As the amber liquid pours from the heavy pitcher into the empty golden chalice, I try to stay back, out of Zeus’s peripheral vision. The last thing I need is him noticing anything about me—although you would think his serving girls don’t usually wear studded bracelets and combat boots. But I guess he’s absorbed in his work, because he ignores me.

The eagle is on his other side.

I lean back around the chair, trying to reach the long tail feathers without spilling ambrosia all over the very important paperwork. That would definitely get great-grandpa’s attention.

I can’t quite reach, so I wait until the chalice is full before stepping back and making the grab.

Right before I can pluck a single feather from the eagle’s tail, Zeus clears his throat.

“Thank you.”

I jerk back. The king of the gods deigning to thank a lowly serving girl? That must be a first. Hopefully he’s not feeling magnanimous enough to make eye contact. I need to stop wasting time and get the Hades out of here.

Without another pause, I clamp my fingers over a feather and yank. The eagle squawks so loud I think it damaged my eardrum. Clutching the feather to my chest, I shrink back, waiting for Zeus to turn around and discover why exactly his bird is freaking out.

But the god king barely notices.

“Feed the creature,” he says absently.

He pulls open a drawer, reaches inside, and then holds up his hand. There, held loose in his grip, is what looks like a dog treat.

I glance nervously at the eagle, who is still scowling at me.

This can’t be happening. It’s not like I have another choice. If I don’t feed the stupid thing, Zeus is going to wonder why his serving girl is disobeying him. Which means he’s going to look up and realize that I’m not his serving girl, and next thing you know it’s a one-way ticket to the dungeons of Olympus.

So, as much as I want to do nothing more than run as fast as I can, I reach out and take the treat.

As I do, my fingertips brush against his hand. My heart thumps in my chest as I realize this is the first time I have touched my great-grandfather since the Incident.

Clearly he doesn’t feel equally affected, because he just drops his hand and goes back to work. Typical.

I hurry around him, shove the treat in the eagle’s beak, and head back toward the door. My spine is stiff and my boot steps soft as I try not to draw any extra attention to my retreat.

I swear, every last god on the mountain must be able to hear my heartbeat.