♠: Your muse adjusting their jewelry/neck tie/ etc.
It was rare for Olympus to host such a grand event to kingdoms other than their own. Rarer still for both the king and queen of the gods to be present at the same time. The night had been a lavish affair, carefully planned by Hera. A five course meal, extravagant entertainment, refined music and of course - wine.
The night had wore on and the golden queen had found herself on the fringe of the party, grey eyes focused on her husband as he dominated the room. It was like he was the centre of the entire universe and that everyone in the room seems to just gravitate towards him. She watched as he laugh boomed across the room, loud as thunder, his head thrown back.
He could give Narcissus a run for his money, she thought bitterly.
Hera watched as teeth flashed in a smile, one arm casually slung over a petite brunette who looked up at him dotingly, hanging onto his every word. No doubt, he was telling the story of how he ripped apart their father to rescue his siblings. He had told the story many times and each time, Hera found that she liked him less and less.
Her grip on her goblet tightened. She wanted to scream but her breeding told her to keep her composure. Their children were here. Hera willed herself to breathe, but there was little she would do for the seething range and jealousy that welled up inside of her. It was like acid, burning though her in a way that consumed her.
Drinking deeply, Hera turned away from the sight. She could not help but wonder if he even realised she was there. She was about to mutter a curse under her breath when she caught sight of another.
“King Aslan,” She greeted, eyeing the royal. There was always something wild about him, a power barely contained underneath his mortal skin. While their circles crossed, Hera would only permit herself to study him from afar. He had the eyes that spoke his age and they could pierce through the steeliest of facades. She found that being in his presence made her forget the eternity that she had lived, reduced her to a mere trophy wife who rose beyond a station that she was destined for.
She heard Zeus laugh again and something in Hera answered. She moved closer to the King - not hers, but a King nonetheless. Her grey gaze met his, a heady scent of musk and make and something more - something wild and untamable. It made her feel bold, made her feel reckless - or perhaps it was the wine and jealousy. She did not care.
Pale gold fingers found the noose around his neck, the knot resting at the base of his throat. Her gaze bore into his as she tugged - it was a rough, jagged motion, the other hand slipping the knot high until it was tucked neatly under his collar.
A small smile curved her bottom lip, her hands reaching out to smooth down his shirt. “My,” She whispered, one golden brow arching. “Don’t you scrub up well?”
The goddess smirked, a savage curl with the faintest glimmer of white teeth beneath red paint lips. Leaning in close, Hera’s lips brushed against his ear, the whiskers of his beard tickling her chin. “Enjoy the party,”
She withdrew and just like that, the cold, composed queen had returned, all light, all mischievous heat, had died from her eyes. Turning, Hera walked. She would not remember the exchange, perhaps a distant memory among many - but she knew that her husband’s gaze watched her as she moved. Knew that she too could be just as callous, just as indulgent.
A shame. Hera thought as she looked back. She rather liked the smell of the Lion King.
