“Hello?” the prince called out as he made his way slowly down the long hall. He looked up and all around him and sometimes even smiled at the sight of a mosaic chariot race on the floor or the dancing leopards on the walls. He had dressed as if for a wedding, in a fine linen chiton belted with blue leather and a simple gold circlet in his hair.
She bit her wing again, to stop herself from calling out to him. Not yet. Too soon. But almost time...
“The oracle of Apollo sent me here,” he said. “I was told I am to meet my bride. I obey the will of the gods. Is anyone there? I wish to obey the will the gods.”
Goodness, she thought. Goodness gracious he made her quills quiver. He wished to obey the gods. And she was a god, therefore he wanted to obey her.
How nice of him.
The eager goddess plucked a feather from her wing and blew it into the hallway. She peeked around the edge of the tapestry and watched the feather dance in the evening breeze toward Prince Psyche. He stood up straighter, and she delighted in how tall he was and how trim. She delighted in the red sunset shadows in his hair and the way his eyes tracked the feather dancing around his head. And oh, when he laughed as the feather brushed his cheek, she delighted in that, too.
He reached out, trying to grab it from the air but it darted out of his grasp. Her doing, of course.
The feather danced again in front of his face and the love-struck goddess blew a breath and turned the feather into a tiny white hummingbird. He gasped at the magic that had taken place just before his eyes. The bird alighted on his shoulder and nipped at his hair. Lucky bird. Then it took off, and he seemed to understand—oh, clever Prince Psyche—that he should follow it.
The hummingbird darted this way and that, but the young prince followed its lead up the spiraling stairs. Eros flew straight out the nearest window and up to the bedroom she’d prepared for them so lovingly on the highest floor. She arrived there before the prince and hid herself in the shadows. Oh, she prayed he would admire the room she had made for them. The walls were painted with murals of wild forests and silver lakes and pretty nymphs bathing in winding streams, hiding themselves behind the dancing branches of weeping willows. The bed was big as a sailing ship with posts made of oak carved like climbing ivy. On the ceiling, she’d had painted horses running across the sky.
Too much? Probably too much. She did overdo it when in love.
She gasped. There he was.
He stood in the doorway of their bedroom peering in, his eyes wide with wonder, his posture fearful.
And then she knew she must speak.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
He looked right. He looked left. He did not find her. She’d slipped into the mural of the nymphs and hidden behind the one with the widest hips. He’d never see her there.
“Who said that?”
“I did,” his goddess said. “I mean...your bride did. That’s me. Your bride.”
“Where are you, my bride?” he asked. “I would like to meet you.”
“I can’t show myself to you,” the goddess said.
“Are you shy?” he asked.
Shy? Her? The goddess of passionate love? She who had coupled with gods and satyrs and, once, even a cloud—shy?
Nonsense.
“I’m not shy. Not in the least.” She dropped her voice to sound sultry before breaking into a girlish giggle.
“Then why do you hide yourself from me? How can I be your husband if I’m not allowed to see you?” As he spoke he walked around the room, peering into corners, behind columns, even under the bed.
“Do you wish to be my husband?” she asked, chewing again on her wing tip. She really ought to stop that. Nasty habit.
“I wish to obey the gods. If the gods will our marriage, then yes, I wish to be your husband. Though why the gods would want the likes of me for one of their chosen ones, I can’t imagine.”
Handsome and humble? He was perfect. Oh, she had such good taste in husbands.
“What’s so wrong with you that you think the gods strange to favor you?” she asked.
“I’m a minor prince of a minor kingdom,” he said. “And why me when I have older brothers still waiting to find brides?”
“You’re prettier than your brothers,” she said. “I checked.”
“Is my bride so shallow to be swayed by a pleasing countenance?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” he said. “I suppose the gods know what they’re doing.”
“Not really. They’re just winging it.”
Ha! That was a good one. He didn’t laugh. Oh, he didn’t know she had wings. That’s why he didn’t laugh.
“Can you please come out?” he asked. “Please?”
“I can, but you can’t look at me.”
“Why not?” he asked. “If you are...disfigured or something, you should know I am not as shallow as my bride seems to be. If the gods want us together, then we shall be well and content if we honor them and each other.”
She put her hand over her heart and sighed. She loved him. Oh, she loved him. So sweet, this young prince. Why wasn’t he naked yet?
“I’m adorable, I’ll have you know,” she said. “Too adorable. Puppies faint at the sight of me and kittens weep with envy. Aphrodite herself said I’m cute as a button and you know she’s shallow as a puddle in dry season. I’m so attractive that if you saw me, you’d fall madly in love with me at first sight, and I’d much prefer you loved me for my personality before I showed you my face.”
“Can you come out and let me meet your personality, then?” he asked.
“I will,” she said. “But you have to put the sash over your eyes.”
“Sash?”
She untied the white ribbon from the hair of the wide-hipped nymph she stood behind. Then she took the ribbon and dipped it into the dark sky, dyeing the fabric the deep blue of midnight, and festooning it with silver crescent moons and golden stars. With a single breath, she dried the night-wet silk and sent it flying toward the prince. He caught it out of the air.
“This is all very mysterious,” he said, not unkindly, almost enchanted.
“I have my reasons. Put it on.” She waved her hand to hurry him up, though he could not see her gestures.
He wrapped the sash around his head, over his eyes, and neatly tied it in back and so he bound the night about his eyes.
“I’m coming out,” she said. “Don’t be afraid. I’m very nice.”
“I’ll try to be brave,” he said, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.
The little goddess slipped out of the mural and stepped barefoot on the tile floor of their bedchamber.
At the first sound of her foot on the floor, the prince turned toward her, lips slightly parted in trepidation. Her immortal heart nearly stopped in her immortal chest. She had never loved anyone so much in her long, long life.
“You must promise,” she said, “you won’t try to sneak a peek.”
“Sneak a peek?”
“No sneaking, no peeking.”
“I promise I’ll neither sneak nor peek,” he said.
“Good, good, good.”
“I can tell from your voice you’re quite young,” he said. “Are you my age?”
“I’m older than you are,” she said. “A year or two...” Or several thousand.
“Are you of royal blood?”
“Oh, yes. I’m the daughter of a queen.”
“Do you...” He paused, searched for the right words. “What do I call you, my lady?”
“Good question,” she said. She tapped her chin as she walked circles around him. She couldn’t tell him her real name—Eros. That would give away the whole game. But he had to call her something other than “hey you.”
“You may call me...Ophelia,” she said
.
“Philia?” he repeated. “Your name means ‘love.’”
She smiled. She hadn’t thought of that. “Yes, it does. A good sign. But you could call me ‘Lia’ for short.”
“I like that... Lia...”
“That’ll do nicely,” she said. “Would you like to touch me?”
He had better say yes.
“Yes, Lia.”
Good answer.
She took a deep calming breath. Finally, she would get to touch him, this beautiful prince she’d dreamed of for days and days and days. She took his wrists gently in her hands—his skin was so young and smooth and warm, and she could feel his nervous pulse beating rapidly.
She brought his hands to her face.
“You’ll find I have the appropriate number of eyes and noses.”
His fingertip tickled her skin as he traced the lines of her face. He touched her forehead and cheeks, her nose and even her eyelashes. Then he came to her lips and touched them tenderly. He caught a curl of her hair between his fingers and brought it to his nose.
“You are a beauty,” he said. “I can tell how fine and graceful your features are and your hair smells of heaven.”
“I told you so.”
“You’re quite cocksure for a lady.”
“Am I? I’ll try to do better.”
“No, I like it,” he said. “Makes me feel less scared that you’re so confident. Are you a maid? Or a widow?”
She saw a deep blush suffuse his face.
“Is there a third choice?” she asked.
He smiled.
“I...” he began. “I’ve never...”
“Never?”
He shook his head.
“Never,” he said. “Not even a kiss.”
“Not even a kiss?” she asked. Better and better.
“The girls I know, they’re all servants in my home. My father said it was wrong and ignoble for a prince to chase a serving girl. Even when they flirt, he said, it is because they are frightened of losing their place in the household and are willing to do anything to keep it. It wouldn’t be right or fair, my father said, to force myself on a frightened girl even for a kiss. But I’m afraid I come to you with no idea what to do or how to do it.”
She warmed at his words. Her heart danced. Such a considerate and gentle prince. Why weren’t there more considerate and gentle princes? Perhaps they would conceive one tonight. And perhaps in time she would give birth to an entire army of considerate and gentle princes who would conquer the world—but considerately and with great gentleness.
“It’s fine,” she said, pleased beyond words. “I’ll teach you all you need to know.”
“Good,” he said. “Thank you.”
Thank you? He thanked her? Oh, she would love him every day and every way for the rest of eternity.
“Would you like me to teach you now?”
“Yes, my Lia.”
She took him by the hand and led him to the bed.
“Sit,” she said as she gently turned him so that the back of his thighs touched the bed.
He sat and sank his hands into the soft covers.
“It’s nice,” he said.
“I had it made for you. I had everything made for you. There are horses for you in the stables, and a hound waiting to walk with you every day and the foods you love to eat and all the wine you wish to drink.”
“You will spoil me.”
“Every day,” she said as she placed her hands on his face.
She tilted it up and stole a kiss from his lips, a deft theft she repeated a dozen times. At first as they kissed, he did nothing but sit there with his lips parted to let her kiss him. But as the kisses grew deeper and hotter and heavier, he began to pant, and his hands reached up to the hands that held his face. He found her wrists, her arms, and stroked them.
“Your skin’s like silk,” he said. And she wanted to say, I know, but she didn’t. She was learning.
“Thank you, my prince,” she whispered, and stole another kiss or ten.
As the kisses went on and on, he inched closer to her and even closer and dared to press his legs against hers. She ran her hands through his hair and removed his golden circlet, tossing it over the top of the bedpost.
She caressed his neck, his throat, his shoulders, all through his linen shirt.
“The shirt has got to go,” she said as she tugged on the fabric.
“Of course, my lady,” he said, and tried three times to untie the knot at the neck. She batted his hands away.
“Let me.”
“I don’t mean to be so nervous.”
“I like that you’re nervous,” she said. “It’s lovely to me, your modesty. To see a boy covered in maidenly blushes is a joy. More painters should paint virgin grooms, but all they care about are virgin brides, and frankly, I’m a little sick of them.”
“I’m no Hercules,” he said. “I fear I won’t impress you.”
“If I wanted Hercules, I would have married Hercules. I wanted you.”
She lifted his shirt and he raised his arms to let her pull it off. He was thin, of course, but not sickly or weak, only young. His arms, however, were sinewy with new muscle and his chest was beginning to broaden as he neared full manhood.
“You please me very much,” she said. He smiled. “But what is this?”
She touched a mark on his stomach.
“A birthmark,” he said. “They say it looks like a butterfly. That is why I am called Psyche. Does it displease you?”
It didn’t look like a butterfly to her. It looked like the imprint of a kiss made by burning lips. Did it displease her? She answered that question by going down onto her knees in front of him and pressing her own lips to the mark. He inhaled sharply at the touch of her mouth on his skin and she saw his long fingers dig deep into the bed.
“My lady,” he said, his voice pained. Against her will—and better judgment—she pulled away from him and rested back on her knees.
“Yes?”
“I nearly... I was almost undone. Forgive me.”
“You’re allowed to enjoy your bride making love to you,” she said.
“I don’t want make a fool of myself.”
“If you spill your seed from one of my kisses, I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“You will?” he asked, sounding relieved.
“You are young. In time, you’ll learn to control yourself. But you don’t have to do anything tonight but let me touch you and kiss you and please you. And know you cannot displease me as long as you lie there being sweet and lovely all night long.”
He grinned. “I’ll do my best,” he pledged.
“And I will do my worst. Now let’s get you more comfortable,” she said as she untied the straps of his sandals and tossed them aside. His skin bore crisscross marks, and it gave her great pleasure to rub his calves and massage the marks off his skin.
He breathed hard as she caressed him. He enjoyed her touch, that was plain. How wonderful to please her prince. And to think she didn’t have to prick him with one of her arrows to make him like her or desire her. Even now, as she soothed the skin of his strong calves, she felt his heart turning toward her like the face of a morning flower toward the first rays of sun. All she needed was for him to love her, truly love her, and then it would be safe for her to reveal her true self to him. She pressed one long kiss on the top of his thigh and he inhaled again so sharply she thought she’d hurt him.
“Too much?” she asked.
“I...don’t know. Everything’s so new. Your hair tickled me.”
“You liked it?” she asked, letting the tips of her curls brush his knees and thighs again. He laughed. She didn’t want him to laugh. She wanted him to moan and groan and writhe and scream her name.
She pushed her hand under his ch
iton.
He stopped laughing. His entire body tensed as she slid her hand up his long inner thigh until she touched his organ. She didn’t grasp it, not at first. Lightly, carefully, she ran her fingertips over the length of it while her prince went as silent and still as a fawn startled in the woods.
From the corner of her eye she watched his hand on the bed, watched his fingers tighten in the sheets as she lightly stroked him. His cock was stiff and thick and warm to the touch.
She was dying to see what her fingers felt. She shoved his chiton up to his hips.
Out of embarrassment or instinct, her prince tried to tug it back down again.
“Don’t do that,” she said, swatting his hand away. “I’m allowed to hide myself from you. You’re not allowed to hide yourself from me.”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” he said.
“You’re shy. I like shy princes.” She touched him again with her fingertips. Beautiful cock sitting at the apex of two long, muscled thighs. Dark with arousal and so sensitive that he flinched with her every littlest touch. She touched the base of the shaft and stroked a vein that throbbed under the wide tip—and the tip she gave extra attention to, especially the wet slit where his seed was beginning to pool.
“Do you...do you like it?” he asked, his voice nearly breaking in nervousness.
“It’s perfect.”
“Is it? I mean, I wouldn’t know. Never shown it to a girl before and you always wonder if it’s what it’s supposed to be and—”
She put her mouth on him and that brought an end to his nervous chattering.
All he said then was “Uh.” The most beautiful sound ever whispered by a young prince on his wedding night. Uh...
She wrapped her fingers around the shaft and held it still as she lavished attention on the tip with her tongue. He gasped softly, gasped again, and she thought she’d die of joy at each and every one of his tiny inhalations.
And the taste of him...salt and sweet. And the scent of him, like he’d just bathed in the clear cold waters of a high mountain stream. And the feel of him deep in her mouth. And the sight of him fighting against his modesty with every lick and flick of her tongue.
The Rose Page 21