No mortal has ever dared to treat me like this. I can't get enough.
Thief, liar, and seducer extraordinaire… or at least, I used to be. These days? Bored out of my immortal mind.
Then I meet Kyros, a dying mortal man who has the audacity to try and kill me instead of bowing down in awe. How refreshing. How intriguing. How utterly fascinating.
I'm still figuring out what to do with him, when Zeus shows up, shoves a newborn demigod into my arms, and says, “If Hera finds him, she’ll kill him.”
What am I supposed to do with a baby? What if it pukes on me?
No, Kyros is much better suited for this. All I have to do is convince my prickly mortal to help raise a rapidly-aging demigod who already looks more like a three-year-old than a three-day-old, hide them both from the most vengeful goddess in existence, and somehow not get tied up in all the tedious domesticity.
Why does that last bit feel like the hardest part of all?