Page 8 of Crown of Olympus
“You’re excused,” Caelus muttered. My brows flew up my forehead.
“That is your father’s throne,” she hissed.
“My father isn’t here to sit in it, now is he?” he replied quietly, his tone low and laced with severity.
Silence. Finally. The screeching had come to a temporary halt. All I’d needed was a beautiful male to shut her up.
“The bylaws state that, in the case of a Primal’s demise, their seat on the council passes to their heir. Is that not correct?” Caelus enquired.
“That is correct,” Athena confirmed, her gaze darting between the ex-Queen, Olympus’ golden child, and me. This was probably the most thrilling council meeting they’d had in decades.
Hera’s face flashed with barely contained rage. She took a moment to compose herself before speaking.
“Very well, then.”
His swirling silver eyes had not left mine. Not once since he’d sat on the King’s throne — taking up space, claiming what he believed he was owed.
He might be a problem.
But first, we had to indulge in Hera’s pathetic notion of justice.
“So, you’re the god responsible then, Nyssa, daughter of Hades?” Hera snapped.
“That depends entirely on what it is you believe I am responsible for,” I replied scathingly.
Hera glared like I’d just bad-mouthed her favourite clothing designer.
“Don’t play coy with me, child. You have been summoned before your betters, to answer for your treasonous sentencing of Zeus’ soul, and thus, treason against the Crown.”
I tilted my chin, cocking a brow. Crossing my arms, I drawled, “Treason? Since when has performing my godly duty been considered a betrayal of the highest order?”
“Since you abused your position to sentence our King to Tartarus for eternity,” Hera seethed.
I fought the urge to rub at my temples, opting instead for a dark glare.
“Do you dare deny it?” she crooned.
The silent members of the Primal Council leaned forward, muscles tensed, awaiting whichever damning answer I chose. Each bore expressions ranging from quiet curiosity to outright hatred.
Hera drummed her perfectly manicured nails against the pristine golden arm of her throne.
“Well?” she trilled.
Rolling my shoulders back, I let a corner of my mouth tug upwards. The drumming ceased as Hera leaned forward, a scowl pasted on her face.
“No.”
Pandemonium ensued.
Primal energy surged through the air. Gods shouted over one another, Hera — shockingly — screeched, Ares’ crimson mane was quite literally aflame, and Poseidon had leapt to his feet, pointing his tiny-dick-prongs in my direction. I cringed at the visual.
“Change it! Fix it!” Hera screamed.
“Do you know what you’ve done, girl?” Athena rumbled.
“Undo it now! Resentence him!” Poseidon roared.
I felt the rage building with every jab, every accusation hurled my way. If Fish Boy pointed his dick-stick at me one more time, I would not be able to hold back the tide of my own anger.
