The Lovestruck Goddess

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I find Ares in his chambers. Rather, I don’t so much find him as I hear him from all the way down the hall. He’s yelling at someone, and his voice echoes too much for me to make out the words at first. I hurry to the archway, but I come to a dead stop when I see the scene inside his room.

Everything’s a wreck. His bed is overturned, the silk curtains I hung on his walls have been ripped down and the array of weapons he usually keeps so organized are scattered across the floor. A particularly sharp ax is even buried in the wall, inches from the exit into the hallway.

And standing in the middle of the whole mess are Ares and Hephaestus.

“She’s mine,” Ares bellows, and he thumps his chest with his fist. His rage is palpable, and he glows a faint red. “Not yours, little brother—mine.”

Hephaestus flinches. “You’ve said that,” he says quietly. “But she is not a possession.”

Says the boy who asked his father to give me to him. I snort, and both heads turn in my direction.

“Aphrodite?” says Hephaestus. He steps toward me, but Ares blocks his way with a wicked-looking sword.

“Stay out of this,” says Ares, giving me a look. That same fire is in his eyes, but this passion isn’t for me. It’s for the fight.

“Why, so you two can have it out and decide who gets to marry me instead of letting me choose for myself?” I move toward them, sidestepping a massive shield. “Do either of you actually care about what I want?”

Hephaestus opens his mouth, undoubtedly to claim he does care, but Ares cuts him off. “Now isn’t the time. I will speak with you once I’m through with Hephaestus.”

Ares glares at me, and for once, I don’t flinch. I’ve had enough fighting for one day. If they want to go to war over me, then so be it. I won’t be sticking around to see it, or to give the winner his prize.

“Fine,” I growl, and I turn on my heel and leave. Storming into my chambers, I start to pack. I don’t have many things to take—a hand mirror decorated with pearls that a nymph gave me before Daddy found me, several of my favorite pillows and a reflection of Daddy and me playing on the beach. Even though others shower me with beautiful things, the only items I really care about are the ones with love attached to them—with sentimental value. No matter how angry I am with Daddy, I can’t leave those things behind.