed to be brought to take. It was that urgency that spurred her forward to the heart of Olympus.

However, as she grew closer, she caught sight of Zeus walking towards the temple dedicated to the Moirai. Gaia had told Rhea of Zeus’ humble act of service of building the palace to them

A shiver ran down Rhea’s spine as she watched her son disappear into the sacred sanctuary. She knew better than to meddle with the workings of the Fates. Those Sisters had brought down Ouranos, and while Rhea and Gaia had been the ones to make the moves, Rhea suspected that the Fates had worked against the Cronos somehow.

With a heavy sigh, Rhea would have to retreat back to the island. She knew that she could do nothing to intervene with the actions of the Fates. Her attempt would have to wait.

But then ... she faltered. She would need to see her son, and if there was a chance that she might learn more about what was going on with Zeus’ destiny, all the better.

Zeus entered the private palace of the Moirai slowly. This was the first time returning to the Fates since consuming Metis. After Cronos’ deposition as King for devouring his offspring, Zeus worried, in his newfound and stolen intellect, that he might have committed a great crime worthy of being removed from power.

The air crackled with the Fates’ power. Then again, it could all be in Zeus’ head. He conceded that much of it.

The inner decor was strings and threads that crisscrossed in a labyrinthine web. Each thread, by his estimation, represented a life that was woven into the grand tapestry of existence. For a moment, he wonder if this was how Metis saw the world all the time.

Upon scanning the room, he found the three performing tasks with the threads. Clothos sat at her loom, spinning the threads, while Lachesis measured out the length of each thread, and. Atropos clipped the thread with her shears.

In the background of the chamber, the sheen of a vibrant imagery caught Zeus’s attention.

It was a depiction of some kind of prince seated upon a celestial throne with Hera by his side. Beside the two of them stood strange figures. Two were Prometheus and Atlas. That did not make sense though; he knew for certain that Atlas was holding up the sky. This image must have been something from the past, but he also saw a red headed beauty and ... Metis? He could not be sure. Where Metis had been a golden blonde-haired woman, this was a goddess of dirty blonde haired. Her blonde was less gold and closer to Zeus’ white.

He could not make out what that meant, so he shook his head and marched toward the Moirai with careful reverence.

“Great Sisters,” he began with respect. “I have come seeking your counsel about the Curse you told Metis about.”

“We are aware of why you have come,” Lachesis said.

“Am I allowed to know of this destiny?” Zeus asked, doing his best to restrain his temper. He was King of Olympus. He had built the palace in which they had resided. Was he not due some respect from them.

“Careful, Great King,” Clothos warned. “Your true intentions to rule over us might reveal themselves.”

Zeus flinched. He knew better than to try and trick the Fates. As such, he tried a new strategy. “No ... But should I know of this prophecy against me?”

Atropos sighed. “Each King of Olympus shall be deposed by their most worthy son for three generations. That is the Curse of Ouranos.”

She spoke the prophecy with as much interest as one might have in a colorful fish they had seen all day. It was interesting, sure, but after seeing it over and over, the object had lost its luster.

“But then ... what son? Will it come from Demeter?”

The three Sisters loosed a sigh of annoyance at the Lord of Lightning.

“With Demeter’s daughter, a girl of grace,” Clothos started in a slow, deliberate cadence. “She’ll tread a path to change the space. Not your downfall, but her sway, Shall mark the dawn of a fateful day.”

Zeus’ new mind was working quickly. Then ... A child by Demeter could be dangerous if he married her. The girl would not dethrone him, but should he marry his second eldest sibling, it would spell his disaster. Thankfully, he had not committed himself to a marriage to Demeter.

“What of Hestia?” Zeus asked. For a moment, he imagined himself in bed with that homely thing. Hestia would be worse in bed than Demeter. If he was limited to goddesses, he wanted someone of the line of Cronos and Ouranos. After all, he knew them, and he knew there was an expectation for him to be tied to the best goddess on Olympus. Then, he thought of the one goddess left, the one that might be a pain in his eldest brother’s side. “What about Hera?”

“Should Hera be your chosen bride,” Lachesis explained in her melodic way. “A son of hers will not your throne betide. But should your reign see a fateful surprise ... A child of hers will the throne’s ascent realize.”

“So ... if I marry Hera ... her son will not defeat me, but her son will sit on the throne of Olympus?” Zeus asked, hoping for clarification.

“That is what we have foreseen,” Atropos remarked.

“I could live with that,” Zeus said with a smile.

Unbeknownst to the King of Olympus, the former Queen of Olympus heard all she needed to. In her secrecy, she believed she had found a way to one-up her son, and she had, in all of her sneakiness, also gotten one over on the Moirai.

Little did Rhea know, the Fates were all too aware of her eavesdropping. They cared little for the machinations of one Titaness. The fabric of Fate was far sturdier than one Titaness who felt entitled to controlling the Thrones of Olympus, but only time could reveal that part of it.

Nevertheless, Rhea vanished from Olympus with news for Gaia.

Hera stood beside what appeared to be an intricately carved crib. In truth, she had simply constructed it using magic. Why would she use her hands when the solution was simply in her mind? That was like using silkworms to make silk when one could just use magic.

Her gaze fixed upon another of her magical creations. The slumbering infant nestled within the crib cooed for her.

Hephaestus was her firstborn son. Conceived without the help of any male, he was the vision of perfection to her. With each rise and fall of his tiny chest, Hera was quite proud of herself. She worried that Prometheus might have noticed what she had done. Hera’s body had taken time to recover from giving birth. There was a small concern that the alterations to her body would be lasting.

Hera did not consider herself a shallow being, but she did not want to be altered from what she was. Hera had worked hard to have a pristine form, and she hoped to have it forever.

Gently, Hera reached out to brush her fingertips against her baby’s rosy cheek. It was amazing how new and soft his skin was. He was a little chubby, but so what? He was a baby.

“Ugly little thing, isn’t he?” a new voice said.

Hera did not need to turn to recognize the King of Olympus. “Good to see you too, Zeus.”

When her youngest brother stood next to her, she shivered at his proximity. She was never fond of him. It was not an outright hate or even distaste, but she considered Zeus even more immature than Poseidon. He was the one to have things his way or not at all. During the Great War, both he and Hades butted heads over this tactic or that.

In the end, they had won well enough, so Hera could not fault anyone, she supposed

“Is this one Hades’?” Zeus inquired, looking at Hephaestus.

“Funny how many people on Olympus just assume my entire identity is tied to Hades,” Hera snipped.

Zeus raised both his hands in defense of himself. “I didn’t mean it like that, really.”

“I am sure,” Hera remarked. She motioned for him to leave the room after the baby was sleeping. Zeus complied. This gave Hera enough time to just breathe. By Olympus, he annoyed her. Even if he was not guilty of destroying Metis, he was still a cocky prick who would not stop being a pain in her ass.

Problem was she could not continue to be angry with him. He was King, and he would be forever if she understood her mother’s plan for him correctly.

She let out a long, deep sigh. She could not allow her anger to rule her when dealing with Zeus. When the air left her mouth, so too did all of her irritation at the invasion. This was just another facet of being ruled by another that she would need to get used to.

The lingering part of her that missed Hades wondered if she would have had her privacy invaded by the eldest son of Cronos. A shake of her head removed that thought from her mind. She had given up her relationship with Hades, and as such, the possibility of being Queen in the Lower Realm was gone from her.

Hera emerged into the more general area of her palace where her throne, carpet, and torches illuminated everything.

“So why are you coming to see me after your outing with Demeter?” Hera inquired. “I would have assumed you would be busy taking her to bed.”

“What makes you think I haven’t already?” Zeus asked smugly.

Hera bristled in disgusted irritation. She looked him over; unfortunately, she was not close enough to him to recognize him pre or post-coitus. The fact that he was so quickly under her skin to make her wonder was the most maddening part about this king.

“Well, have you?” Hera asked.

“Can’t you tell with your magic?” Zeus sniffed indignantly.

“That’s not how my magic works.”

“Well, maybe in time, you’ll show me,” Zeus commented.

“I doubt that very much,” Hera remarked.

“Oh?” Zeus wondered. “Why is that? Is it because you already have everything you could want? Atlas’ little daughters attending you? You are aware that as King I can take them away when I deem it necessary?”

Hera flinched, falling for his bait. “You wouldn’t!”

“It is my prerogative as king,” he said smoothly. He inclined a hand in deference to her. “Then again,” he added smoothly. “If you were queen, you actually might be my equal in some ways.”

Hera eyed him suspiciously. “What are we talking about?” Hera asked. “You’re spending time with Demeter.”

“Spending time for now,” Zeus said, encircling Hera.

Hera recognized this dance. It was how Rhea had always intended for her to challenge Zeus, not the other way around. From a very early age, Rhea had said the queens challenged the kings in unique ways. Both Rhea and Gaia did their best work when the kings were not looking, but for Hera to be an everlasting queen, she would have to challenge Zeus in a more straightforward manner. She would need him to recognize her for who she was before anything else came to mind.

“So you’re playing with her?” Hera inquired with a challenge.

“Playing with?” Zeus considered the question. “I am more ... Considering my options. The throne is mine, but who sits next to me is for me to understand.”

“Is it now?” Hera remarked offhandedly. “If it is your choice, I suggest spending more time with Demeter because I am not someone for you simply to consider. Either I am your queen or I am not.”

Zeus laughed at that sentence, but Hera did not challenge him outright. After all, if he was enjoying himself, there was a future.

“Really now? I do not think it works that way.”

“Very well,” Hera replied, pretending to concede. “Consider away. But know I am not like Demeter or Metis. Demeter might allow you to leave her bed to consult with other women, and Metis might have loved you from Olympus to Tartarus, but I am neither of them. I see you for what you truly are, and I will not allow myself to supplicate myself to you as they might.”