“Are you thirsty?” she asked politely.
“Where is she?”
“I imagine she is nearly finished with her final task.” She set down her frock, carefully arranging it on the back of her divan, not meeting his eyes.
Cupid narrowed his eyes to slits and spoke with careful deliberation. “Which was…?”
Her eyes held his now, but she lacked the ego and vindictiveness she had possessed when he last saw her.
“What has happened?” he asked, his anxiety rising.
“You agreed to these terms, Cupid. Do not forget. We bound ourselves.”
His voice lowered to a fervent hiss. “What has happened?”
“I am afraid she is no longer the beauty you left behind.”
A slither of apprehension climbed his spine. “You hurt her?”
“I did not touch her!” Venus raised her chin again. “She would not comply with Sadness and Sorrow when they came to ready her. She should not have fought—”
“You let those revolting creatures touch her?” Cupid felt his eyes bulging as he grasped the bars tighter, shaking them. “Where is she?”
“Cupid—”
“Where is she?” he bellowed, causing her eyes to flutter closed.
“I sent her to retrieve a box of beauty ointment from Proserpina.”
The ground seemed to shift under Cupid’s feet, making him unsteady. “Proserpina?” No. NO, he thought. It could not be. “From the home of her mother, Ceres?”
Venus swallowed, her dainty throat rising and falling. “She is currently with Pluto.”
A deadly calm washed over Cupid and he felt something rising within. “You sent her into the underworld, from whence no mortal has ever returned. Is that what you are telling me, Mother?”
“I brought her to the tower, and I trust that the spirit of the structure gave her solid instructions of how to enter and return.”
“Oh, you trust that, do you?” he asked. Still, he felt the storm within himself building, a tremble beginning in his core and spreading outward to his limbs. “And you sent her to retrieve the essence of goddesses, which human eyes cannot look upon without falling into the sleep of the dead?”
Venus stepped closer, jutting out her chin in self-defense. “I gave her orders not to open the box. I told her it was not for human eyes.”
A rumble of laughter rose in Cupid’s sternum. The thing growing inside of him was filling his head now, making him feel light, clearing his mind of all but his own power.
“After all of this,” Venus whispered. “After she proved herself unworthy, you still want her? What about me, son? What about the way she and her people hurt me? I am the one who has ever been by your side. Your advocate in all ways!”
“Until I found love! And then what, Mother? You refused to listen! Psyche was never your enemy!”
“She will die in a blink, Cupid, and then what? I am trying to protect you! Love between mortals and gods is foolhardy at best! It is time for you to let this go. You have lost her. She is not for you.”
“I will love and mourn her every day,” he whispered.
“You are just a boy! I know what is best for you! Soon, all will be right again, and you will see. You will realize my love for you is steady and true, and I would never break your trust—”
“You already have! Do you not see it, Mother?”
Venus clenched her jaw, her eyes filling with moisture. “Choose your words carefully, Cupid. I am eternal, and I am your mother. The choice is clear.”
“I choose my wife!”
A vicious, howling fist of power surged through Cupid. The roar that tore from his throat shook the entire estate, blasting the bars off his prison cell. His power crushed the wards Venus had erected, throwing her off her graceful balance, onto her backside where she scrambled back against the wall, eyes wide.
The god of love was breathing hard, stepping over the threshold, his eyes bold and blazing as he peered down at his mother. She lifted an arm as if in fear. Indeed, his smile was wicked. The day had finally come that his immortal magic exceeded hers. Never again would she be able to keep him from his heart’s desire.
He had nothing more to say to her. Cupid left his mother cowering as he lifted into the air and flew toward the mortal lands and the Tower of Taenarus. A deep part of him knew it was too late. Humans did not enter the underworld and leave again. Oh, his beautiful soul. The thought of what she had seen and been through since leaving his palace ripped at his heart. Why had it taken so long for his power to overwhelm Venus’s hold and break him free? Why had he doubted it was even possible? His love for Psyche had set him free, but it was too late. He would forever lament the events of the past year.
Cupid lost the only soul he had ever loved. He had failed her. She had died alone, suffering in fear, and he was to blame for allowing his ego to agree to that accursed bargain.
Cupid’s mood was grievous when his eyes landed on the tower in the distance. Despite the bright sun shining over the sea, the scene felt dark and foul. Waving an arm as he flew, clouds were pulled from surrounding cities, cramming together over the waters to blot out that blinding sunshine and turn the day gray.
He made it to the edge of the cliff and swooped downward at a sharp angle. There was the ledge and the long line of spirits being led into the underworld. Suddenly, his breath caught, turning to fire in his chest. A small body lay near the entrance. Cupid dived, lowering his feet to land in a crouch by the broken, feminine body.
His keen eyes took in the sight, but his mind denied what he saw.
This human’s soul was dim, nearly dormant, and as gray as the storm clouds he’d gathered, lacking hope and joy. Her hair had been roughly chopped, covered in dirt and dust. Her body was frail, her chest barely rising and falling. Scratches and bruises marred her skin, her nightgown torn and filthy. One of her ankles appeared swollen and purpled, turned at a slightly odd angle.
A shock of varying emotions kicked Cupid between the ribs as he swooped down, kneeling at her side.
Her face was turned down with an arm draped over top of her head. His mother’s box sat open near her fingers, the glow of goddess beauty ointment shedding a light that would cause the sleeping death to any mortal who beheld it. But Psyche would never have opened it. She was too cautious for that. She must have tripped and fallen, the box accidentally opening.
No matter. She was alive, though barely, and he would tend her. He knelt and closed the box, shoving it aside, and reached under her arm to lift her head.
“I am here, beloved. I am—” His voice hitched as he glimpsed her face. Unrecognizable. Her eye was nearly swollen shut, skin discolored by a deep scratch up her cheek. He wanted to kill something. When he got his hands on Sadness and Sorrow, they would wish for death.
He placed his wife’s head in his lap and set to work. First, he healed her face, relaxing a fraction when she began to look like herself again. Then he held her ankle until it mended, and the swelling receded. His hand roamed her skin, stitching up gashes and scrapes that would have stung any warrior. Lastly, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the curse that wrapped around her soul. For him, it was as simple as sponging away a layer of grime from her being, but he concentrated hard, wiping his hands over her face, his fingers rubbing her eyes, clearing away every last vestige of sleep. When he finished, her chest rose in a deep intake of air, and her eyes fluttered open. Most importantly of all, her soul lightened, though it was not nearly as bright as usual.
He could only imagine what feelings she carried within that would cause the dimming of her soul. More than anything, that hurt him. But she was alive. She was gazing up at him in confusion, and he wanted to squeeze her. Instead, he held her head in his hands, rubbing his thumbs across her ashen cheeks.
“I have you, Psyche. You are going to be all right. You did it.”
“Cupid?” Her whispered voice was scratchy. He needed to get her water and food immediately. But to his surprise, as she became aware,
she turned and buried her face in his lap, curling in on herself, covering her head and crying miserably. “Please do not look upon me!”
Sour bile rose within the god at this reaction.
“What is this?” he said. “Why would you ask that of me? I am your husband!”
“Cupid, please!” She pulled her head from his lap and placed her forehead to the rough ground, bowing before him as low as possible. “I am not worthy of you. My regrets are too heavy, my shame too great. I was a vain fool to try and take a drop of your mother’s ointment. I was not in my right mind!”
Now his face twisted as a grave sensation caught him.
“You opened the box?” He grasped her arms, trying to lift her though she struggled against him, hanging her head. “You thought to take some of the goddess beauty for yourself? But why, Psyche?”
“Why do you think?” she cried, frantically meeting his eyes. “Look at me!”
His eyes never left hers. “I am.” Cupid released her arms and took her face in both hands. She closed her eyes as her body shook with wracking heaves, and he whispered, “Open your eyes, Wife.”
Eyes still shut, she cried, “How can you still call me that?”
“Open your eyes.”
She did, but slowly as if afraid.
“Do you still fear me?” he asked.
“N-no. It is not that. How can you not see? I am so far beneath your station. I had to beg in the streets!” The words came out in strangled anguish.
“And was there anger in your heart while you begged?”
She stilled at the question. “No.”
“Did you go into the underworld, Psyche? All the way to the palace of Pluto, and back again, as no mortal human has before you?”
“Y-yes,” she whispered.
Cupid pulled her to him, burying his face in this miraculous mortal’s neck, and she embraced him too. They trembled as they clung together at the edge of the bluff.
As if coming back to her mind, she said, “But you deserve the best. Everything about me is…breakable.”
He reared back, a look of anger causing her to gasp and drop her eyes. Cupid lifted her chin roughly. “Do not look away from me. Hear what I say, Wife, and do not dare to question my words.”
She swallowed, her eyes wide as she gave a tiny nod.
“It is your soul I love. I am a god. If I wished, I could mold your body, cause your hair to grow, change color, cover your skin in a flush of sunshine.” He gripped her harder, putting his face close to hers. “It was never your face that drew me. Not your hair. Or the curve of your hips. It was your soul. And you are not broken. Even after everything! You have no need to doubt.”
Her eyes clouded as hot tears streamed unbidden down her cheeks. “But…I hurt you with my mistrust. I didn’t declare my love when I should have. I…” She gritted her teeth. “I allowed my vanity to cause me to open the box. Even my soul is tainted now.”
He grinned because as she admitted to those wrongdoings, her soul lightened before his eyes. Not as brightly as it had the carefree day at the market but glowing in a way that caused his own heart to swell.
“Still gorgeous,” he whispered. “With each life experience, you will make a choice. You will react. You will decide if you hold on to anger, regret, and hurt, or if you will embrace their counterparts. I think I know which type of person you are.”
The ghost of a smile flitted across her dry lips. She placed a hand over her lower stomach and looked down at the flat expanse, then back up to his face. Joy rocked through him at the reminder of their progeny, such a powerful emotion that the clouds split in the sky and sunbeams flowed over them, causing Psyche to squint and shiver in his arms.
“Will you take me to your mother?” Psyche bent and lifted the box. “I am ready to see this through.”
Cupid smiled and gathered his wife into his arms, holding her close and relishing the feel of her soft cheek against his shoulder, then he took to the skies.
CHOICE
Psyche
Even with my husband at my side, I was terrified walking into the home of Venus. We had first made a stop at Cupid’s palace, where I quickly ate, bathed, and dressed, taking time to pet a very excited Mino as Spinx wound herself over and over through my legs, calling up to me with her meows. Oh, how I’d missed them!
I declined Cupid’s offer to regrow my hair, clinging to that facet of my mortality, and opting for a silk scarf over my head instead.
I had seen in Cupid’s eyes that he did not want to leave just yet. His seductive gaze lingered over me, landing back on my eyes, and a curl of heat burrowed at my core. He really did want me. In his full glory, wings draped regally behind him, it was nearly impossible not to slip right out of the gown I’d just donned and climb into his strong arms.
But I wanted my mind and conscience to be clear first. I had to deal with his mother.
So, here we were.
We walked through a high-ceilinged atrium and through a columned walkway to a sun-drenched opening in the center of her property. A gleaming fountain stood in the middle, mesmerizing me, proving that something stronger than water flowed from its bowels. I tore my eyes away as Venus glided from behind it, her chin tilted up, her arms crossed. She gave no hint of how she felt as her eyes landed on me.
“You made it out.” She looked at Cupid. “See, son. All that commotion for nothing.”
He took a step forward, but I grasped his wrist. “Your box of ointment, goddess.”
Her eyes flitted downward as I moved forward, holding it out. For a moment, she looked as if she might blast me away with her power, but I moved forward with careful, steady steps, stopping close enough for her to accept the box. She took it and eyed me.
“Congratulations, mortal girl.”
In a torrent of bravery, I responded, “Thank you, Mother.”
Her eyes widened and blazed, making Cupid chuckle and move forward to join us. He wrapped a hand over my shoulder.
“Is that all?” Venus asked. “I am very busy.”
“One more thing,” I said, placing a hand on my abdomen. “Is the child all right? After all I’ve been through, I cannot help but worry.”
Venus took two shallow breaths before her eyes lowered to my belly, a quick glance, then back up to my eyes.
“Everything is fine. You carry a resilient soul.” She peered at her son again. “I am not surprised.”
A smile of relief beamed from my face as I thanked her and smiled up into Cupid’s beautiful eyes. My heart ached to look upon him and receive his gaze so richly in return. He gave my shoulder a squeeze.
Both Venus and Cupid lifted their eyes to the sky, foreheads scrunching.
“Who could that be?” his mother whispered.
I strained my senses but could not hear or see a thing. Cupid took my hand and led me back a few steps until we were under the protective awning. He stepped slightly in front of me as a massive carriage of gold and bronze set down from the sky, drawn by two large, immortal war horses with hooves and teeth that could slice. In the chariot was an enormous male in grand, gilded attire, leaving no doubt in my mind he was a god of the highest power. His beard and hair were thick, perfect waves of rich brown. In his hand was a lustrous thunderbolt as large as a staff. He turned an eye to Venus with a nod, then Cupid, and then me.
By instinct, my hand slipped from Cupid’s and I slid to the ground, bowing on my knees, my head down, my heart beating as if I were winded. My body and soul knew without a doubt—this was the god of the sky and thunder—Jupiter himself.
“The rumors are true,” his glorious, rumbling voice said, making me shudder. “Cupid has taken a mortal female?”
“I have, Lord Jupiter,” my husband said with pride that made me melt further into the marble floors. “Her name is Princess Psyche.”
“Ah. Soul.” I felt the king’s eyes boring into me. “Stand, dear Psyche.”
Cupid took my hand and helped me to my feet. I was still weary and weak, though fre
e of pain now. It took all my effort to look at Jupiter. Gods, he glowed. To behold such a supreme being was too much for my senses.
“Though, I wonder,” Jupiter said. “How much of what I heard was truth, and how much was gossip? Enlighten me, Venus.”
The goddess lifted her chin. “I certainly shall.”
She began her side of the tale, and in truth, it was embarrassing to hear her speak of the faithlessness of my parents and people.
When it got to the part about Cupid attempting to strike me with his arrow to make me fall in love with a loathsome pig farmer, but accidentally striking himself instead, I gasped and stared up at him. Was that a blush clawing up his neck to his cheeks?
I recalled that day. The strange yearning to see the piglets. It made me short of breath to think what would have happened if Cupid had struck me.
Jupiter chuckled, grasping the edges of the chariot as mirth overtook him. Apparently, the thought of Cupid acting a fool in love was amusing to both him and Venus, but the thought sickened me. Was that why he loved me? Because of the tincture?
“But long after the effects of the potions wore off,” Venus said, “he still acted strangely, dragging out his task. I knew something was not right.”
“He still loved her.” Jupiter peered between the three of us, then back at Venus. “Fascinating. Go on.”
Cupid squeezed my fingers, and I exhaled. It wasn’t the potion. His mother continued, detailing exactly how Cupid had sent every eligible suitor running from me, and then outlining their bargain. I felt ill by the time she finished. Together, they had toyed with my family, playing with those suitors and my life as if we were inconsequential. To them, we were nothing.
I was nothing.
I pulled my hand away from Cupid to wipe my face, which was dry, and then I crossed my arms. When I did not reach for his hand again, Cupid gave me a tight-browed glance. I kept my eyes on Venus as she spoke.
She’d disguised herself as the old crone and given my family false information about Cupid, hoping I would beg for them to visit, knowing my husband might succumb to my wishes.
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