The Queen's Curse

thirteen | Vulnerable

vulnerable

The King of Olympus was hailed with silence. Their chambers always had a pleasant sense of quietude and warmth. The King contemplated if it was the knowledge of having a sanctuary to go to where the person he holds very dear to his heart resides in as well.

The night was not young and yet, it still felt as if it was filled with terrors and nightmares, despite the peaceful lighting of their chambers and the serene color that fitted perfectly with it. The coldness of the air did not ease his ever-growing nerves. He was well-aware of his wife's presence inside their bedroom. Their encounter in the ball was shortlived when the tension grew between them. He wondered what went wrong but deep within the depths of his immortal spirit, he already knew. The bond they shared allowed them to connect with the emotions of their counterpart. He was always the cause of fights, pain, and miscommunication, in which he wishes to ease and fix. Even still, it was difficult to abide by your wishes as you say them. One always tends to give in to their vices, or rather, in this case, the King's downfall. Despite wishing to change, the war inside him was preventing him from saving his queen from the damage he caused. Their battles may be different but in him, there was deeper turmoil that blinds him when it came to his actions and attraction to other women. As much as he wants to forget, to ease the hurt, and be the man Hera fell in love with, the man who never intended to hurt her, it was difficult to stop. It was an addiction he wanted to take away himself from.

Away from the eyes of everyone else, especially his wife, the Lord of the sky would beat himself for it. Every time he would find ways to solve his destruction, he'd wake in the arms of another. He could never deny the attraction he felt, regardless of his resistance. This was the King's imperfection. All rulers have it. Other deities have minor ones. Their structures and creation were generated in such a way to show that even though they appear omnipotent, they are mere beings who have flaws as well. Their very own Achilles heel.

His pride, insensitivity, superiority-- all of it are part of his façade, a solid veneer of his own. The turmoil inside him consisted of all of his fears, doubts, worries, feelings of loneliness. Chaotic advances that insisted on tearing him apart.

His wife. His poor beloved wife, the love of his immortal life. Communication used to be their normalcy. Expressiveness used to be their bond. Their presence used to be their consolation.

Mere centuries passed by and what used to be faded away.

There may be tears shed and yet, they were wasted upon arguments, disagreements filled with a pang of ignorant words and phrases that embedded and scarred their hearts.

Regardless, he is still in love with her, which is what his Queen has been doubting for centuries now. The nights he spent on couches was an act of giving way and accepting his fault. Providing her with space she needed to heal even if having her away from his reach made his heartache as longed for her warmth. The warmth of the happy wrinkles on her face. The warmth of her minor but affectionate touches. The warmth of the dominant nature of her evident care towards her family.

When he entered through the doors of their bed-chamber, the Queen was sitting on their grand velvet white loveseat settee wearing a golden silk robe, hair resting upon her shoulders unveiled, knees crossed upwards with a book using it as a support. Her attention was solely interrupted as soon as he entered the room, announcing his presence with the change in the atmosphere. His tiny bolts were reacting to his anxiety and nerves and yet, Hera still saw it as a way of showing off his power. However, this time there was no hint of arrogance plastered on his face and it added to the confusion entangling inside her.

Her face was clear of any make-up, removing any evidence of her tears tainting her cheeks with dark mascara. The fresh scent of her newly bathed lingered as Zeus neared his suspecting wife. Her apparent scowl and narrowed eyes-- a signature look she usually bestowed upon him.