The Queen's Irony

27

He hated that the last thing he did to it was finally have it submitted to him.

He missed her eyes. The gentleness they always carried, but the fierceness that protected them.

He regretted creating the look of fear and anxiety they last held.

Her body. Yes, of course, she had an amazing body, but that was a plus. What he loved was how she presented it. Never hunched, always elevated. She didn't need to show skin to reveal that she was the epitome of a woman. Confident, determined, and self-assured.

Perhaps it was this that hurt him most. He thought back on that day when he "confronted" her. He had invaded her sacred space, her garden, and cornered her within it. What had been pride at being proven right, at having the situation return to his control. It turned to horror. Her eyes, while they met his, looked exactly as he had described them that day, a child's. They were large, but not in the way he had come to know them. They had a shine to them, but not the shine he loved to see when she held his face after making love. There was a stillness in them, but not the stillness of pride or anger.

You'd think you'd learn after the first time, he thought.

"Zeus," his thoughts were cut through by a familiar, heavy voice. He had been so wrapped up in his own self-pity that he hadn't heard the boy come in. His office, like Hera's garden, was hallowed. No being could just astral travel in. He felt indignant that he could've been snuck up on like this, especially in his present manner. He gave an annoyed sigh as a result, and the god looked up at his eldest son with Hera, the crown prince. Ares glowered at him from across the desk. Today, he dressed in black pants and a zipped up leather jacket. His hair was cut into a taper, a recent trend that mortals had apparently started to fall into. His hair was as dark as the shadows of the office and his face illuminated by the golden light of the banker's lamp sitting on his desk's corner and the rising morning light coming through the large window behind Zeus. The combination of the two gave Ares an ominous shadow over his face, particularly over his eyes. Normally, as hardened and hooded as his own, Zeus found he was often relieved to find Ares inherited Hera's brown eyes. Today, though, a cold, stomach churning red watched him from the darkness.

He resisted the urge to swallow the bile in his throat and straightened himself out. Sitting nonchalantly in his seat and even leaning back a bit, as if amused by his son's arrival, "Yes?"

Ares' eyes became tighter. He bared some teeth, and his eyes seemed to glow with an onset of anger, but the god of war stood still. He examined his father with such rigor that it was difficult to tell exactly what he was picking up. At last, his eyes finally moved from the face of the man who had raised him to the scatter of paperwork on his desk. The paperwork that Zeus had neglected and that Hera had picked up. The paperwork Zeus was forced to confront now.

"She's awake."

The tension of the room seemed to drop. Zeus' gaze of disgust and amusement with it. He felt the heaviness, the sting, the emptiness lift. It was replaced with a sensation he couldn't quite decipher, but it came with a high of happiness, want, and lust only for Hera. A high that he knew he would become addicted to again. Zeus sat forward in his seat again and took in the phrase, "Now? Since when?"

"She awoke last night. Apollo wanted to let her rest for a bit before allowing the news to spread," Zeus noticed the steadiness in Ares' voice. He knew he wanted Zeus to be the last to know and held up a barrier of spite and poison as he delivered the news, but the smoothness of his delivery. How lightly his words carried. He could also pick up how relieved Ares was at knowing his mother was okay and responsive again. Zeus gave his son a nod of understanding and slowly rose. He wore the same outfit he had on the day before he went to visit Hera. He looked down at the English cut suit, the same one Hera had gotten for him for their anniversary, and his nose wrinkled at the stain of his cigar's ashes and the smell of brandy that emanated off it. His gaze returned to the young godling that stood before him patiently awaiting a provocation from his father.

"I'll visit her in a moment, I need to freshen up if I'm to see her."

"Since when do you care about proper presentation. Don't you just throw in a flashy entrance and stick your coc-" Thunder rumbled outside, interrupting Ares. Zeus' gaze became clouded, and Ares set his jaw in response. The two watched the other for a moment before Ares finally lowered his gaze in silent defeat.

"I apologize for my impudence, Father. I will see to it that you and my mother can spend your first moments alone," the response that escaped from Ares was dry and humorless. The disgust that the word "father" carried surprised Zeus none. While on any other given day, Zeus would have raised a hand at his son for his disrespect. Today, he allowed it to go unpunished. He lifted his head so as to look down at Ares, holding his arms behind his back. There was a moment's pause before finally the king of the gods spoke.

"Go."

Ares turned and marched toward the large double doors that led to the hallwa. Ass he opened the door, Zeus called his name. Ares turned back to his father in response. "Why did you deliver me the news? Why not Hermes or Apollo?"

"Apollo is at home resting. As I take it, he fell ill yesterday. Hermes was fetching your whore, Adiya."

Zeus held his rage once more, composing himself before asking, "And who gave Hermes permission to retrieve her?"

"I did," Ares said, without skipping a beat. "My mother is fond of the mortal, and she'll need a proper form of comfort after what she's gone through. Especially if you are going to see her after," Ares left immediately after, slamming the doors behind him.

Zeus was left alone with his paperwork, his cigar, and his brandy. The sudden intrusive ticking of the clock within the glass cabinet next to him began to keep him company shortly after.