My sacred marriage to Leander, the God of Order, was built on one simple rule: keep it clean. But at the banquet of the gods, I watched him use his own hands to pick fish bones clean for a low-tier, manipulative nymph.
When she pushed my boundaries and disrespected me in public, he did nothing. He even used her to dull my edges, hoping to turn me, the Supreme Commander of the Spartan army, into a meek and obedient wife.
I gave him three chances. He wasted them all just to test my pride. When he crossed the final line, I threw the Decree of Separation in his face without hesitation.
Without the absolute protection of my Spartan army, he lost his title, his power, and became the laughingstock of Olympus. When he finally realized he had mistaken a true God of War for a clay doll, he gave up everything to crawl to my frozen war camp and beg for my forgiveness.
I looked down at him with zero pity."Late regret is cheaper than the dust on the banks of the River Styx. You have already lost the right to even be remembered by me."
