1 • Scars

“Ganymede. Come here.”

The youth rotated without question, carafe in hand. The gilt vase was nearly the size of him but he lifted it with ease to fill the cup gestured toward him. The clear fluid flushed into a sweet rosé as the god of the sea liked. Ganymede’s bright hazel eyes flicked to the god’s plate, more like a platter of succulent beef and orchids. Savory as he tried to be, his sweet tooth would not go unheeded.

Tink. Tink.

The queen’s nail chimed against the gold of her cup, beckoning him to the other end of the expansive room. The floor was uneven with tiers of marble and mosaic floors that were cluttered with settees and cushions for gods and companions to lounge on. A trail of vapor coiled in front of Ganymede’s face, smelling of something dark and sweet…he was reminded of something far away, something in his memory that was as wispy and impalpable as the incense vapor tickling his nose—

“Ganymede,” the queen reprimanded mildly. He was yanked from his reverie and turned to the round table beside her. The surface of the table was recessed to form a crater in which thin slices of green and orange melon waited. It only took a moment, but in the seconds it took to replenish her dish, her cup ran dry. The nectar flowed from his carafe, clear turning into a crisp, sour white wine.

Once all cups and chalices were full, Ganymede returned to his place by the wall. Out of the way. He liked to linger near the tall, ornate perches that had been made in the image of laurel branches. There a silver owl was tucked under its speckled wing, as if dusted with snow. The cupbearer would have let her sleep but some movement revealed her to be cleaning her feathers. Carefully reaching up, his fingertips gently pushed between the soft feathers of her breast. The owl hummed loudly at the disturbance, almost like a cat’s purr as those golden orbs locked onto him only to shut halfway as he ruffled the feathers on her chest. The majesty of her horn-like feathers was slightly lost as her head hunched under his roaming fingers—

“Someone’s entranced,” said a velvety voice behind him.

Ganymede startled and rushed into a deep bow. “My lady, Athena, I apologize—”

“Shh, love, it is a relief to see someone tame my special beast,” she hushed. She was tall where her owl was small, deceptively perched atop dangerous talons. The owl nibbled at her fingers, restlessly wiggling on the golden perch. Despite her own silver eyes, they gazed warmly down at him. “How are you, Gany?”

He bowed again. “I am well, my lady. Did the Spartans manage all right?”

“Oh…” she sighed but not out of exhaustion. She ran a hand through her short honey-gold hair, flipping it over to one side as she said, “They’re as lively as ever. One of them had the convenient idea to focus their energies in a tournament instead of waging a useless war. Handy, wasn’t it?”

Ganymede giggled deep in his throat. His eyes crinkled as he grinned, thinking of the goddess lingering in disguise among the warriors while planting ideas in their heads—

Warmth washed over his spine, ripping through his shoulder blades to rest in his heart and back of his skull. His entire body felt as if it was waking up. Turning around, Ganymede looked upon a massive eagle that now occupied one of the perches. His feathers were of hot brown and rust, wings fringed with gold. Athena’s owl hopped close to him to nibble at his wings and breast, grooming him without permission as his head jerked this way and that, seeing everything.

“He calls,” Athena narrated. “You have a different beast to tame.”

Ganymede glanced at her warily, wondering what the king could have been doing to spark his temper. Not daring to waste time in asking, he rushed with his carafe to the chamber he had been summoned to. It was more like a terrace since it was open to the sky, but Ganymede’s feet slapped against the stone that had been warmed by Helios’ sun, announcing his entrance.

He bowed so low he rested the carafe on the tops of his bare feet. “My king, how may I serve?”

The reply was so long in coming that Ganymede was aware of the breeze fluttering his almond brown hair. Strong, high arched feet entered his vision, stepping close but he dared not lift his head. The heat in his belly and chest rushed into his cheeks when a hand urged his chin to lift.

“Greet me with your eyes, Ganymede. Let me see you.”

Those fingers brushed his throat, making him feel even more fragile than he already was in the presence of Zeus’s human form. The hair on his brown legs shimmered gold in the light, which Ganymede had a superb view of since his bowed figure was in line with those hips. Zeus pulled his spine all the way up, allowing the cupbearer’s eyes to draw even with a nipple while the rest of his chest was covered with the draped cloth of a chiton. The fabric seemed meager on such a large, strong body, but the king’s face arrested his attention. Athena had her father’s eyes. The dark silver of a storm.

His hair was an absolute mess. Thick, unruly waves and curls of dark brown and chestnut that shimmered gold like his eagle’s feathers. Altogether, Zeus the man looked like an adolescent who had fallen into manhood without preparation.

Those tenacious fingers ever so carefully pushed Ganymede’s own hair behind his ear since the breeze had made it flop over his eyes. “Have you been treated well this morning?”

“Yes, my king,” he replied, focusing on keeping the carafe from slipping off his feet. As if reading his thoughts, Zeus lifted the vessel of nectar and gestured for him to follow back inside to the courtyard fountain next to the main chamber where everyone was gathered. He grabbed a large glass chalice and gave it a playful toss before he filled it himself. The nectar flowed in its clear, natural form into the glass.

“Attend me,” he ordered casually, setting the carafe that was more like an urn beside one of the settees around the shallow pool of water. “You know what I like.”

Ganymede gave another bow and went to fetch one of the tables of melon and shellfish. He was setting the latter down when he realized the god of the sea had followed him.

“Do you plan to eat all of my sweet children, brother?”

Zeus chuckled. “I am not our father, Pos. And last I checked, you preferred my cattle to your lobsters.”

Ganymede noticed how those grey eyes darkened but the king’s voice remained light and carefree. He left to retrieve the last of Zeus’s favorites: honey cakes that Athena also enjoyed and olives stuffed with garlic, which one of his sons approached to share.

“Are my children behaving?” Zeus directed to Ares and Athena as the siblings lowered upon a shared bench. She smiled charmingly at her brother, who openly scowled.

“You know I only provide wisdom to humans, father. It is their choice to act upon it. I cannot say the same for Ares’ motivations.”

“My faith in humanity lies in their ability to solve a problem in a proper way,” he rebuked.

“Not everything is solved with a sword in the neck,” she stated as if this were not the first time they had touched on this subject.

“Things would be simpler if they were,” he finished, popping an olive into his mouth. Athena had her mother’s blond curls but he had his father’s thick wreck of hair which he usually bound away from his face with a coiled metal band.

“Bring the berries and milk, Ganymede,” Hera said by way of announcing her presence.

“Hello, wife of mine,” Zeus welcomed with a mixture of mirth and chagrin. It was Athena who stayed Ganymede’s steps.

“Stay, Gany. She’s never favored berries and only takes milk in her bath.”

“Why would you wish to send my cupbearer away?” Zeus inquired with predictable intrigue, as if he relished engaging in a debate with his sister as often as Athena and Ares did.

“Do you not find it inconsiderate to crudely discuss a species in the presence of one of its members?” she chided, jaded by her brother’s antics as only a wife could be.

“Did you hear that, boy?” Poseidon uttered. “What praise the queen of the gods bestows on you. What danger does she think you could do this high up from other humans?”

“Don’t tease him, Pos,” Zeus retaliated, curtailing that thread of discussion. Ganymede finished refilling Poseidon’s cup and answered the beckoning warmth to stand at Zeus’s side. “I leave him in your safety for his betterment, not to be your pet.”

“Speaking of…” Athena murmured before a low whistle sang between her lips. A blur of grey brought her owl to her hand. “Someone doesn’t like being away from the commotion.”

Ares and Poseidon distracted them for a time with a discussion on the merits of sharks versus bears in war. The shark was superior, thought Poseidon, because of its strength, agility, and never-ending supply of teeth. Ares disagreed with how a bear’s fur and flesh made it quite difficult to land a killing blow. One was more likely to get killed trying to attack a bear whereas the shark was fragile in comparison…

Ganymede frowned to himself, not fully understanding how the creatures could be compared since neither were actually used for war, and neither interacted within the same environment.

Athena smiled softly when she caught his eye. She crooked her finger at him, summoning him to her side of the bench where she lifted the owl up to his shoulder. The spritely bird wiggled her way to her new perch and enthusiastically bit at his ear. Forgetting himself, Ganymede laughed against the tickles and tried not to hunch his shoulder and unsettle the creature. That beak targeted his fingers next as he ruffled her feathers, soothing her despite her best efforts to be rambunctious.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Athena murmured. Her volume was so low he was induced to bow his ear near her head.

“Pardon, my lady?”

“I’ll give you two secrets,” she enticed. She gave her owl a stroke as she said, “The first—which isn't much of a secret—my brother is an idiot.”

Ganymede’s jaw went slack and he warily peeked up to see if Ares had heard. He was too engrossed in his debate with Poseidon to notice.

“The second,” Athena reclaimed his attention as she lifted a flaky cake glistening with honey. “The reason my father loves these cakes…the humans call it baklava. My mother used to make it.”

Ganymede’s expression remained stagnant, trying to gauge the goddess’s intentions in telling him this. She gestured to her own hairline as she said, “Surely you’ve noticed the scar? I gave it to him but my mother bestowed him with an eternal sweet tooth.”

Of course he had noticed. It was the only scar Zeus had aside from a crescent of teeth marks across his shoulder blade and rib cage. The number of times Ganymede had been called upon to dress him or to try and get a comb through his hair, he knew the scars quite well.

Before he had meant to, Ganymede looked up and found the king watching him. Those storm eyes captured him in their gaze, holding him still as if hands were upon him. “Don’t be afraid,” Athena whispered in his ear. “It’s a comfort to know some ears are keener than others.”

The king’s voice resonated through the air, for his and Athena’s ears only despite the distance between them. “You are not unlike your brother, dearest of mine. You like to cause trouble.”

Her eyes glittered with mischief and cunning. “On the contrary, I like to solve trouble when I see it.”

Father and daughter went quiet then, a silent dialogue passing between them that Ganymede was not a part of. Fortunately, he was released from the uncomfortable moment by the arrival of Apollo. Hera reached out for him and grasped his hand in welcome. Though not from her own womb, she was fond of the musical god. “Why are you here so early? The day has not ended yet.”

“Helios does drive his own chariot on occasion,” he teased while reaching with his other hand for a bit of lobster. “The skies are covered in clouds at the moment. Father, you didn’t tell me you planned a monsoon.”

The owl atop Ganymede’s shoulder swiveled her head with his shock. Quickly transferring her to Athena’s hand he bowed with the apology, “I’m sorry, excuse me, my lady,” before he went to Zeus’s side. “My king, I must retrieve the washing that’s hanging from the terraces.”

“Go then,” he dismissed.

The cupbearer strode from the room before he took off at a run to beat the rain from soaking the drapery that usually hung in the king’s chambers.

He did not make it. Rain pelted the marble of the terraces, bouncing off the stone and onto his shins as his hair became drenched. He yanked the clean white linens into a ball in his arms but by the time he managed to collect them all, he was soaked to the bone and the fabrics were hardly any better. There was one piece of washing left but the wind this high up on Olympus was fierce and bodily shoved him as he tried to skirt around the balcony toward the last bit of drapery. It flapped angrily like the canvas of sailing ships—

Ships? How did he remember that? Why would he remember such things as ships? Then again, he never saw any bears or sharks up here either—

“Aah!” His feet slipped out from under him and he landed hard on the marble. The ball of fabric in his arms cushioned him for the most part but his head thwacked audibly against the floor. However his hand had clutched the laundry and his fall had pulled it free of the colonnade, but the storm was unwilling to let it go. Practically pulled to his feet, Ganymede hastened to contain the drape but it was slipping through his fingers—

“GANY!”

The voice struck his frame like thunder as the balcony and more caught him before he toppled over the edge. Powerful arms were the vices that held him to a body as hard as the stone underneath him, pulling him away from the open chaos that was the sky. Ganymede felt himself set upon a thigh as Zeus sat with him in his lap to check for damage. “WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING—”

“I’ve got it…” he said weakly. He tried to pull the rest of the cloth to him as Zeus observed this, his mind processing the youth’s priorities.

“You foolish…I could have sent Hermes to get it. I could have turned it into a river and given mortals another story to tell.”

Ganymede shrank into himself with every word. “I’m sorry…it’s the washing for your chambers. I thought…”

The king’s warm palm cut through the ice of the rain, cradling his face. “Don’t you think the god of the sky wouldn’t mind having an unobstructed view of the stars? I don’t ever want a view of your broken body shattered on the earth. Do you understand?”

The sky trembled with thunder, and Ganymede with it. “Yes,” he uttered. The back of his throat ached. “I’m sorry.”

Zeus grew very still, his eyes slowly widening. His arms softened around Ganymede, only to close around him anew with heat, holding him close against the bite of the rain. “No…no…I never want you to be frightened of me either.”

The youth sniveled as rain mixed with the first of his tears. “I b-b…” his tremors were getting worse but he pushed on, “bear the king…king of the gods’ cup,” he hiccuped. “What else should I be?”

He felt a warm hand, almost hot in comparison to the storm, slide over his scalp, heating his cranium until the fingers came to rest over his eyes, bidding them to close. “Do you fear me right now, in this moment?” he murmured close to his ear.

Ganymede, denied his vision, nodded shakily. “Her majesty…s-she can-n’t be wrong…”

“Shhh,” he hushed. “Don’t let her words trouble you. She is angry with me, only me.”

“But…” Ganymede sniffed but he could no longer breathe through his nose. “I fill yours and the gods’ cups…I could poison them or…do worse…”

Zeus shocked him by laughing softly in his ear. “And where would you get such poison that could maim a god? You’re too smart for your own good, Gany, and that is what Hera attacks. She sees Athena’s liking for you and knows this means you are intelligent. My daughter admires your ability to see a whole puzzle instead of fixating on single pieces, but what about now, when you cannot see?”

The hand moved to push soothing circles between Ganymede’s brows, massaging the tension there while still bidding his eyes to stay closed. The other hand rested on his hip but Ganymede was held in the safety of his chest, the crevice of his neck, shoulder, and jaw. “What do you feel?”

Many things at once, he wanted to say. The wet of the rain, the cold of the sky. The hard of stone and the soft of flesh. He felt fear and comfort alike, pain in his throat and soothing warmth along all the places his body was in contact with the king of gods and the god of kings.

“You.”

Zeus’s voice both rumbled like the thunder he created and swam as softly as his clouds did through the sky. “Everything here marks this place as mine, and I take care of what is mine. This is the reason why Athena lives but her mother does not. The reason humanity is not left to the whims of themselves or to one god. I let my family share the influence over them for their betterment until they can manage on their own. Why do I tell you this?”

Gooseflesh had risen on the patches of skin where the rain touched. Gooseflesh. When was the last time you saw a goose? his subconscious wondered.

“I am under your protection,” he said aloud. At your mercy.

The hand released his eyes and stroked over his scalp to come to rest between his shoulder blades. “You are mine. A hand raised against you is a hand raised against me. Now let’s get you inside. You’re a bit more breakable than I am.”

Without further ado, he lifted Ganymede off the floor as if he weighed little to nothing and carried him all the way to the baths. On his human legs, Ganymede needed a good deal of time to get there, but for a god it was like walking into the next room. He began to squirm as if he expected to be let down, and when he wasn’t, Zeus stymied, “Be still.”

“I need to run the water,” he stated like a question.

“Not this time. You’ll be ill if another moment passes.” Seemingly of their own accord, the crack along the tops of the walls began overflowing with steaming water, filling the private area for baths.

“The nectar, and grapes,” Ganymede whined. Zeus rarely bathed without a beverage and nibbles—

“Gany,” he hushed with finality. The cupbearer, left without something to hold, twisted his hands in his lap and stiffened when Zeus lowered them into the water. Cold as he was, the waters felt scalding until he accustomed to them, but by then his flesh was pink as pearls. Zeus’s legs opened, and he lowered the youth between his knees so he could sit on the tile. Ganymede’s head craned back, neck deep in the water as he shook his hair out of the way. Zeus chuckled fondly and plunged his fingers into those tresses with soap in hand.

“Isn’t that my j—” Ganymede began, but the god’s hands stilled. His shoulders slumped, reminded to stay silent. Who was he to question a god’s intentions, even if it was his job to do the washing. His heart thumped in his chest, surely loud enough even for human ears to hear as the hands combed soap through his hair, the fingers raking it out with water.

And then it was done.

“Drink something warm,” he heard, along with the rustle of water. But when he turned around, Zeus was out of the room and his sodden chiton was left on the floor. Ganymede let his body lower just a little bit more so his sigh blew out in the form of bubbles.

Rising out of the bath, he took the discarded chiton up to Zeus’s private chambers to hang and dry, but not before he daringly retrieved the soaked bundle of drapes from the terrace. Carrying everything was thrice as heavy with the water, but he managed to climb the distance as his ears popped and the bundle landed with a squishy, heavy plod. His back popped as he stood erect and took a moment to observe how Zeus’s rooms were the eye of the storm. Swords of sunlight filtered through the thinner clouds, whereas the open space was walled by metallic grey storm clouds. Rehanging the wet drapes was a trial, but they would ironically dry just as well here if he had never removed them for washing.

When Ganymede finished, he went to the small side room which would have been Zeus’s own courtyard with standing pool, but instead of water, the recessed floor had been filled with a plush pallet, cushions, and blankets for his bed. Unlike the gods’ togas, chitons, armor, or even nudity, the cupbearer had a small chest full of trousers and shirts unlike any he had seen except for when Zeus and Athena returned from a place they called the east. He pulled a pair of linen trousers on that were quite baggy except for where they cinched around his ankles and waist. He reached for a shirt but felt the tingle of sunlight on his skin and let the fabric fall back inside the chest.

A small pitcher of water stood on the lip of the pool that was his bed. Crawling over the cushions, he found his favorites: a large pillow that could cradle his entire length, and a much smaller one just for his head. Usually the pallet was soft enough so the thin pillow sufficed, but today he curled around the larger cushion so the sun warmed his shoulder blade and ribcage as sleep washed over him…

He was not aware of how quickly he had fallen asleep until his eyes unwillingly opened to the touch of his body being enclosed within his plush comforter. His blurry vision and the coming of night made his mind slow to awaken, but a familiar baritone purred in his ear, “I thought I told you to drink something warm. And not to go outside.”

“Iihemumm…” he mumbled lethargically as his body was overcome with shivers, either from how close the voice was or how much the temperature had dropped, he could not tell.

Zeus laughed deeply and Ganymede could have sworn he felt a nuzzle or movement in his hair. “Gany,” he rumbled, looming over him. “I need you to shave me.”

“Muhh…” the youth sighed, finally opening clear eyes. “Are you feeling better?”

He looked over his shoulder to see the king kneeling over him with an expression which could only be described as puzzled. Ganymede elaborated, “Storms soothe you, that’s why you make them when you’re upset. The storm is gone.”

Those silver eyes processed his words until he leaned so close his dark lashes fluttered against Ganymede’s forehead. “When someone goes outside against orders, I have to take measures for his safety.”

“Are the drapes dry?”

Zeus sighed loudly and Ganymede had the rather unpleasant experience of having a god’s entire weight collapse onto him. The air was all but crushed from his lungs as he was sandwiched between the cushion and a body fit to contain a god. The result was more like a flattened pillow and adolescent.

“My king, I can’t—” He sucked in a breath but tried in vain to move the behemoth of a man off of him. “Please…off!”

Zeus’s arms closed around him so his weight was propped on his elbows instead of Ganymede. His hands ruffled those almond, honey, and chocolate tresses that were curled and pushed into waves from sleeping with wet hair. Ganymede shuddered again when Zeus growled in his hair, “Your priorities are infuriating. You nearly fell off a mountain for those damn drapes.”

“They sound like birds’ wings when they flap in the breeze,” Ganymede defended, his face scrunched against the king’s tyranny. “You like that.”

His hair was suddenly flipped off his face, held at bay so Ganymede was nose to nose with those grey eyes. “How do you know that?”

Ganymede blinked a few times as the answer came without much thought. “Birds don’t…birds don’t fly as high as we live…they come for you or…you summon them…”

He frowned as a vein lifted the skin of his forehead, his breathing uneven by thought and unexpected nerves. Zeus stroked a thumb over the vein, over his brow, and swooped under an eye flushed with amber, olive, and silver flecks. Both of those irises lifted to meet Zeus’s, Ganymede’s stare inquiring and unwavering. The corner of the god’s mouth lifted but otherwise his features revealed nothing.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Sorry?” The cupbearer stared blankly as he was lifted from the floor and set on his feet. Zeus’s hand swallowed his as he led Ganymede to his private bath. Not unlike the room he had washed the youth’s hair in earlier, but this one had walls of hammered copper. Their reflections swam across the metallic surface, creating a myriad of light and shadow.

Zeus sat upon a settee and leaned back on the arm while Ganymede mixed the soap cream for shaving. The stubble of the morning had already grown long enough to curl at the ends, but under Ganymede’s experienced hands, oil warmed over a candle made the hair pliant before he scrubbed the soap over them. He wiped the oil from his hands after massaging it over Zeus’s jaw and throat. The whipped soap made his scruff stick out like merengue peaks, causing Ganymede to remember when Zeus first taught him the process of shaving. He had patiently sat while the boy went so far as to climb on his lap and create snowy mountain terrains on his face.

Older now, his hand no longer trembled at the wrong angle as he pulled the blade down Zeus’s jaw. His eyes briefly lifted to the dark lightning fissures of scar tissue stretching across the god’s temple and forehead, but then returned to the task at hand.

The hair came away easily as Zeus voiced, “I visited my brother this morning. You will attend me this evening.”

Ganymede paused but only momentarily. “How are the two related?”

Dark lashes rested on his cheeks as Zeus said, “Demeter will be joining us this evening. I went to speak with Hades over the matter of her daughter but he is nothing but true to the deal that was struck. That doesn’t spare me from Demeter’s anger. Autumn will arrive soon.”

Ganymede nodded even though the king’s eyes were closed. “Can she not visit Persephone during the winter?”

Zeus hummed deep in his chest. “An embodiment of life cannot visit a realm of death. That would create a different mess entirely.”

“But without Persephone, the earth’s flowers die. Isn’t she out of place in the underworld?”

The corner of Zeus’s mouth quirked up again into that unreadable expression. “There are exceptions, but none can be made tonight. It is fortunate you slept today because I need you to console her.”

Ganymede was dipping the blade in a basin of water when he perked up. “Console who? Demeter? Demeter?"

“Yes,” Zeus replied, eyes open and on him.

Ganymede stood prone, unbelieving of the task presented him. “But she…she fights with Poseidon.”

Zeus’s eyes were warm as a soft smile lifted his lips, half shaven. “Yes, because she likes to remind him that he isn’t the only one who can create an earthquake. She will be kind to you.”

“But if she fights with you and your brothers, how can you think I will have any sway on her?”

Zeus leaned up to pull him forward by the hips to continue the job. Ganymede stood between his knees, carefully inching the razor up the neck, attentive to Zeus’s apple bobbing while he spoke. “Because Athena is not wrong in your ability to calm beasts. Just be as you are, and stay near me if you feel uncomfortable. Get a shirt before we go.”

“Is there a code of dress this evening?” said Athena’s voice from the wide arched entrance.

Zeus chuckled. “Shall we tell Aphrodite?”

Athena’s eyes rolled. “You’d be inviting trouble. The fastest way for her to be naked is to tell her not to be, and the easiest way to clothe her is to compare her skin to a fabric. Pride at its finest.”

Her father outright guffawed then, throwing his head back so Ganymede had to reach with his towel to wipe the soap from his face. “And what of you, dearest owl? I seem to remember a certain spider who angered the wrong goddess.”

Athena smirked with a shake of her head. “We all go through phases. I was still relatively young, then. Her pride as a weaver needed to be put in its place. I provided the service.”

It was another moment while Zeus’s chuckles waned as moisturizing balm was massaged over his clean-shaven face and neck. With the rest, Ganymede spread on his hands up to his elbows as Zeus rotated him and pushed him toward the archway. “You’ll know where to find me.”

He remained on the settee as he watched the adolescent leave the room, and heard the scamper of his feet as soon as he was out of view, rushing to obey.

“Why do you have him shave you?” Athena murmured, reclaiming her father’s attention.

“Athena,” he warned.

But she continued, “A wave of your hand, just a thought, could remove the hair or halt its growth altogether, yet you took the time to teach him how to do it. You take the time to have him pamper you.”

“And why shouldn’t a god be pampered?” he challenged, matching eyes locking in a dangerous gaze.

She smiled, but it was not her customary, knowing look. It was curious…anxious. “Because this has nothing to do with pride. We’re not ignorant, father. He’s a good boy, and we see your affection for him, but you’ve kept him blind. One day he will see, and I think you’re afraid of that day. It’s coming sooner than you intend.”

In the distance thunder rumbled over their heads, but in the basin Ganymede had used to rinse the blade, a night-blooming water lily sprouted over the water’s surface. The king stood from his seat and procured rose gold olive leaves from the air to wear in his hair. “Demeter has arrived. I’m counting on you to show her a semblance of logic.”

“A mother’s logic is always reserved for her children,” Athena reminded as she strode alongside her father through their palace in the clouds. “You’re a father, Persephone’s in fact. One would think you’d be more receptive.”

Zeus sighed, “Sometimes, daughter, I think you say things just to watch me squirm.”

“Don’t worry, papa,” she soothed, although Zeus could not tell if the childish endearment was out of love or spite. “If I wanted to see you twitch. I’d give Gany a poke.”

Threads of lightning bounced between the walls of the corridor as their gazes locked again. Athena merely shrugged. “Food for thought.”

They swept into the lounge area, but the furniture and cushions had been removed so the marble floors were clean and visible under the feet of immortals, demigods, and companions alike who all turned to nod or bow their respects to their king. Beside each column were tall iron stands on which dishes of burning oil stood with similar trays of fruit, bread, and oil with vinegar. Poseidon, standing as tall as his brother but with black hair and eyes as sapphire blue as his beloved Mediterranean, was laughing and speaking animatedly to a woman with similar black hair that fell in lazy loops down her back. Her chosen human figure was shorter but curvy and strong, her skin significantly warmer in tone than the paler god of the sea.

“Good evening, Demeter.”

She glanced offhandedly over her shoulder at him. “Ah…I haven’t decided how much courtesy to show you tonight.”

Zeus took the insult with dignity. “Honest as ever. May we at least pretend to enjoy the evening before we argue?”

“Might as well. Our daughter has all the time in the world among the sooty crypts.”

Demeter strolled over to pluck olives and grapes from a dish, leaving the brothers and Athena to exchange looks. Poseidon gripped his brother’s shoulder. “Lovely invitation. Thank you for bringing me in the hopes of distracting her, but you’ll have to try harder, mate. You should have put more effort into thinking instead of thrusting, then none of this would have happened.”

“The fault should lie with Hades for stealing the poor girl,” Zeus corrected. “Our brother has never wanted anything. What possessed him to infuriate Demeter of all people?”

Poseidon laughed loudly, drawing curious looks from the other guests in the room. “You should know better than anyone. Humans take after you so well. They see something or someone that they want, and they won’t hesitate in taking it. Speaking of, where is—”

“Aphrodite,” Zeus cut off. The goddess, who had just entered the room, found him and smiled demurely. Swathed in a sunset pink cloth, she was uncharacteristically covered from head to toe, but none of her appeal was lost. Her irises changed color as she strode forward, her hips swaying elegantly, and her hair faded from blonde to brunette depending on how the light touched it. She lifted onto her toes to kiss both of his cheeks and hummed her approval.

“Hmm, there’s something so refreshing about a freshly shaven man. Who are you trying to impress tonight? It surely isn’t me.”

It was a testament to Aphrodite’s intelligence that she had outright condemned any romantic intrigue with him, but it was a part of her that Zeus highly respected and admired. “I’m on my best behavior for the mother of my child,” he said as he lifted his cup to his lips.

“Careful who hears that,” Aphrodite chided. “Especially when it isn’t regarding your wife.”

“Oh Hera knows,” he scoffed, although his eyes swept through the room for the queen in question. She usually preferred to spend her nights strolling along rivers or through towns, encouraging newlyweds and aged couples alike to their beds.

A gruff sound came from Poseidon as he processed that. “You know brother, sometimes I think you only get away with half of your antics because you were the one who didn’t get swallowed. How careless of our mother to have the useful thought of saving her children when you were the only one left.”

“Obviously our father had the sense to save the best for last,” Zeus sassed after gulping his cup dry of nectar.

“Or avoid the worst until last,” Poseidon countered without missing a beat.

In his peripheral vision, Zeus saw Demeter move from the food dishes to converse with a group of nymphs in the courtyard. He murmured to his brother, “Just keep her from biting my head off, yeah? It doesn’t matter what I say, she can’t be convinced that Hades actually treats Persephone like the queen of his realm.”

Poseidon scratched at his scruff, pondering. “Shall I tempt her into creating a new continent? She never tires of our earthquake duels.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Zeus disregarded as his eyes roamed for a new figure. “Where is my son?”

“Which one?”

Zeus gave him a deadpan look, to which Poseidon shrugged. “You have a few of them.”

The one in question, Dionysus, was speaking with a demeanor that could be categorized as either boisterous or drunken. He seemed to be examining a slice of apple as he exclaimed, “You know, I’ve seen humans put fruit into their wine. My initial reaction was why would you change perfection? But it’s delicious!”

Demeter had heard and smirked. “When did you lose such faith in my crops?”

Dionysus raised his glass to her. “You supply the dirt, but I’m in charge of the grapes. Trust the humans to create such a concoction.”

She pivoted fully to face him, clearly enticed by some sort of challenge. She came to stand with him and his satyrs, discussing crop output, fermentation, and all things food related. Poseidon and Zeus exchanged looks of mild surprise. The former commented, “It seems I am not needed this evening. Who’d have thought Dion would pull through when you needed him.”

A velvety snort drew Zeus’s attention to Athena whereas Poseidon bristled. “Does the great owl have something to say?”

She slid her hair behind her ear as she moved to leave the gathering. “I don’t have the patience for ignorant old men.”

“Nor I for virginal scholars,” Poseidon retorted. “Until next time, brother.”

Poseidon went to the wading pool and sank into the waters, disappearing to his own seas while Zeus made Athena stay a moment longer. “What’s upset you?”

She looked at him as if he was truly oblivious. “You’re so tall you forget to look down. Good night, father.”

A blur of grey flew between them, Athena’s owl initiating her physical change into a much larger twin. He watched the two birds fly out of the open room and dive over the terrace and out of sight. Lifting his cup to his lips, he wondered what she could possibly mean, when he realized…his cup was full. He had drained it and…when had he even reached for his cup?

Turning around, he found Ganymede standing behind him with his urn of nectar, his eyes wandering the room as if in a daze but expertly monitoring the contents of their glasses. Ganymede shivered, feeling the king’s gaze on him and lifted his eyes; they dropped to Zeus’s cup only to see it full, and lifted them again inquiringly before doubling over in a deep bow. “How may I serve, my king?”

Zeus’s gaze absorbed Ganymede standing beside a pillar, as inconspicuous as the lamp and food on either side of him. He had dressed in a matching linen shirt tucked into his waist high trousers, but also a sleeveless robe of sunrise orange embroidered with rose gold thread. It was a gift from Athena once he was tall enough to wear it, but sewn with Zeus’s preferred rose gold instead of her customary silver. The colors made the amber of his hair and eyes stand out, but as Zeus stepped toward him, he desired to see those splashes of green…

“You already have and I didn’t even notice. Did you bring the bowl of fruit to Dionysus?”

Ganymede nodded even though he was already bowed. “Yes, my king. Demeter takes pride in her harvests but these include Dionysus’s grapes. He’s…” Ganymede peeked up but immediately ducked his head, “…loud, my king, but shares her pride in the earth…”

His words halted in a gasp as Zeus’s hand cupped his jaw, ushering him to stand up. He was not satisfied until he saw those silvery-green tones. Zeus’s hand moved to cradle more the side of his face, his thumb stroking over Ganymede’s cheek—

Zeus’s eyes darted to the side, finding Aphrodite and her son Eros watching him. She smiled with mild amusement, her elbow resting on her son’s shoulder and her hand playing with his golden curls. His arm was around her waist and his gaze rested on Ganymede. Eros did not look unlike Ganymede: similar in height and adolescent physique, only his hair and eyes differed in being gold and fully green. But his appearance was hardly worth noting in Zeus’s opinion; the young god was as playful as Hermes but twice as rash.

He did not realize his grip on Ganymede’s chin had tightened until he heard the youth’s heart pounding louder in his chest. Immediately releasing him, Zeus opened his mouth to send him back to their private chambers, but Aphrodite stepped forward.

“They say the mark of a good servant is one you don’t notice exists, but how can one so beautiful go unnoticed? The most beautiful person in the presence of gods... Where has Zeus been keeping you?”

Ganymede held onto his carafe while looking up to the god in question imploringly. Zeus answered by stepping between him and the goddess of beauty. “He’s done nothing to warrant your anger.”

She laughed merrily. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”

“He isn’t afraid to look us in the eye,” Eros observed. Zeus whirled around, realizing Eros had snuck behind him and was scrutinizing Ganymede so closely they could have touched noses. Ganymede startled when Eros shrieked out a laugh. “He has freckles! One there, and there…three, four…”

As he counted the splash of freckles on Ganymede’s cheeks, Zeus gripped his hair and pulled him back. The cupbearer gaped initially at the king and Eros’s indignant squawk, but he scrambled backward at the sight of Aphrodite. It was the only moment he had ever seen her be hideous.

“Release my son, king, or those golden leaves will bend as far as I push them. A decoration does not reap power.”

Ganymede gasped loudly when someone caught him. He looked up into the kind face of Apollo. The arm around Ganymede’s waist was hot to the touch but Apollo gave him a reassuring smile before he said, “No, but springing from the sea doesn’t make you much more than a dolphin, does it?”

Aphrodite’s grin was malicious. “Watch your golden tongue, boy. I’ll wear it like your father’s laurels.”

“An ill omen,” Eros chimed as he mussed his hair back into its glorious mess of curls, “since that side of the family wears laurels for fallen lovers.”

Ganymede immediately regretted being caught by Apollo. His flesh went from warm to searing hot, causing Zeus to yank Ganymede away from getting burned. Nectar spilled across the floor, splashing on their feet and legs.

“And whose fault is that?” Apollo growled, but his voice no longer sounded human. “An innocent girl’s limbs have been frozen to wood because you can’t aim your power—”

“Ah ah!” Eros warned, “None of that. It wasn’t me who turned her into wood, and it wasn’t me who blew the discus into Hyacinthus’ head.”

As quickly as Apollo’s fever had spiked, it broke, but not for the better. Ganymede had a millisecond to see the expression on Apollo’s face before Zeus covered his eyes. He knew why a moment later. The room was alight with a blinding silvery-blue glow, and the source of it stood with her brother, shielding his kneeling form on the floor. Artemis’s white hair was tied back out of the way from her strikingly pale eyes, nearly as white as her hair. Her arms were around her twin but her hunter’s eyes were on Eros.

She said not a word and did not move to touch the large silver bow and quiver of arrows on her back, but Zeus covered Ganymede’s eyes once again to protect him from her light, and when he could see again, the twins were gone.

As quickly as they were gone, Zeus’s hold on Ganymede tightened and the scene left them in a blur to be replaced by their private chambers. The cupbearer lurched forward, doubling over as his stomach turned inside out. The thought to find a bin flashed in his mind but he was not fast enough.

Zeus was, so when Ganymede heaved, a bin caught the sick. “I’m sorry,” the king soothed, rubbing his back. With each stroke Ganymede felt better. “I moved too quickly, but the danger was becoming too great. Your arms are pink; I barely stopped the burns.”

Ganymede shook his head while wiping his mouth. Zeus met him with a cup of water to clear his throat. “Was it my fault?”

Zeus’s chin jerked up where he knelt before him. “No. Nothing is your fault.” He gently pushed the youth’s chest the same time he pulled his knees to buckle. Ganymede landed rather ungracefully on a settee that had crept up behind him.

“Should I not…not look? What did he mean about the leaves in your hair?”

Zeus caught his chin, silently demanding those eyes to meet his. “You have every right to look, Gany. Do not let his words trouble you.”

The god’s tanned hands appeared darker in the candle and lamplight of his chambers as he wiggled the hems of Ganymede’s pant legs further up his shins. The mouse brown hair on his legs was soft and barely noticeable as the king’s hand came to cradle the back of his ankle.

“Apollo looked…” Ganymede continued. “He looked…”

“Heartbroken,” Zeus provided. His chin craned back up to look at him with somber eyes. “He is heartbroken, Gany. Someone he loved very dearly was taken from him. Can you imagine such a feeling?”

Ganymede sat as a statue, his silence answer enough. Zeus smiled without mirth and redirected his attention back to his slender feet. Ganymede did not understand his intention until Zeus lifted his ankles and sucked a drop of nectar from the top of his foot. The air halted in his lungs at the feeling of soft lips on his skin and the slight prickle of new stubble.

“Can you imagine a bruised heart? Bleeding without blood, bones you cannot mend. An agony you cannot see?”

“But you did see it,” Ganymede almost whispered. “Apollo was…”

Zeus kissed over the tops of his feet to his opposite ankle to catch another drop of nectar. “He would rather you forgot him in his weakest state, and so would I. You’ll never feel that pain. You’ll never want for anything.”

Ganymede felt weakness in his ankles, a pliable numbness that spread up his legs like gooey honey, but he looked at the rose gold ornaments in Zeus’s hair. “Is it true?” he asked, reaching forward to touch the metal leaves. “Do you wear them for lovers—?”

His hand shot back, the pads of his fingers bitten but the sharp leaf edges. Zeus set his feet on a muscled thigh in favor of reaching for that hand and kissing the shallow lacerations. “On the contrary,” he murmured between fingers, “Apollo bestows laurel leaves on his champions, humans living life to their fullest, but it is in honor of a nymph taken before her time. Mine are olive leaves.”

“What does that mean?” Ganymede wondered as Zeus suckled a bloody cut. His lips dragged up his finger as his eyelashes lifted onto him.

One of his eyebrows twitched with mirth. “A souvenir of sorts. Athena won the people’s favor with an olive tree; it was quite the victory over Pos. He’s probably scheming a punishment right now for me wearing the leaves and inviting him like a puppet.”

Ganymede giggled. “Isn’t it also dangerous to show who’s your favorite? Demeter might already be angry with you for liking Athena over Persephone.”

His smile faded as he sensed Zeus’s mood change. “My king?”

“You’re right,” he murmured, his voice hushed…pained. For some reason, Ganymede was not sure what they were talking about anymore. Zeus set his feet on the floor and released his hand, now healed. He stood. “Stay here.” And left.

Ganymede glanced around the room, acutely aware of the distances between each piece of furniture, the ebb and flow of the drapes hanging from the arches framing the room and terrace. He looked up to the stars, far away and twinkling in the company of thousands upon thousands of siblings and friends.

Removing the orange robe, he left it on the settee and went to the bath to wash his face and feet. He was already finished washing nectar from one of his pant legs when he realized he was not alone. It took too long to figure out that the distorted colors reflecting in the copper walls was Aphrodite leaning against the entrance.

He splashed water over the floor in his haste to clamber out of the bath. Not risking a slip, he pulled his legs out of the water and bowed so low on his knees that his forehead hit the floor. “My lady—I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”

Truth be told, he thought only Athena was allowed to enter Zeus’s chambers without his permission. Ganymede had never even seen Hera in here.

Aphrodite curtailed, “Don’t fret. I was only observing the force of Zeus’s infatuation.”

Ganymede shook his head, eyes on the floor. “Pardon, my lady, I don’t understand.”

“You’re practically hanging over the edge of the bath, you clumsy swan. You’re braver than this. Stand up.”

He obeyed but did not look up. He could see her toga drag over the floor as she stepped toward him. “I see Zeus has not shown you how to handle that. He is just full of surprises. I wonder how he restrained himself?”

In his curiosity, Ganymede peeked up at her, and she directed his gaze with a simple look at his groin pushing against his trousers. “The humans consider it rude to have an erection in the company of others.”

His jaw went slack, unsure what to do. He gawkily began to rotate out of sight but she tossed her head back. “Don’t bother. If I had a leaf for every time I saw a man rise to an occasion my trees would outnumber Athena’s. It’s not your fault; you haven’t been in the company of prudent humans in years, decades possibly. Time is so easily forgettable up here.”

Ganymede gauged it all right to turn back toward her but he clasped his hands over himself, exceedingly uncomfortable. Aphrodite noticed. “I won’t touch you, sweet boy. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

His brow began to furrow so she supplied, “I’ll say it plainly: I’ve never seen the great Zeus apologize to anyone. Anyone. It is beneath him. Everyone knows he likes you but I and my son felt something keenly different than what we expected.”

She bowed slightly to examine his face in a similar way Eros had done. “Many believe I am the reason he stole you. That the aesthetic of the most beautiful boy would anger the marvelous Aphrodite, but they don’t understand.”

“I’m not!” Ganymede shook his head urgently. “You—You are the goddess of beauty and love. I can’t—I’m not!”

“Exactly,” she hushed, making him shiver as she strolled around him, eyeing him from head to toe. “Humans are too young to know that I and my beauty are a figment of their imagination, an abstract notion they seek with desperate claws to grasp. They spin tales that throw me in shallow waters, thinking that all I care about is a pretty face and a strong cock to give me children. They forget that I swam out of the depths of an ocean to breathe air and broke my ankles learning how to walk. Beauty is earned and beauty is learned…which is why you are such an intriguing thing. My son crafts arrows of deep love or fleeting infatuation with which he takes aim, but tonight was the first time either of us met you, and we can feel…something fathomless and kindling inside of you. If Zeus were to keep you a secret from me, it is because I am the only one apart from Athena who can see inside of him, because love rests in both the mind and the heart. Tell me, do you know what it even means to be a lover?”

As she came to stand in front of him once more, the light played such tricks across her skin that each time he blinked her flesh looked either rich with melanin or as fair as Artemis. He shook his head.

She hummed deep in her throat in acknowledgement. “For everyone it means something a little different, but it is a sharing of the body or the mind, and if you’re lucky, both. It means trusting your fears to another, trusting them to stroke your comforts and harvest your laughter.” She gave another pointed glance toward his groin, causing him to tighten around himself protectively. “It means letting someone touch you where only you have touched and more. It means sharing your body with theirs, writhing with sweat and sensations unlike other mundane feelings. Would you want that? You seem to already relish the touch of warm palms on your skin, of fingers reaching for you.”

Ganymede blinked rapidly, his discomfort multiplying a hundredfold. She was too close and his voice was not working so all he could do was shake his head pleadingly. “Don’t worry, swan,” she purred. “I promised I wouldn’t touch you, but you have a right to know why. Remove your garment.”

“What?” his voice spiked. Zeus had laughed the morning he had woken up with a crackling, deeper voice but it was as if Ganymede had regressed some years.

“Your shirt,” she clarified. “With haste, preferably. I don’t like to linger in baths that are not my own.”

Ganymede obeyed, pulling the fabric over his head. His hair flopped with a series of cowlicks but he held the bundle over his pelvis and waited for her next direction. “Look at the wall, what do you see?”

He looked behind him, seeing parts of himself clearly in the hammered copper surface but nothing out of the ordinary. “I don't understand,” he answered shyly.

“Hmm,” she hummed again. “Because when Zeus stole you he bandaged you in a special swaddle. I think you’ve outgrown it.”

In the reflection, he watched her reach toward him, but her fingers never connected with his skin. He experienced the uncanny feeling of the lightest silk slithering over his back and he saw something opalescent disappear from her hands before he looked at his reflection once more…and…he felt as if his ribcage had turned to stone.

“So you see,” Aphrodite murmured, “the irony between us is that if I were to care about beauty, he marred you so my attentions would not linger. But then again, he’s made it so every mortal and immortal’s eye would land on you if you were to let them see all of you. Did you ever wonder why Zeus covered you even in the presence of naked gods?”

Ganymede did not understand…and yet the truth was staring back at him, was embedded into his flesh. Three thick scars stretched diagonally across his back, starting from his right shoulder and ending beneath the high waist of his pants. The scar tissue was faded but still shiny so the dark pink, jagged claw marks reminded him of the talons of Zeus’s eagle.

“He wouldn’t…” he sucked in air to fill his lungs. “He wouldn’t… He’s never hurt me.”

“You didn’t believe you were born here, did you?” Aphrodite chided gently. “Little children are wriggly things. We can’t blame a bird for the slip…just be glad he caught you.”

Then, of all the things to feel, Ganymede realized with stunning clarity that he was angry. He whirled on the goddess, “Why did you show me this? I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing this! Where was I taken from—Who was I stolen from? I have…my parents! Who are my parents?”

“Do you really care?” she wondered skeptically. “They might be dead. As for why I did it, Zeus already suspects my son to be responsible for Hades’ transgressions. Frankly, I like Demeter. She is full of fire and ought to be the queen in Hera’s place, but her daughter is an impressionable brat. I won’t have my son suffer for her idiocy. For six months she’s convinced she’s in love with Hades and then spends the rest of the year being convinced that ‘mother knows best.’ Consider it a compliment and a warning that you have more of a spine than a goddess. It might save you one day.”

She lazily turned toward the exit and began to stroll out of the room, but Ganymede was caught in the throes of anger and panic. “The king isn’t going to be happy that these scars are visible now! Is this saving Eros?”

“Then I suggest you keep them covered,” she said without looking back. She did spare him a glance before she vanished out of sight. “I said your spine might save you. It can just as easily snap.”