I gave myself a soft belly. Hunched my shoulders a bit. Thinned my hair. Added a few pockmarks to my face and gave myself a hooked nose. I was not actually ugly. I kept my eyes kind. And my mouth pleasing. Because I wanted to draw the poor woman in and what mother did not understand was that outward beauty could only get one so far. It was the inner beauty, the soul, that actually created eternal bonds. I wanted the poor human to like me.
Which was stupid. And silly.
I knew.
Mother cringed. “Gods, if I didn’t know better. You are positively hideous, my boy.”
I clipped a nod at her. Heartsick and disillusioned by my life.
She walked toward me, holding out the potion. “Find the girl. Make her take this. And then I want you to report back to me in a fortnight. I will watch through your eyes, see what you’ve seen. I am proud of you.” She tenderly gripped my chin in her hand. “My son.”
I hated that my heart trembled when she said it, and that for just a moment I really, really did want that from her. But not because of something like this. Not because I was about to be the cause of one woman’s ruination. It was a cruel fate. And if I were a better man, I would not do it.
I squeezed my eyes shut and muttered words I wasn’t sure I really meant. “Thank you, mother. That means a lot to me.”
“Now go. Destroy her happiness, my child.”
Gripping the damned potion tight in my fist, I turned. Snow white wings suddenly exploded from my back and though I was not outwardly as beautiful as I normally was, the gasps of delight ran through the crowd.
I did not look back at them, I did not wish them farewell. I sailed into the sky, racing like a fiery meteor toward the land of men. A lone tear slid down my cheek.
I was dead inside.
And I wasn’t sure I would ever come back to life again. Not after this.
Psyche
My sisters were laughing. They had their skirts hiked up around their knees and they were skipping away from the water’s edge as yet another, much larger wave crashed toward the sandy shore.
The gaggle of men around them were only too happy to play along with my skipping sisters.
The gods had seen fit to bless us all with great and exceptional beauty.
I knew that. And they did too.
But I’d seen a dark side to beauty, long ago, and I’d never forgotten the lesson that my sisters had. Beauty always came with a cost. A price. All my life I’d been waiting for my lien to come due.
While my sisters pranced about, I kept to myself. I dressed in their rags, which were anything but rags to most anyone else. But to my parents, I heaped coals of shame on their heads that I didn’t own a single “new” dress. My parents hated how unwilling I was to flaunt, and I quote, “the body the young gods had seen fit to bless me with.” They hated how little I paraded my beauty, always demanding I wear more provocative clothing, that the more I highlighted my goods the better prospect I would gain so that their coffers might grow even bigger than they already were. That it was high time I found a suitor. Settled down. Made beautiful babies, ensuring wealth for all our future generations.
But even dressing as I did, I’d received more than my fair share of suitors. From wealthy laymen, to princes, and even kings.
I’d said no to all of them. Because it’d been apparent to me, even then, not one of them had cared even the smallest whit for me. If I would try to talk with them about crop rotations, or the riots happening in the southern kingdoms, I’d receive a demoralizing pat on my head and would be told “not to worry my pretty little head about it.” No one, it seemed, wanted to be with me as a peer, they simply wanted me as their prop. And I didn’t give a damn if mother was okay with that lot in life, I simply wasn’t. I wanted more.
Maybe I was cursed to have a brain. Maybe my life would have been far better for me if I’d been more like my sisters, Adelia and Rose.
My sisters were currently trying to ensnare the twin princes of Macedonia. Those poor besotted fools didn’t understand the truth of them though. The princes were blinded by their beauty, but in truth, my sisters had cold hearts. Dead ones. Like succubuses they would suck those men dry and then my capricious sisters would move on to the next fools in line. And there were always more in line.
No, beauty was a curse. I’d seen what it had done to my grandmother. She had been a renowned beauty in her day. Far prettier than I could ever be, or so the stories went, she’d landed the biggest fish for it too. The King of an exotic land full of gold and myrrh. She’d had five daughters. All of them gotten by rape. My mother being one of them. And then one day the King had grown tired of her and had had her beheaded for an imagined crime just so that he could play house with the next poor soul in line.
No, I was quite determined that I would not follow in my grandmother’s footsteps. A woman’s worth should be more to her mate than merely her looks and how many babies she could bear him. I wanted a partner who saw me as an equal. Or none at all.
Unfortunately, my father was quite determined to see me wed. In fact, I was already betrothed and had been since birth to a local merchant of some great mean. He was merely a fall back plan, if father couldn’t find himself something better. My time was rapidly running out, the princes’ visit had been father’s attempt at seeing me wed but I’d trained the eyes of the princes onto my sisters. If I’d wanted them, I was sure I could have had them. But that was a game I simply wasn’t willing to play.
I sighed, feeling empty and disillusioned by life. If I were a man I would never marry.
Suddenly a jaunty, whistling tune caught my ear. I was sitting a couple hundred yards away from my sisters and their toys. So, none of them heard what I did. Frowning, I turned on my seat, a prickly piece of lava rock, and looked behind me. At the dusty trail that led to the city.
There was a man on the trail, walking alone.
He had a sack in his hands. And his feet were sandaled, but coated in red dust, attesting to a long journey made. Judging by the clothes on his back, he was a poor farmer or peddler. There were holes at the hem, and along his collar. But his face was scrubbed and glistened in the waning sunlight. As though he must have bathed in the waters just a few yards away.
His hair was sparse, and his nose crooked. But he was smiling and singing in a robust tenor voice and I found myself smiling.
He looked so happy.
He was a man who had half of what I did, if that, and he seemed to be much more joyful than I’d ever been in my life.
“Psyche,” Adelia—my eldest sister—cried out, “join us!”
I glanced over. The men were looking at me with avarice in their eyes. Making my nerves shoot sky high. I had no desire to be anywhere near them. I shook my head. “No, I am fine right here. Thank you. Go. Play.”
Rose, my middle sister squealed as one of the twins (I did not know which) picked her up and tossed her boldly into the sea. There would be a wedding, possibly two in the not too distant future, I was sure.
Adelia, not to be outdone by Rose, skipped away from the other twin’s grasp. I’d already been forgotten.
I looked back toward where the peddler had been and gasped when I noticed him strewn out on the ground. As though he’d tripped and fallen.
I didn’t think. I merely jumped to my feet and ran toward him.
I reached him what felt like half a second later.
“Sir,” I cried, hastily kneeling so that I might help him up. But he was already on his knees and dusting himself off.
“Gods, how mortifying,” he murmured, still staring down at his dirt stained robes. “I do apologi—” he turned to look at me and suddenly the words died on his tongue. His cheeks blazed scarlet and his breathing inched faster.
I cleared my throat, used to the gawking my sisters and I seemed to elicit in others, but I’d never been fully comfortable with it. Pressing my lips tight, I gave him a strained smile. “Do not be ashamed, sir. I fall all the time.”
And to prove to him that I wasn’t me
rely spouting off nonsense, I turned my arm over, revealing two very large and ugly yellow-purple bruises. I wasn’t sure why I was so accident prone, but I was. Maybe because I was cursed with an impossible curiosity. My head was always in the clouds.
Without warning, he suddenly reached out and traced my bruise with just the tip of his forefinger. “Gods, I thought at first you were merely saying that to spare my own bruised ego. What did you do, milady?”
Heat suffused my cheeks. This male was so… different. He spoke like someone from the past. Long, long in the past. The iron age, at least. And though he’d momentarily been stunned to silence when he’d looked at me, he was respectful. Not saying or doing anything untoward or inappropriate.
Shoving my sleeve down, I said, “I ran into my head cook’s butcher block.” I cringed, recalling how much that bloody thing had hurt and how I’d been laughed at by the staff for my penchant for daydreaming.
I’d been reading a very fine book, I’d completely lost track of my surroundings. Which, sad to say, I often did while reading. Probably why father had demanded I stop reading immediately, unless I was sitting still in his library. I’d snuck that one out and had paid the price. I couldn’t let my father see the bruise, so I’d been wearing long sleeves until it faded. It was the height of summer and a dip in the ocean would have been wonderful today. But my sisters could not be trusted, they would tell father that I’d ruined his most valuable merchandise and I’d be locked away indoors until it healed. I hated the darkness. Hated the dank confines of the castle dungeon.
“You have a head cook,” he said and I frowned. “It must mean you are of some value to someone. Have you no chaperone out here? The world is a dangerous place, milady.”
I cocked my head. He’d actually sounded sincere. Over my wellbeing. A perfect stranger. Someone he did not know.
I studied the man further. He had a soft chin. And a few pockmarks in his stubbled cheeks. A slightly crooked nose at the bridge. Heavy brows, and an angular face. His dark hair was thinning, I was sure I’d even caught a flash of a bald spot on the crown of his head as I’d knelt. But it was his eyes that drew me in most. They were dark blue, almost violet. The eyes of most men along the Mediterranean coast line were almost always brown, with the rare green exception. Blue was nearly unheard of. And it was my favorite color blue too. Like the deepest part of the ocean.
He also had very fine lips. Very fine.
I wet my mouth, feeling suddenly anxious and nervous by this strange man. I’d been around the most beautiful men in my region. I could have my pick of any of them, but none had ever caught my fancy the way this very average male did. And I suspected it had everything to do with the measure of his heart.
I had a good instinct about people. Or at least, mother had always said so. I smiled softly. And it was genuine. He must have sensed that because soon his lips mimicked my own.
“I am not here alone, sir.” And as if to punctuate my words, my sister’s laughter (I wasn’t sure which) floated over to us on a salt tinged breeze.
He flicked a glance over toward the group, then back to me. “They seem to be headed our way,” he said, and then suddenly he was rummaging in a sack beside him. “Your kindness to a poor, humble peddler has not been forgotten, milady.”
I shook my head. “It was nothing, sir. I saw you’d fallen, I wished to make certain you were well.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he pulled out a heart shaped vial from his sack. I exhaled, studying the magnificently crafted perfume bottle. The contents within were a rosy red and rolled like a wave with threads of glittering silver.
“What is that?” I asked, enchanted by the strange little thing. I’d never seen anything so lovely.
“It is a potion, milady.” He was clutching the bottle tightly and I could swear that there was suddenly a small tremor working through his hand. “It is meant to… to,” he looked at me, hard and there was now a tension around his beautiful eyes, “make your deepest heart’s desire come to be.”
The words seemed to come out of him with reluctance. I shook my head. It was obvious to me he did not wish to give me the charm. Its contents must be quite valuable. No doubt this peddler could catch great value for it at market. I shook my head and reaching for his hand, I covered it with my own.
Warmth suffused my palm, making me feel the oddest sensations I’d ever felt in my life.
And he sucked in a sharp little breath, his eyes trained on mine.
“Please, keep it. It must be worth a small fortune and I’ve no need of such generosity. My kindness was given freely to you, sir.”
He shook his head. “What is your deepest desire, milady?” he asked me and the word felt weighted, heavy. I heard a yearning in it too, like my answer actually mattered to him.
I almost said I wished for nothing. I wanted nothing. But that wasn’t the truth. I did want one thing. Most desperately. But dare I trust a stranger with such a confession?
The kindness in his eyes was what convinced me to speak. And also, the knowledge that I knew I would never again see this man. I need never worry that he would tell anyone of my secret yearnings.
His thumb suddenly brushed tenderly across my flesh and I shivered, feeling strangely drawn to this man. Then the words came tumbling out.
“Because of my beauty my parents wish to sell me off to the highest bidder. They say such a union will bring great honor not only to them, but to me as well.”
He shook his head. “And you do not want that? You do not want marriage?”
“I want marriage. But a true one. I want what my parents actually have. They are hopelessly in love. They were the second son and daughter of their own families and the pressure to marry well wasn’t on them. I’d hoped that they would do the same for my sisters and I, but they are as greedy in their desperation to gain social standing as their families ever were. There is a male who courts me now.”
His jaw clenched and his thumb pressed down just a little harder, not painfully so. More like an unconscious desire to keep me safely with him. It was so strange, but I felt a kinship with this stranger that I could not understand.
“Do you want him?” he asked me, words feeling weighted and heavy as they spilled off his tongue.
I shook my head. “He is the most beautiful male that walks this earth.”
His brows gathered in sharply and for just a moment I could swear I’d offended him. Though I had not tried to.
“What is his name?”
“Arganon. He is the selfish firstborn of wealthy merchants that live by the docks. He wants me. He has for a very long time. But I fear he does not love me.”
“But he is beautiful. Is that not enough?” There was a pain in his words that I could not understand, because this male was not beautiful by the standard definition. And yet, I recognized a spark in him I wasn’t sure others would. Perhaps he’d been burned by a lover before, one who’d chosen someone else over him.
I shook my head. “Superficial beauty fades in the mortal realm, peddler. It is the heart that remains. And his is ugly. It is dark. I hear rumors of him. Of what he does to his lovers. I fear for my safety if I’m with him.”
His nostrils flared. “Parents should not be able to dictate the lives of their children. It is not fair. Or right. We are autonomous creatures with minds of our own and those feelings should be respected. I am sorry, milady.”
“My name is Psyche. And you may call me so. You’ve given me a great gift, peddler. To hear another, recognize my plight and be so kind to me, it is more than I’ve gotten in a long time.”
He stared down at our hands, at the vial beneath and there was a sadness on his face that I could not understand.
“Psyche, I can save you from him. If you trust me.” He looked up, and there was something a lot like determination glittering in his oceanic eyes. “I can even guarantee that you will find a love like no other. Blessed by the very gods themselves. All you have to do, is drink.”
Then he tu
rned my palm over, and suddenly it was I that held the vial. My lips parted and I looked at him with questioning eyes.
“Do you not trust me?” he asked quietly.
“I shouldn’t.” I blinked. “You and I are but ships passing in the night. We will never see each other again. I would be a fool to take this. And yet…”
I paused, again studying him. There was a sense in me like I’d known this male forever. Like I’d waited the entirety of my nineteen years for him. It was bizarre and so strange. And I had the sudden yearning that this was the male I’d been betrothed to. That it was him and not the beautiful Arganon who was my future.
His knuckles brushed feather light across my cheek. “I do not deceive you, milady Psyche. Most beautiful female both on earth and the heavens,” he said it quietly, reverently and I sucked in a sharp breath. “My potions do work. But I cannot lie to you either. There is a cost with them.”
I frowned. Looking down at the vial. “Will it kill me to drink this?”
“No.” He was quick to say. “No.” His larger hand encircled my wrist gently. Tenderly. “But it will make mortal men not want you.”
“But you said—”
He nodded. “Yes. And I did not lie. You will find a love like no other. But it will not be from among the realm of man.”
I blinked, thinking of stories of the sons and daughters of the gods. Great monstrosities. The mammoth cyclops, or the bull-headed Minotaur. They were called monsters, but some…some were not so hideous. There were the gallant centaurs and the seductive merpeople who lived deep in the ocean trenches.
“I only have one question, peddler. Will he love me?”
He shook his head, but his beautiful lips turned up in a gorgeous, crooked smile. “With all his heart.”
“And you can see this? You know this with a certainty?”
He nodded. “Absolutely, divine Psyche. His heart will be completely yours.”
“Then…” I snatched my hand back, uncorking the vial. I did not stop to think for another moment. I did not want the life my parents had chosen for me. I did not want Arganon. I wanted peace. I wanted love.
The King of Hearts (The Dark Kings Book 9) Page 4