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“Who shot, who shot, who shoooooooot!” The bears picked up the question and sang it to the tune of I Shot the Sheriff. Hera would’ve laughed if not for the sickening suspicion that she had just done something that could never be undone.

Unlike Zeus and his penchant for ignoring the Cupids and manipulating Aphrodite, Hera knew the true power of those pesky feathery sticks. She had blessed many a marriage built on those matches. If Nemesis had been shot, had Zeus’s intended been the other target? She shivered, and the thousands of candles illuminating the ballroom flickered out.

Hera inhaled deeply and waved her fingers. The candles did not catch fire. She felt her hands grow cold. Her vision wavered at the corners. Sabine’s hand on her forearm was suddenly joined by Aphrodite’s. Hera took another steadying breath, her vision cleared, and she waved her fingers again. The wicks sprang to life, the ballroom alight once again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nemesis lean down toward the smiling, clearly enamored blonde. Hera trembled. Aphrodite wrapped an arm around her. Athena, perhaps catching some of the undercurrent—the Goddess of Wisdom could sometimes be slow, especially in the company of her very, very pregnant wife—finally chose to speak up.

“And here I was wondering what had gotten into you that night, my darling wife. Sabine, are you sure you hadn’t simply missed?”

“I very much intended to shoot Nemesis. I just couldn’t. Not for lack of trying.” Sabine’s smile was sly.

“So Nemesis was never pierced by a Cupid’s arrow?” Hera felt it necessary to cover all the semantics.

“I did not say that.” Sabine looked around, and her smirk grew warmer.

“She can’t say that, because while she missed—wow, never thought I’d be in the situation to state that about my wife—I didn’t. Nemesis didn’t see my arrow. No disrespect, I’m sure she’d have caught it otherwise.”

Abby Angellini-Goddard glided closer and kissed her wife gently on the lips before nodding to their present company.

Zeus’s color changed to a particularly worrying shade of puce. Hera felt her heart sink. Nemesis had been shot by a Cupid’s arrow. Nemesis, who was currently playing with the ends of blonde tresses for the whole world to see. The woman was looking at her with eyes so smitten, underwear would be dropping any second now.

“Why on Earth would you do that? She is to be my wife! And now she is completely enchanted! Aphrodite, lift this veil from her eyes! She is mine and she cannot simply fall for Revenge! I forbid it! And again, I ask who shot me, because I cannot be feeling what I am feeling!”

“Ah, Zeus, I’m afraid I can’t just undo a Perfect Match⁠—”

“That woman is Nemesis’s Perfect Match?” Hera all but spit out the words.

Abby looked at her, eyes wide and puzzled.

“Which woman?”

Zeus dragged a meaty hand through his curls, and the ceiling above them rang with thunder.

“Nemesis cannot be anyone’s Perfect Match; she is basically a demon! I will smite her off the face of the Earth!”

Aphrodite looked even more puzzled at the gods around her.

“Abigail, I can’t believe you paired a mortal with Nemesis!”

Thunder rolled close, and lightning speared the ceiling. Athena reached a protective hand to cover her wife’s abdomen.

“Charon damn you all, Zeus, would you take this entire thing outside? I’m sure Nemesis will oblige you. There are ladies present, and some of them are pregnant.”

In the corner of the ballroom, Nemesis lifted her head, her fingers still on the woman’s face, and looked back at Hera. Their eyes met, and Hera felt an electric current fill the space between them. Stronger than Zeus’s lightning bolt. Louder than his thunder. She swayed. Nemesis dropped her hand. The woman in front of her pouted. Hera could see her mouth moving, the thin hands reaching up to cup Nemesis’s jaw.

Nemesis lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Hera’s sign. Hera tried to speak, the lump in her throat growing larger, choking her.

Next to her, Zeus gasped. A sound so pathetic, so pitiful, Hera almost felt for him. She looked at him just in time to see a tear slide down his ruddy cheek, his eyes already filling with more.

Well, she had done it.

One sign, and Nemesis would lean down and kiss the woman. And their plan would be accomplished with a flourish.

She’d taken everything from him. One kiss. One kiss was all that was left, and he’d be a devastated, ruined man. And yet, Hera did not feel elation. Hera tasted victory. Hera tasted failure. And Hera tasted her own blood, as she felt her teeth bite through her lip.

The surrounding air was suddenly still. Dead. Nothing moved. Not a soul. Not a deity. There was a single gasp, and Hera was certain it was hers. When the paralysis lifted, in the center of the ballroom, three crones stood stooped, glaring at everyone around.

“The Fates!”