“I thought you oversaw Ouranos,” I say, causing irritation to flash in her gaze. This is clearly a sore spot. Then I remember what Nerissa said back in Aphelion about some higher authority having created the Artefacts. The Empyrium. Who are they, and what is their role?

“Not exactly,” she answers in a way that tells me she’s done with my questions.

Fine, I don’t care unless it might get me out of here. I tuck this into my pocket for now—I’ll revisit the topic when the time is right.

“Where is Lor now?” I ask. “Can you see her? Do you know?”

It’s the wrong thing to say because her fingernails dig into the wood of her chair arms, causing the entire frame to creak under her weight.

“Why are you asking me about that horrible woman?” she snaps. “She killed you!”

“Do not speak of my mate that way,” I say, my voice as cold as an icicle hanging precariously over our heads.

“Why are you defending her?” Zerra asks, incredulous.

She cups her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice and then says in slow, deliberate speech, “She. Killed. You.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to speak ill of her. I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“Are you kidding me?” Zerra says, and now I’m kind of enjoying myself.

“Forget her,” she says. “You are marrying me now.”

“I don’t think I can do that. Surely you know what a mate bond is. You’re the one who blessed us, after all.”

She scoffs at that. “I didn’t do anything.”

That brings me up short again.

“You didn’t? But mate bonds are blessed by Zerra.”

“You think I give two shits about who fucks who on the surface?” she asks. “Mate bonds are the dominion of fate. I just made you all believe that so you’d worship me, hoping I’d bestow them on you.”

“So you’re not the divine, and you don’t control the mate bond. What is it that you do up here?”

I see the moment she realizes she’s revealed too much, her eyes widening before she clenches her teeth.

“This line of questioning is over.”

She pushes up and saunters to where I’m sitting, plopping herself on my lap. It takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to dump her into a heap at my feet. I’ll need to stay on her slightly less crazy side if I want to escape with my head still attached to my neck.

“Please get off me,” I say, trying to keep my tone polite, but she ignores me, leaning in and pressing her breasts to my chest.