Zeus drummed his fingers impatiently on the golden throne, his divine patience stretched to its absolute limit. Ten hours. Ten interminable hours of listening to Hera drone on about the color of the new roses in the Olympian gardens. He'd zoned out somewhere between her third and fourth shade of pink.

His gaze wandered around the grand throne room, its opulence suddenly seeming like a gilded cage. Poseidon was nodding off, his trident slipping dangerously close to Hades's foot. Hades, as always, looked like he was attending a funeral. Aphrodite, ever the drama queen, was fanning herself dramatically, despite the perfectly temperate climate of Olympus.

Zeus sighed, a sound that rumbled like distant thunder. He tried to focus on the nymph who was currently detailing the nutritional value of ambrosia, but his mind drifted to the vast expanse of sky he ruled.