The Time of Zeus Book 5: the Coup
Copyright© 2025 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 19: King vs Queen
“The king was a strong piece, of course. The most important chess piece and the most vulnerable to attack. But the queen ... the queen was the most powerful chess piece. More powerful than the king. And the queen could move any way she wanted...”
— Tiffany Reisz, The Red (2017). Copyright © 2017 by Tiffany Reisz. Published by 8th Circle Press, an imprint of Little Birds, LLC.
The wind howled around the peak of Olympus even as Zeus reappeared and beat his brother and nephew to a pulp.
Hera stood alone up there as she watched on. Her violet eyes never left the carnage she saw. There was a part of her that wanted to wait and to be safe about what she did next, but she knew better. Zeus would surely have known what was done. His rage would be directed at her sooner or later. It was best to get it out of the way, facing him head on, rather than one day down the road.
Her hair was loose and wild as opposed to being put up in care. For what she would need to do, she could not have anything restrained. Binding the hair might keep it out of her eyes, but the binding could be pulled or too tight when she needed to think of motion and movement.
Her hands trembled faintly in a mix of fear and from what she knew must come.
She had felt it in her bones before she saw the signs.
She had not screamed nor had she wept. A wonder of how the Hecatoncheire had been brought to Olympus and how Zeus had been woken up. With Poseidon and Apollo fighting, she believed that left two options: Hestia and Athena. Hestia said she was leaving, and surely she meant it.
Athena. She had doubts. Rather than commit to the cause, the cause she started, it was clear she decided to beg her father’s forgiveness in an act of supplication. Maybe Athena thought it was best to sell everyone out for another chance at Zeus one day or, like Metis, she loved her Zeus too much to commit what was needed.
Hera did not descend to confront her foster-daughter because she simply did not have time.
Betrayal and answers came second to what the Queen of Olympus needed to prepare herself for.
She summoned a golden cuirass for her body. The armor had been forged by Hephaestus after the naming of the Olympians. He had prepared armor for all of the honored rulers, for they could be in times of peace, but war is as certain as peace.
One like Zeus would believe that Hera was not ready for war, but he would see that she was not without defenses.
She had called him out. The outcome was decided as to what he would do when the words left her lips. That was what mattered. If his move was predetermined, she would prepare for that result
Predictably, he came.
The sky must have been bored from all of the splitting Zeus demanded. From the break in the clouds stepped out Zeus.
His hair was bleached silver and white. She wondered if that was from the sleep or the chain’s cruel draining. Regardless of either, he had come to crack the realm of the divine and to exact his revenge on her. The marrow of existence was in his voice, but no noise would dare harm the Queen of Olympus.
“HERA!” Zeus exclaimed
She did not move, flinch, or falter. Once again, she had expected all he had done. She stood in this small part of the godly city prepared for what was to come.
The air warped as he touched down upon the mountaintop. His eyes bounced between the colored irises to the crackling electricity.
Behind all of the bluster she expected, there was a hurt akin to that of a child betrayed.
“You bound me in my own bed!” Zeus spat. “My own wife bound me to my bed! The Queen of Olympus ... reduced to a traitor. And after all I did for you!”
“Did for me?” Hera exclaimed back.
She shook her head, letting those words go. His anger was her ally. Giving into her own would only result in her making a mistake. This was not something that the daughter of Rhea could afford.
“I betrayed you,” Hera said softly, her chin high. “Not Olympus.”
“Is that what you tell yourself? That you were preserving something greater?” Zeus demanded. “Well, it does not matter because I am Olympus!”
“Do you hear yourself? Olympus existed long before you, and Olympus will be here long after you. You don’t even think of Olympus!” Hera screamed before lowering her voice. “Someone had to.”
“You conspired with Athena and Hestia. With Poseidon, Apollo, and probably Hephaestus. Did you think the world would just bow to your rule in my absence?”
“I never wanted your throne,” Hera answered. “I only wanted peace.”
Zeus stepped closer, the mountain groaning beneath his weight.
Hera knew what each step meant and what they would bring with them.
“You wanted peace?” he growled. “Then why arm yourself?”
“Sometimes conflict is required to bring peace,” she countered. “You would not allow for peace, so you needed to be removed.”
They stood within arm’s reach. A husband and wife moments away from conflict.
“I gave you everything,” Zeus whispered, almost with wonder. “I allowed you to rule over Olympus with me!”
“Everything?” Hera spat. “You were unfaithful with everything that moved. You know! You know about the loyalty Gaia forced upon me, binding me to you. Olympus was never yours to give,, but even if it was, you took far more than you ever gave me!”
She leveled her violently defiant gaze.
“Olympus belongs to all of us!” Hera cried. “You forgot that some time after you called yourself king.”
For a moment, Zeus was silent. Hera thought that maybe he heard her and might show a drop of empathy. How her heart dropped when he spoke.
“I will not let you take Olympus from me,” he said in a cold whisper.
“I already have,” she said softly. “I only need to finish the job!”
The heavens held still. The moment for words had died only to give birth to a battle that none on Olympus would ever forget.
The onlookers were confused. This was not the first battle on Mount Olympus on this day, but it was the most confusing.
This was their king and queen. The gods whispered to one another in uncertainty. Why was this happening? What was wrong? How could events have come to this?
These were all questions that the people asked.
No one in the audience had the answer. Looking one was all anyone could do.
This was their beloved queen who knew them all. This was their king who bested Typhon.
Love was not a strong enough word to describe how the audience felt about their ruling couple. To see them come to blows divides the populace of Mount Olympus.
Eyes never left the action. What outcome was best? How could Olympus survive what was being done? No one knew, and so they all, helplessly, watched.
The clouds above Olympus spiraled in a manifestation of its master’s rage.
As Zeus had awakened, so too did his dominion.
Hera stood alone in the center of a great pavilion that oversaw all of Olympus. Hera did not flinch when she saw he was readying to strike. This was expected. She did not know how much a blow from Zeus would hurt, but she was prepared for pain.
Finally, without much preamble, his wrath became physical in that of a spear of lightning that summoned and hurled from his hand. It raced towards her at great speed.
She was, without a doubt, slower than her opponent, but even before he finished bringing the bolt to his hand, Hera had begun to move.
With a sharp breath, she drew out a bow from nothingness. Wood and string might fail her, but a weapon of pure spectral energy could not. Some might say it was woven from moonlight and olive smoke, but even she could not rightfully tell anyone what the material was. She had made it with her arcane arts when the bow she had used during the Great War had been locked away to keep the rabble of the lesser titans locked.
She fired her recurved weaponry. The arrow met the bolt mid-air in a brilliant display of starbursts.
“You dare call me ‘traitor’?” Hera cried out. “You shattered oaths, ravaged sacred homes, and reduced Olympus to a showcase of lust! I kept my vows. You squandered yours.”
Zeus launched forward, faster than thought, hurling an assault of bolt after bolt. The lightning cracked in arcs of white-gold, heralding death, but Hera danced between the power that Zeus showered down on her. Grecian sigils flared beneath her feet with each step. The glyphs alpha, phi, theta, and omega had been prepared for a conflict, but she had thought that it would be Poseidon she would be pitting her magic against.
A barrier of the script came up to protect her. The next thunderstrike shattered against it like water against stone.
She reached up, and her eyes shined with power.
Her right palm lit up. Symbols like Delta for change and decay, Psi for the life force, and Omega for the end came from a wave of pale green. This viridescent coiled through the air like Demeter’s vines but more of smoke rather than organic shrubbery. They wrapped around Zeus’ limbs, and like with the golden chain, his power faltered.
“What sorcery is this?” Zeus demanded, staggering.
“You always adored adversity, my dear Zeus,” she said coolly. “You should rejoice. The scales are closer to being even for the sake of fairness.”
He roared at the audacity of his wife trying to harm in such a repetitive manner. Without a second thought, Zeus charged. Regardless of how much of his immense power he still had left at his disposal, Hera would not be deterred. A second arrow was fired, but Zeus, drawing from instinct honed from training and war, blasted the projectile away with a burst of divine wind.
He was so incredibly predictable to her.
She fired another then another, and when the wind did not work, he used another electrical discharge to a dazzling effect, which was exactly what Hera needed. One of the explosions was a few feet from his face. He closed his eyes, blinded to what Hera would do next.
The Queen of Olympus vanished.
When he reopened his eyes, he tried to keep course; however, when she reappeared behind him in a display of emerald fire, he knew he would suffer for his overconfidence. She struck with a concussive spell at the back of his neck. If it was a weak point for other divine beings, there was no reason it would not be for Zeus.
The blow sent the husband sprawling into the marble ground. He grimaced in pain. Not since Typhon had any being even come close to providing Zeus with a challenge.
Groaning, Zeus picked himself up. His white hair hung ragged from the blow. Flickers of ichor marked his forearms.
“You were always a consolation prize, Hera,” Zeus spat. “Metis was meant to be my wife, not you!”
He let out a derisive laugh.
“But no!” Zeus cried out. “Rhea commanded otherwise! I gave you that honor, but that was not enough for you. All you know how to be is ungrateful!”
“Ungrateful? I was faithful while you broke every vow, “ she said—her voice rising. “I was your queen in name to you while I performed my duties for this city. I remained. Through centuries of your disgraceful behavior, I stayed loyal. Do not speak to me of gratitude!”