Lia stood in a room made all of stone, though how she got there she didn’t know. Stone floors. Stone walls. Stone firepit. Tapestries hung on the walls, but they were nothing like hers. The colors were bold and bright, but they were simple color blocks. No patterns. No people or creatures embroidered on them. Why was she dreaming about tapestries?
She knew the answer. She wasn’t dreaming about tapestries.
She wasn’t dreaming at all.
The stone blocks of the floor were warm under her bare feet and she felt the grit of sand between her toes. In the distance, not far at all, she heard the rush and roar of the sea.
Closer, far too close, she heard voices and footsteps approaching, sandals on stone. Had she ever heard that sound before? Wooden soles on rock floors? No. Yet, she recognized it immediately.
Lia walked to a window, which was nothing but a square cut out in the stone wall. There was no glass windowpane. Why was there no glass in the window?
Oh. She knew why.
Glass hadn’t been invented yet.
This should have terrified her, but it didn’t. What did terrify her had nothing to do with the glass.
She was going to die today.
And the footsteps approaching belonged to those who would carry her to her death.
But she would not be carried. Nor would she be dragged. She was the virgin daughter of King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia.
“I am Andromeda...” Lia said, and knew it was true. She was, somehow, that ancient princess. She wasn’t dreaming it. Nor was she hallucinating. A black ant peeked in her window, twitched his antennae left and right before marching onward up the side of the palace.
Was this real?
The sun was near to setting. It hung so low in the sky, if it had been an apple she could have picked it without having to stand on her toes. Or asking her father to pluck it for her as he had done a thousand times. And he would have bowed when he presented it to her, as if it were one of the golden apples of King Atlas. How did she know this? The man in her memory was dark of skin with a beaming smile that he wore only for his daughter. He still called her away from her sewing in the evenings to play draughts with him on the terrace by the sea. Men came to seek her hand in marriage and he welcomed them warmly, saying, “If I beat her at this game, you may have her as a bride. If she wins, however, I’m afraid she’ll have to stay a maid.”
Then he would lose on purpose.
No daughter in the world was more loved than she, Andromeda, by her father, Cepheus.
And perhaps that was what had made her mother say what she said...
They had entertained a desert prince one week ago, a handsome dark-skinned, amber-eyed suitor who’d made the mistake of saying to her mother, Queen Cassiopeia, “Princess Andromeda is the most beautiful lady in all the kingdom.”
Her mother had once worn that title and worn it proudly, too proudly. And surely it had stung to see that crown transferred to her daughter. The wine had flowed too freely that night. The words even more freely.
“Oh, she is,” her mother said. “So beautiful my own husband the king would rather gaze at his daughter across the checkerboard than his own wife in his bedchamber. Her beauty surpasses even Poseidon’s lovely little Nereids. Perhaps Poseidon would like to come and take our Andromeda to his realm for a game of checkers. Then perhaps the king will remember he has a wife.”
The danger when speaking of a god by name is this—the god hears.
Poseidon heard.
The door, solid wood with hinges of iron, opened behind Lia-Andromeda.
The empty room was at once filled with ten of her father’s guards, the king and the queen. The king’s eyes were so red it looked as if, had he blinked, he would bleed from them. Tears had formed furrows on the cheeks of his dark and lovely face. The queen’s eyes were clear, though she shook like a flower in a storm.
“What news?” Lia asked, though it was not her voice that came from her lips or even her language. Ancient words. An ancient tongue. How was she speaking words she didn’t know? How was she understanding them? Was she really here, in ancient Aethiopia? She felt like a marionette on a string and there was even a string on her tongue, making her speak. Who was pulling the strings?
“The offering was made,” her father said. “Ten bulls slaughtered, twenty calves. No matter. Fourteen more houses fell today. Thirty-seven dead, if not more.”
Lia nodded. She had already accepted her fate, but she had held out hope that her courage would appease Poseidon’s wrath. It seemed that, no, her death alone would do. Since the night of her mother’s “boast,” the city had been pummeled with storms, with waves, even earthquakes. The great city of temples and trade and markets and gardens was quickly being reduced to rubble. Nearly three hundred had died already.
And so Andromeda had to die, too.
“We mustn’t wait another day, then,” Lia said. Lia? Andromeda? They had become one and the same, as if Lia had slipped inside Andromeda’s skin or Andromeda’s spirit had inhabited Lia’s body. What strange magic was this? “We should go now, before the sun sets.”
“Darling,” her mother said, and took a step toward her. Lia held up her hand.
“No one touches me,” Lia said. Her father, a great and mighty king, turned away so his soldiers would not see him weeping.
“But, my love...” her mother said.
“I will die a maid,” she said. “And the next hand to touch me will be that of Hades. I hear he seeks a bride. Wish me well, Mother. This is my wedding night.”
Lia swept past her father, past her mother, past the guards who had come to ensure that she would not run or hide from her fate.
That morning she had bathed in spring water and had anointed herself with rich oils. Her maids had prepared her hair as if for a wedding, plaiting anemones into the black waves. Her gown was white and belted with blue. Around her neck she wore a cord and on the cord hung a silver coin to pay Charon, the ferryman who would take her across the River Styx. Hades would receive a fine bride tonight. She prayed she would please him and he her.
As Lia walked down the palace steps to the front doors held wide open by guards, she prayed.
Artemis, grant this virgin your courage. Grant this maiden your protection. Grant your servant a quick death. Grant my people long life. Grant that Hades is a tender lover to his unwilling bride.
A retinue formed behind her as she walked down the palace steps toward the sea. She had seen a hundred bridal parties like this, except always it was the guests who celebrated and danced and the bride who wept. This evening, the eyes of Andromeda were dry and all who followed her to her fate wailed a funeral dirge.
Lia saw a girl, only nine or ten, break free from her mother’s hands and rush toward her.
“Princess!” the little girl called. She was weeping now, and it was clear from the furrows of dirt on her tender cheeks that she had been crying all day. “Don’t do this, my lady. Throw your mother into the sea. You should be our queen, not her. I’ll die if you die.”
Lia smiled down at the dark and comely little girl who knelt at her feet, weeping as if her own life were forfeit tonight.
“Beautiful child,” Lia said. “You must not weep for me. I do not die tonight. I’m getting married.”
“You are?” the girl asked. “But...”
“It was a lie you were told. Your princess will not die. Go home with your mother.” Lia nodded toward the woman running toward them. “Weave a wreath of flowers and offer it to Artemis in honor of my marriage tomorrow. Will you do that for me? Right now? A fine wreath of ivy and anemones and...and...?”
“Roses?”
“Yes, yes, roses, if you can find them.”
“I know where they grow, Princess. Who do you marry?”
“A great hero,” Lia said. “Handsome as the night is dark with a smile like the first bright rays of dawn.”
“Does he love you very much?” the little girl asked.
“Oh, yes,” Lia said. “He loves me...very much.”
The little girl smiled, delighted. Lia blinked the tears from her eyes.
The girl’s mother looked at her with gratitude and sorrow.
“You are a great lady,” she whispered as she bowed her head. “Surely your name will be written in the stars.”
The woman took her daughter by the hand, and it was a sword in Lia’s heart to hear the girl calling out to all who would listen. “It’s a lie! It’s a lie! She’s getting married. The princess won’t die tonight! Do you hear? She’s not going to die! She’s marrying a hero who’s as handsome as the night is dark! And he loves her, too!”
Old men muttered “Madness” and “Poor fool” and “Silly girl” as the child skipped down the lane back to her home.
Forgive your maiden one last lie, Artemis, Lia prayed as she walked on. I could not bear to see the child cry.
As she neared the edge of the sea, the water grew wilder. The sand shifted under her feet, and somewhere she heard what sounded like boulders falling off the cliffs and into the ocean. They were not boulders, however, but houses.
This wrath must end.
The sun was near its setting, so low its belly brushed the top of the water. The sea was red as blood, the blood dark as wine. Lia turned and saw one of the king’s guards holding a length of iron chain.
“Is it heavy, sir?” Lia asked him.
“It is a far lighter burden than you bear, my princess.”
“If it is so light,” Lia said, “then my mother could carry it.”
Her mother stepped forward. Her head was low, her eyes downcast.
“Andromeda...” The queen’s voice clutched at her like a hand. “Please...”
“Take the chain, Mother. You shall bind me,” Lia said.
“But—”
“Do as your daughter tells you,” her father ordered. “And be grateful she will speak to you at all.”
The fury in his voice roused the queen’s dignity. She stepped forward quickly, took the chain from the guard and approached her daughter. They walked to the spot chosen for the sacrifice. Hooks had already been driven deep into the rock face closest to the sea. Lia brought her fingertips to her lips and then knelt to touch the water.
“A kiss, Poseidon,” she said to the sea. “If you want more, I am here waiting for you.”
She rose.
Lia looked back over her shoulder at the faces of the hundreds gathered.
“Please,” she said to the guard who had declared her burden so heavy. “Turn away.”
The guard bowed once to her and obeyed.
“Away!” he cried. “Look away!”
She watched until every last man had turned his back to her.
Lia, as Andromeda, unbelted her dress. She unhooked the pins from her shoulders. The gown whispered to the ground. Naked, she faced her mother.
“I was born naked,” she said. “How fitting I will die naked, as well. By your labor I came into this world. By your labor I will leave it.”
Her mother’s hands did not shake as she bound her daughter to the black rock. And no matter how tightly her mother bound her, Lia demanded she be bound tighter.
“I want to die quickly,” she said. “Not cowering. Tighter.”
Her mother bound her tighter.
“Look well, Mother. Look well at your child. Am I beautiful now, in these chains? Is this the marriage you arranged for me? Your daughter wed to Death? Will you brag that you’re the most beautiful woman in Father’s kingdom when I’m gone? Was that your plan all along?”
Her mother wept and did not speak.
“Why do you weep?” Lia asked.
“You can’t imagine what it is like to be unloved,” the queen said. “To be unwanted by your husband. He would rather play games with you than make love to me.”
“Now you can have Father all to yourself. Be careful, Mother. He cheats at draughts. He plays to lose so he has an excuse to say, ‘Let’s play again. Surely I’ll win this time.’”
“Forgive me,” she said. “I have been a fool...”
“You have. All my life I have known this one thing...that my mother, in my eyes, was the most beautiful woman in all the world.”
A sob caught in her mother’s throat. Her knees buckled, and she went down to the sand.
“Leave me,” Lia said. “It is time to meet my husband, and a bride and her groom should be left alone.”
Her mother stretched her long and lovely arm to touch the toes of Lia’s feet. But a soldier came forward then and gently pulled the queen away.
“Andromeda...” she called out.
“I forgive you, Mother. Now leave me to my fate.”
Alone and chained to the rock, Lia waited.
And before her, the dark water began to boil.
Lia wanted free from this madness, but she was as bound to it as Andromeda to the rock. The iron chafed her wrists. Tears streaked down her face, and she would have given anything for her father to come and wipe them away. But he was far behind her. The last she’d seen of him, four guards held him back from flinging himself into the sea in his grief.
A dark form appeared under the water’s surface.
Long and dark, serpentine but not a snake, for surely no snake was as wide as her father’s throne room, nor as long as the path from the sea to the palace. She had thought Poseidon would send a wave to drown her or a stone to crush her.
But no, he sent Cetus...to devour her.
Artemis, let it be merciful, she prayed. Warn Hades his bride comes soon. Tell him to prepare our bedchamber. I pray his dark kingdom is kinder to me than this one has been.
A thing with gray skin surfaced, breached and sunk down again.
Almost time.
Lia looked up at the sky in the hopes of seeing a star before she died, for there were no stars in Hades’s underworld. And she did see a star, the evening star, glowing like a white dove. The star most certainly had feathers.
But, no, it wasn’t a star falling from the sky. What was this? A horse with wings? A winged horse and a man astride it?
In the blink of an eye, the horse dropped its hooves hard into the sand and raised its proud head.
“I have gone mad,” Lia, who was Andromeda, said to herself. “Terror has driven me to see things that cannot be.”
A man in a white tunic stood next to the horse, holding it by the bridle. He gazed at her in wide wonder.
“What is your name, maiden?” he asked. “And why are you thus chained? A lady of your great beauty should be bound in sweeter chains, those of lovers, not of criminals.”
“I am no criminal, my lord.” Her voice shook, and she could not look at the man for her humiliation. Why didn’t he turn his head like the other men?
“Who are you? Tell me? I may have service to render to you. Or are you here out of some secret shame?” he asked.
“There is shame, but it is not mine,” she said.
“Who are you? Tell me all. Tell me now.”
“I am Andromeda and my mother is the queen Cassiopeia, who foolishly boasted and brought the wrath of Poseidon upon us. The priests of the temple say I must die to appease him. So you must leave me now to my fate or my kingdom will suffer evermore. Three hundred have died already and all because of idle words. Go now, my lord. It is too late for me, but not for you. Cetus comes and there is none who can stop him.”
“Andromeda...” the man said. “Look at me.”
Lia couldn’t do it.
“You have courage enough to face Cetus but not to look at me?” he asked.
How could he tease her at a time like this? But his words had pricked her pride. She turned her head and, for the first time, saw him truly.
August... She knew it was him the moment she met his eyes. Yet it wasn’t him. He was too young. He looked no more than twenty-five, if that. Thinner; his hair longer and lighter in color, almost bronze. But those were August’s eyes, shining like silver. The hand that touched her face was August’s hand. The voice that spoke to her was August’s voice.
Even if he didn’t know himself, she knew him.
“I am Perseus,” he said. “And there is no time for tears now, my lady. I am a son of Zeus by a mortal mother. I have slain the Gorgon and I will slay your Cetus. Surely that will make me an acceptable suitor.”
“Death alone is my suitor. This is my last night on earth. Leave me to the evening stars. I will never see a morning star again.”
He smiled, and on any other man she would have called it too proud. But he wore it well.
“Dry your tears, my lady. You may live to see the morning star, after all. And I hope from my bed.”
She would have laughed at him but for the earnest tone of his voice.
“Save me,” she said, “and I will marry you tonight. My father would far prefer to pay a bride’s dowry than hold a funeral banquet.”
“Stay brave, Andromeda,” he said. “I will come to you again.”
She meant to speak and wish him well, to thank him for trying even if he failed. But that was when the monster rose from the deep.
Lia screamed.
The beast was enormous, rising and writhing from the water. It had flesh like a week-old corpse, bloated and gray, a thousand teeth in a head large as a house, and huge eyes, big as a soldier’s shield. When it screamed, birds fell from the sky, felled by its foul and poisoned breath.
She would have fallen to her knees if the chains had not held her. But Perseus did not pause once, even to take in the enormity of his task. He mounted his strange horse and, with a cry and a kick and a beating of wings, they rose into the air.
The beast, Cetus, snapped at the horse as it flew around its head. And despite her terror, Lia couldn’t look away.
Artemis, guardian of virgins, protect this man who dares to guard me from certain death. If he has his way, I will live and, by dawn, no longer be under your protection. But as I am a maid still, I am your maid, and I beg of you, protect this man.
Did Artemis hear her prayer or did Perseus defeat the beast all on his own? Or was it Zeus who intervened to save his half-mortal son? She could not say. All she recalled ever after was that one moment Cetus’s head and body danced side to side, snapping at the horse and its rider like a scorpion. And then it simply...stopped.
It went still as a statue. And nothing had scared her more than that moment when everything, even the endless rushing sea, went completely and utterly silent.
Then the beast began to crumble.
A fin fell from its back. A tooth broke out of its head. Piece by piece it came apart, like a stone watchtower in an earthquake. Perseus, she saw, held something in his hand. A horrible thing, so hideous that to look on it would turn anyone to stone.
Lia closed her eyes, closed them tight, and waited.
She did not open them when she heard the beast’s shattering cry. She did not open them when she heard a thousand voices rising in a cheer. She did not open them when she heard hoofbeats on the sand.
She heard the voice of Perseus whispering into her ear.
“Andromeda, the gods have spared you. Open your eyes.”
She obeyed. How could she not?
“I am saved?” she wondered. Perseus stood before her, hands on either side of her body. Sweat and seawater drenched his hair, and there was blood on his tunic. His skin was flushed and his eyes wild with victory. She had never seen a more beautiful man.
“Yes, my lady. You are saved. I saved you for myself. Am I yours?”
She smiled. “As I am yours, my lord.”
He brought his sword, gleaming and gold, and with it he broke her chains.
Next, he pulled off his tunic and helped her into it. She stepped forward off the rocks and nearly stumbled in her relief and her shock. She clung to his bare chest, his arms, and felt the flesh of him under her cheek. The mad pounding of his heart betrayed that he, too, had fought in mortal fear.
“You are safe now, my lady. Now let us go rejoicing into the city. You will be my bride by morning.”
“I can’t... I can’t stand.” Though she believed him when he said she was safe, her body would not obey her commands to move, to walk, to accept she was free.
“Then you shall ride.”
He lifted her like she weighed nothing and set her on the back of his winged horse. She took hold of the bridle and Perseus led her and his beast from the edge of the water up the path to where the guards waited and stared, and the citizens of the city waited and stared, and her father waited and stared, and her mother stared and wept.
“Andromeda...” her father breathed as he came forward and touched her bare foot with his hand.
“I live, Father. I live. And you have this man, Perseus, to thank.”
He looked at Perseus, shining like copper in the light of the guards’ torches.
“How can I repay you for my daughter’s life?” her father asked, eyes wide and beseeching. She had never seen the mighty man so humbled.
“With her heart,” Perseus said. “I will wed her tonight.”
“She was...before all this... She was to be wed to her uncle, my brother Phineas.”
“Where is he, then?” Perseus demanded. “Was he the man who slayed the serpent of Poseidon and saved your daughter? Or was it another man, perhaps?”
Her father nodded. His word was law.
“You shall have her,” the king said.
“Yes, he shall,” Lia confirmed. “But not at your word. At mine.”
“I wish you luck with her,” her mother said. “With a tongue as sharp as hers, you will need your shield as much as your sword.”
“The most beautiful maiden in this kingdom and the next wishes to have me as her husband,” Perseus retorted. “What man can ask for more luck than that?”
Chastened, her mother dropped her gaze to the ground.
At the top of the path, where sand met stone and the palace loomed, Perseus took a torch and stood upon a high step. To the waiting assembly, he called out in a voice deep as thunder, strong as lightning.
“I am Perseus, son of Zeus by a mortal mother, and tonight I have slain the serpent to save your princess and your kingdom. Tonight, I wed Andromeda. Tomorrow...ah, tomorrow you will not see us. And perhaps not the day after, either. The gods saw her beauty and her courage and chose to reward it. Your kingdom is saved and, far more than that, your princess is saved! Rejoice!”
A cheer rose up, so loud it shook the rafters of the firmament. The stars shivered. Lia shivered. Perseus took his winged horse by the lead rope once more and guided her into the palace grounds. Behind them people streamed in the gates, singing and dancing and wailing in joy. Every torch was lit. Every voice cried out to bring food and wine, to light offerings at the temple, to rouse all the children from their beds.
Perseus led her and his steed all the way up the high stone steps and through the open palace doors.
“You!” he called out to one of Andromeda’s maids who had hidden herself in the palace to mourn her lady in private. She came forward, joy in her face.
“My lady,” she said, and it was all she could say.
“Yes, your lady is saved,” Perseus said. “And I saved her. And she is my bride. Go prepare a chamber for us. And then make yourself scarce. I will see no face but hers until morning.”
Into the great glittering throne room, the people poured cheering, amazed by the sight of a horse with wings, at the man who dared name himself a son of Zeus, at the sight of their princess, still living and breathing, and at the madness that, though they had planned a funeral, they were attending a wedding instead.
Her father uttered a few simple words that acted as a magic incantation. One moment, she was a daughter. The next moment, she’d become a wife.
It all happened so quickly that Lia didn’t realize it was over until she was being led upstairs to the chamber Perseus had ordered prepared for them. Up the wide stone stairway, servants with torches ahead and behind her. Outside the palace, in the streets and the hills, fires bloomed like anemones in spring as word spread that the princess had been saved, the kingdom had been saved.
But if she had been saved, why did her heart beat so hard? Hard as it had when she’d been chained to that rock? Was this fear she felt? Fear of her new husband? Or something else that felt like fear and made her heart beat wild as fear...but far sweeter?
The chamber the servants brought her to, she had seen before but never slept in. A chamber for honored guests with a bed large enough for three, swathed in white netting and heaped high with red pillows fringed with gold. The lamps had been lit and the room glowed warm and bright. She looked at the window, the wall, the tapestries, the bed and floor, even her own hands and feet, and thought, I should not be here.
Her maid brought her water, washed and perfumed her face and hands and feet and helped her into a simple gown of white.
The maid had just finished taking down her hair when the door opened and a male voice said simply, “Out.”
She glanced once into Lia’s eyes before bobbing a quick bow and departing without a word.
Alone with Perseus, Lia caught herself blushing. Surely any moment now this...what? Dream? Memory? Hallucination? Surely it would end.
Perseus stood before her, resplendent in his red wedding cloak, gazing at her with August’s eyes.
“How are you, my lady?”
“Alive,” she said, then smiled.
Then she cried.
She hadn’t meant to weep. Surely, she’d spent all her tears on that rock. And this was her wedding night. She’d been saved by a son of Zeus. He would be furious at her tears, expecting gratitude at the very least, worship more likely.
“Poor lady,” he said, and took her face in his hands. “Why do you weep?”
“I’m still afraid.”
“Of me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Forgive me.”
He smiled at her, and she knew she’d never seen a more handsome man.
“Nothing to fear. And nothing to forgive.”
“You are gracious,” she said, swallowing tears.
“Here.” Perseus lifted a corner of his cloak to her face and used it to dry her cheeks. Her father had done the same a thousand times as a child. Then Perseus wrapped the cloak over her nose and said, “Now blow.”
Lia burst into startled laughter.
“Ah, that’s better!” He smiled like the sun she’d thought she’d never see again.
“My husband is...strange.”
“Forgive a little foolishness,” he said. “I would face Cetus again to make you laugh.”
“No need,” she said, and laughed. “See? All you must do is ask.”
“Is that so?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, not so broad as August’s but in ten years it would be. He furrowed his brow and gazed down at her, his face so serious she could hardly stop herself from laughing again.
“It is, my lord.”
“I say laugh and you laugh?”
She laughed.
“I say smile and you smile?”
She smiled.
“I say swoon and you—”
She fell into his arms in a faint. He wasn’t expecting it and almost didn’t catch her in time. But he did and he held her, laughing so loudly they must have heard him in the streets.
“What will they think of us? These are not the sorts of sounds that should be echoing from a bridal chamber. They’ll think we’ve both gone mad.”
“We have,” she said. “Haven’t we? I think I have.”
She put her hand to her forehead and sobbed through a smile.
Perseus held her close and caressed her hair.
“Cry if you have need of it. I will wait.”
“You deserve reward for your heroics,” she said. “Not a bride who can’t stop weeping.”
“I am a stranger to you.”
“What husband isn’t to his wife on their wedding night?”
“Oh, I can name a few,” he said. “But not us. Though I would not like to stay a stranger to you. Perhaps we could be...friends?”
“You saved my life. And the kingdom. I will withhold nothing from you. Certainly not my friendship.”
He lifted her hair off the back of her neck, stroked her cheek with careful fingers, careful not to hurt her, careful not to startle his skittish bride.
“Shall we be close friends?” he asked. “The best of friends? Intimate friends?”
“No foe has ever risked his life to save me as you did.”
“Then we’ll be friends,” he said. “As only soldiers who fought side by side in the same battle can be friends. Friends who would die for each other. Friends who would ask anything of each other.”
“Ask anything of me,” she said.
“Would you lie with me? Now?”
She nodded, no hesitation, though the fear was in her heart again.
The bed was high on its marble pedestals and he had to lift her to put her on it. She sat on the edge and watched as Perseus, her husband and her friend, took off his clothes. It was done quickly and simply. She turned away, blushing.
“No.” He took her chin in hand. “We are friends, remember? We have battled together and defeated the Cetus. We cannot be shy with each other.”
“Ah,” she said. “But it was only my first battle.”
“Not mine,” he said. “So I will teach you how to fight. As friends do?”
She looked at his face. That she could do without blushing.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
She held out her hand and he caught it and kissed it.
“Is this how soldiers behave in battle?” she asked.
“Oh, but you would be surprised.”
“I have heard stories,” she said. “You hear things from servants when they think you aren’t listening.”
She stared steadily at his shoulder. Her fingers were in his hands, his thumbs rubbing her palms.
“Do you know what happens between us tonight?” he asked. “Have you seen it happen?”
“I...” She laughed, nervous. “Horses in Father’s stable. The groom couldn’t cover my eyes in time.”
He dropped his head back and roared a laugh. Gods, what those listening out in the hall must think...
“If horses are what you’ve seen, then you’ll either be relieved tonight or very disappointed.” He glanced down, and she did, too.
She shook her head.
“Well? What is it? Relieved or disappointed?”
“Relieved you aren’t a horse from the waist down? Yes,” she said. “I’d rather we not have centaurs for children.”
“Not disappointed, then,” he said. “Good. Very good.” He kissed her hand again, met her gaze. “Perhaps...pleased?”
As she looked into his eyes and he into hers, he lowered their joined hands and wrapped her fingers around him. She tensed in surprise, blushed deeper. He was hard in her hand, hard and soft at the same time. The flesh was soft, smooth, like a woman’s skin, but stiff, a core like iron.
“There,” he said. “Like that.” With his hand around her wrist he guided her fingers where he would have them go. Around the center of the shaft, holding firmly. Then he let go of her wrist, but she did not release him.
“What do I—”
“Just touch,” he said softly. “That’s all.”
With both hands she lightly, ever so lightly, stroked his organ. It was upturned, which she’d heard tell of—one of the girls had joked that the statues in the courtyard were never happy to see her. Upturned and moving, shifting in her hand like it had a will of its own. She pushed against it and it pushed back. Perseus made a sound in his throat, a pained sound, and she looked at him, questioning, but he replied, “Don’t stop.”
He seemed to like it when she gripped it, so she did again, and he inhaled once and sharply before laughing at himself. As she stroked him he touched her hair, her cheek, with his fingertips. His gaze was intent and almost tender.
“I will put it inside you,” he said. “You understand that?”
“I...think so?”
“From where you bleed,” he said. “Do you bleed?”
She nodded. How strange it was to talk of these things with a man. For her whole life it had been forbidden and now, with the speaking of a few words, it was no longer forbidden but, it seemed, required.
“For some time now. Father’s turned away all the suitors. His brother made the best claim on me.”
“Until I made a better claim.”
She smiled, kept stroking. The flesh was darkening. He had thick hair around the bottom and a line of it to his strong navel. She touched it, the hair, with the back of her hand and found it soft and warm.
“It may hurt,” he said. “When I go inside you.”
“Will it?”
“You’ve heard it will. Surely.”
“I have heard. But those are women who...”
“Who what?” he asked. He tugged her earlobe to make her smile.
“Who didn’t want their husbands,” she said.
“And you do?”
She dropped her gaze to the floor, embarrassed.
“Speak true,” he said. “Do you?”
“I think I do.”
“The place between your legs, does it ever ache?” he asked.
“Ache?”
“To be touched? Do you touch it yourself?”
“My lord?”
He grinned. “Do you ache now?”
“I...”
“I want you to ache,” he said. “And the gods do say women feel more pleasure in the act than men. When there is pleasure, that is, women have the better time of it.”
“Do we?”
“You will see. I will make certain you see.”
She squeezed him tighter in her fingers and pulled a little. A small tug, but it did something to him. A few drops of wetness emerged from the slit at the end. Her lips parted in a silent gasp.
“Seed,” he said. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, his other hand on her shoulder. His hips moved forward, and his face changed. Eyes fluttered and closed, eyes fluttered and opened again. Lips parted. Quick breaths followed by another smile, a smile to make her drip onto the bed.
“Seed...” she said, and touched the wetness.
“Taste it.”
Her gaze flashed upward.
“It’s all right. Taste it. It is done, I promise. Wives taste their husbands. Husbands taste their brides. You should know me, the feel and taste of me, as I will know you.”
She raised her fingertips to her lips.
“Salt,” she said when it touched her tongue.
“Ah, it pleases me to the ends of the earth to see you taste me.”
“What else would please you, my lord?”
“To kiss you,” he said. “To enter you. To fill you.”
“I am yours,” she said. “I cannot refuse anything you ask of me.”
He lowered his head to kiss her lips. She gasped and laughed when he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. Her fingers flew to her mouth in shock.
“You bit me,” she said. Luckily her lip wasn’t bleeding, but the surprise had certainly made her squeal.
“I’m trying to confuse everyone listening outside,” he said. “I’m so tempted to make bird noises.”
Lia laughed so hard she fell back in bed. Perseus laughed, too, even as he jumped onto the bed and pulled her into his arms.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“What? Make bird noises?”
“I’m a son of Zeus,” he said. “They’ll probably think I’ve turned myself into a bird and am ravishing you midair. Or I’ve turned you into a bird. Or we’re both birds. Ah...the stories they’ll tell about us for ages and ages hence. We’ll be legends. Could you hoot like an owl, please?”
“I am not making bird noises,” she said, still laughing. Why did no one ever tell her she would laugh with her husband on her wedding night? All she’d ever heard, all her life, was warnings about how awful and frightening and painful it was. She would get married every night if she could.
“You know you want to,” he said. “Serves them right for listening to a couple on their wedding night.”
“Are you sure they are?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t they? Here. Let me prove it.”
“Prove it?”
“Moan,” he said. “Moan like you do when the servants rub oil into your feet.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Go on,” he urged. “Trust me.”
“I have married an unusual man,” she said. But she did as she was told. She lay back on the bed and began to murmur and moan softly as if she were receiving the most decadent delicious foot massage ever given.
Perseus slid off the bed and tiptoed over to the door. He waved his hand at her, indicating she ought to keep moaning. She did. She moaned as she watched him walk silently to the door. He raised a fist and then...
Bam! Bam! Bam! He hit the door so hard she thought it would splinter.
Lia heard screams. Men and women both screaming in shock and right outside the door.
“That’s what you get for eavesdropping,” Perseus called out. “Go away!”
Lia had tears running down her face she was laughing so hard. And then Perseus made it even worse by running to the bed, naked, and leaping on it like she used to do as a girl.
“That was very good,” she said. “You almost flew over the bed.”
“The running bed mount should be an event in the next Olympic games,” he said.
“You are sure to win the laurel crown.”
“Ah, who needs a crown on his head with a prize like this in his bed?”
He touched her face, turned her to kiss him, and she did kiss him then. A kiss of teeth and tongue and deepest gratitude for saving her and the kingdom. And desire, too. She did want him, though she scarcely understood what that meant.
“Are they gone?” she asked.
“I’m sure they are. And if they aren’t, fine, we’ll simply be very quiet.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Won’t we?”
“Yes, my lord,” she mouthed.
He grinned, pleased with her. And it pleased her to please him.
“I want to do something to you,” he said. He still whispered, and she knew they would whisper all night like this. She felt like a little girl again, hiding with her girl cousins under the covers and telling secrets and ghost tales all night.
“Do anything to me,” she said.
“Put your hands over your head.”
She obeyed.
“Now I’m going to tie your wrists to the bed.”
“But why?” she asked, in full voice. He put a finger over her lips.
“Don’t you see? It’s to spite Poseidon, who ordered you chained to that rock to be ravished by his Cetus.”
“Is it safe to spite him?”
“I’m a son of Zeus,” he said. “He’d never dare try anything against me. My father wouldn’t allow it. Poseidon must know he has no power over you anymore. No one else does but I.”
From no other man would she believe such boasting. But she had seen herself today the miracle of his winged horse, the wonder of his defeat of the Cetus.
“As you say,” she said softly.
He untied the cord from around her hips and it was the work of mere seconds before he had her wrists bound to the bar of the bed.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, “if you promise to tell no one.”
“I’ll tell no one.”
“No one has power over you but I,” he repeated. “And no one has power over me but my father.” He kissed her. “And you.”
“I? Power over you? How so?”
“You wish to find out?”
“More than anything. Tell me my powers.”
“You have the power to render me speechless,” he said.
“Do I?”
Perseus smiled tenderly down at her. Then he pulled her gown down to her waist and looked longingly at her naked breasts.
He said nothing.
“Ah,” she said. “I do have power over you.”
He still said nothing. He met her eyes and kept her gaze as he lowered his head to kiss the tip of her breast. She inhaled as his tongue touched the nipple, froze in something like fear when he drew it into his mouth. He sucked her gently at first and then harder. He made a sound, a quiet moan, and she felt the power over him again. She tried to hold him and remembered her tied wrists and his power over her. He was tongue-tied. She was hand-tied. They were equal, then. What a wonder.
He moved on top of her and drew her gown all the way off her body. She lay naked under him. This was a thing that she knew happened to brides, that their husbands would undress them. And she’d feared it all her life. But Perseus had already seen her naked on the rock today. She feared nothing anymore. And certainly not him.
Never him.
Perseus touched her between her legs and his fingers quickly found the place, the little hole where she bled from. He rubbed it with his fingertips, and she was surprised to find she wanted that. His mouth moved over her breasts again and again while his fingers plied the hole until it had opened up for him. He pressed his knees wide, forcing her thighs to part and the hole opened up even more for him. He took himself in hand and pressed his manhood into the furrow of her flesh.
He didn’t enter her, though she’d braced herself for it. Instead he rubbed her with his organ, rubbed along that seam. It seemed he was working himself into some sort of frenzy. His hips moved quickly against her and though he still didn’t enter her, she felt as if this was the moment she’d been waiting for and warned about. With his hands on either side of her and his head resting between her breasts, he pushed against her. She hadn’t known it would feel like this—good. More than good. She didn’t want it to end, though it seemed to be reaching a sort of finale. As his organ slid through the folds of her body, she grew wet and then wetter and the little knot of tissue that ached sometimes when she lay alone in bed...it swelled and throbbed. She caught herself moving under him and with him, seeking more than he was giving her. When she released a hoarse moan, Perseus placed his hand over her mouth. Yes, of course. Silence. They might have people still listening in the hall. And she didn’t want them to hear what they did. This was for their ears alone. And her ears heard sweet sounds—Perseus and his quiet rough breathing, her own breaths hitching in her throat, the slight movement of the bed under them and her heart in her ears, her wild beating heart.
Perseus pushed himself off her, and she didn’t know what was happening until he grasped his organ in his hand and pressed the head of it into her. Only the head and then only barely. Enough to pinch a little or tear but not enough to really hurt.
She watched him, fascinated, as he shuddered without moving. Something was happening. She felt even more wetness than before on her. He sighed long, long, long, until it seemed like he’d sighed the very breath from his bones.
Then it was over. He lay at her side, his head on her breast. His organ rested on her hip, soft now and dripping. She shifted her legs slightly and felt liquid between them.
Ah, he had entered her but a little and released his seed inside her, filled her up with it. And she was now very, very wet.
“I have an ocean between my legs,” she said. “Or a river.”
“Ocean, definitely,” Perseus said. “Salt water.”
“Why did you do that?”
“So I could do this.” He moved over her, and she saw he was stiff again.
“Already?” She’d been warned by an old handmaiden of her mother that once a man spent, he was done for the night.
“I’m a son of Zeus,” he said. “I can’t turn you into a bird, but I’m not entirely without powers.”
He nestled between her open thighs and placed the tip of his manhood again inside her. And then he pushed. She was so slick and wet inside that his organ went in without causing her much pain at all. No pain, really. Nothing more than a sensation of stretching, of being pleasantly filled.
“There,” he said into her ear as he settled his body on top of hers. “You like it?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s, ah...it’s nice.”
He laughed, burying his mouth into the pillow to muffle the sound. Then he lifted his head and looked down at her, grinning. He touched her cheek, stroked her hair.
“We’ll have to do better than nice.”
Slowly he withdrew from her before entering her again fully. The seed inside her made the movement easy for him and her. He withdrew again and entered her again, faster this time, and still she felt no pain.
“Move with me,” he instructed. “When I push in, you lift up.” He pushed in. She lifted her hips.
“Ah...” she said, her chest fluttering.
“More than nice?”
She nodded. “Much more.”
He settled himself into her and began to take her in earnest. She closed her eyes when she found it helped her concentrate on the sensation of being filled over and over again. And such a delicious wanton sensation it was...all that seed inside her, so much wetness and his organ thrusting into her.
Perseus sucked her nipples again, fondled and pinched them. They grew hard in his fingers, and her breasts ached. The shaft of his manhood rubbed against the swollen knot where he entered her. She twisted under him, seeking more contact.
Perseus seemed to understand how to give her what she needed. With both hands on either side of her shoulders, he lifted himself up, looming over her with no parts of their bodies touching each other except where they were so intimately joined. He thrust harder now, giving his organ to her and not holding anything back from her. She lay beneath him, speared, her breasts rising and falling with his thrusts.
Now they made no attempt to silence or mute their cries of pleasure. They echoed through the room—his desperate breaths, her moans and whimpers. She couldn’t bear to wait anymore, though what she was waiting for, she didn’t know. Perseus must have known because he kept at her, pounding himself into her, rattling the bed, rattling the walls, shaking the world down to its foundations.
“Take it,” he said. “I can give it to you as long as you can take it.”
She squirmed under him, seeking the release she craved. The organ spearing her was bliss, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. She lifted her head and, red-faced, tears streaming from her eyes, begged a quiet “Please...” He reached between their bodies and found her knot, her swollen aching throbbing knot, and touched it.
Her head fell back on the pillow and she arched under him. He rubbed her knot, rubbed it quickly, roughly, endlessly, as she lifted her hips under him once, twice, and then on three she was overtaken by a release that felt ages in the making. She shuddered, frozen stiff as a statue while her body went mad around the pulsing organ inside her. There was lightning in her belly, thunder in her hips, a storm all through her body. A thousand miles away Perseus was still on top of her, rutting into her. He found his own release and pushed it in hers, and for a tight, tense, aching moment they were joined so completely she thought there would be no parting their bodies ever again.
But the storm passed as all storms must, and a few seconds or years later, Perseus lay with his eyes closed, his head on her heart, weak as a newborn babe. She twisted her hands and freed herself from the cord he’d wrapped around her wrists. When she put her arms around Perseus, he smiled in his half sleep.
“My wife...” he said.
“Why,” she whispered, “does it feel like you have always been my husband?”
“Because I will always be your husband,” he said, “and eternity is a river that runs all ways.”