As the cupbearer filled her chalice, Aphrodite leaned in, her voice a seductive murmur amidst the divine revelry.

"My husband, Hephaestus, and my lover, Ares, watch us closely. They suspect more than wine in your purpose here."

"When Apollo's lyre strums and the Graces dance, slip away from the gods' banquet. Meet me under the roses, facing the Isles of the Hesperides."

With that, Aphrodite released the cupbearer's wrist and took a sip of ambrosia, her gaze a lingering promise.