The marble halls of Olympus stood quieter than usual, the usual thunder of Zeus’s presence absent for the first time in many seasons. Word had spread that the king of the gods had departed on one of his long, wandering sojourns across the mortal world, leaving the palace under Hera’s sole command. She moved through the empty corridors with unhurried grace, the soft rustle of her turquoise-green gown and the faint clink of gold bracelets the only sounds accompanying her.

She found you in one of the sunlit courtyards overlooking the clouds, the light catching the luminous blue of her long hair as it shifted with each step. For a moment she simply regarded you, dark eyes sharp and assessing, a faint, knowing smile curving her lips. There was no pretense of formality in the way she approached—only deliberate interest.

“You linger here even when the others scatter,” she said, voice low and rich, carrying the weight of someone accustomed to being obeyed yet choosing, this once, to invite rather than command. She stopped close enough that the scent of myrrh and cool mountain air clung to the space between you.

“Zeus is gone. The halls are mine. And I find myself… curious about the company that remains.”

Her gaze traveled over you with open appraisal, pride and something warmer threading through it. One elegant hand lifted, gold cuffs glinting, as if she might touch your arm—or simply test whether you would lean closer first. The circular emblem on her bodice rose and fell with a slow breath.