admiration and pride; a zeus & psyche mythfic.
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is another in my series of "mythfics", to borrow the term from my darling etzyofi. In order to fully appreciate these, be sure to at the casting picspams.)
CAST:
clive owen as ZEUS & billie piper as PSYCHE
admiration and pride, a zeus & psyche mythfic, pg
(Dedicated to mylittlepwny, who gave me this prompt roughly five years ago.)
The Lord of Olympus is careful about who he trusts. Psyche can always see through a lie. A most unusual friendship could come in handy in these troublesome times...
A slow smile spread across Zeus’ face, crooked and glittering; it was a smile that had made hundreds of women throw caution to the wind in the past. He had hoped she would offer her assistance without him having to ask as much. “Thank you, Psyche.” (3,156 words)
He looked up from his BlackBerry at the sound of her heels against the cobblestones. Smiling, he set the device down beside his plate, stood with a scrape of his chair, and moved around the table to pull out hers.
“My, such a gentleman,” she said lightly, sitting down and promptly crossing her legs, one shapely knee over the other. The large leather handbag that had been hanging at the crook of her elbow was dropped carelessly by her feet.
“It’s not often that our schedules coincide in such a fortuitous fashion,” he replied, sitting back down and straightening his jacket. He took a moment to just admire her from across the café table. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing her dressed like this, in a short green skirt and loose blouse that hung open just enough to reveal an ample curve of cleavage. Several heavy necklaces draped down, bulky gold and jeweled affairs. Her hair had been swept up into a calculated mess of curls and pale wisps. The lipstick was a dark red, the eyeliner thick and dramatic, the black eyeshadow in a swooping cat’s-eye curve.
“Zeus, you’re staring,” she chided him gently.
He shook himself slightly and smiled. “If you expected me not to, you shouldn’t have come to dinner looking like that.”
“I hope you’re not thinking this is just for you,” she teased, reaching for her wine glass. He was quick to lift the waiting bottle and fill it for her. “I had a meeting with my publisher here, to discuss the Spanish-language translation of my newest series. And playing the part of Rose Cupid, romance novelist, requires something of a specific sort of costume.”
“I see. Yes, I must say that it doesn’t really strike me as you, if you follow my meaning. You look stunning as always, but it does feel more like a mask affected.” He sipped at his wine. “Shall we order?”
“Yes, let’s. I’m positively starving after all of that negotiating. And for some reason I kept wanting to slip into Greek rather than Spanish,” she added as a puzzled afterthought, picking up her menu and scanning it quickly. “It became exhausting, trying to focus on just one language.”
“Has this been happening frequently?” he asked, going very still.
She tilted her head, eyes sharpening. “You’re worried.”
“Curious.”
“No, you’re worried. You get this twitch along your jaw when you’re concerned.”
“Ah, well, that was stupid of me,” he sighed. “Forgetting that it’s impossible to lie to you. Yes, I’m worried.”
“Why?”
“Odd things have been happening to us. For a while now. I had hoped I wasn’t the only one to notice it.”
“To be fair, Zeus, I have been rather distracted as of late,” she said apologetically. “Haven’t been quite on my game, so to speak. What are your suspicions?”
“I’ve nothing of any conviction for the moment.” A waiter was bustling over, and he nodded sharply at her. “Yes, I’ll have the sirloin steak, rare, please.”
“The chicken parmesan for me, thank you,” she said smoothly. “With a salad, please. Onions, tomatoes, and olives with the vinaigrette. Do go on,” she said in a softer undertone when the waiter had departed with their menus in hand.
“Small lapses in power, minutes missing from memory. Aphrodite becoming fully mortal for a day and the strangeness at Dionysius’ bachelor party that only he could recall. Something is happening, but I’ve yet to pin down what precisely.”
“Could it be someone testing the limits of the Pact?”
“I half-suspect Eris, only…” He sighed, rubbing his thumb against the line of his unshaven jaw with an audible rasp. “I can’t fathom how she’d accomplish any of this. Even with the constraints of the Pact, I am still King. I would feel if she were abusing the power left to her. And Eris was never strong enough to meddle with Aphrodite’s realm of influence, or even Dionysius.”
Psyche was silent for a long moment. She sipped at her wine, eyes shuttered and brow furrowed in thought. She uncrossed, then re-crossed her legs, one hand lifting up to play with a necklace of deep green jade.
“I’ll keep my eyes opened,” she said finally and very firmly. “Pay closer attention to what’s going on at the periphery. You know how observant I can be.”
A slow smile spread across Zeus’ face, crooked and glittering; it was a smile that had made hundreds of women throw caution to the wind in the past. He had hoped she would offer her assistance without him having to ask as much. “Thank you, Psyche.”
“For agreeing to play spy?”
“For proving me right at every opportunity. I thought I was making the wise choice, when I let Eros take you as a bride.”
“Eros took nothing,” Psyche said archly, finishing her wine and holding her glass out pointedly for a refill. “I gave, just as he gave. Equally. As lovers in a partnership do.”
“Yes, of course, I apologize for any archaic implications in my phrasing,” he chuckled. The last ruby drop of wine clung to the lip of the bottle for a second, and as he focused on it there seemed to be a great weight building behind it, the sense of an approaching wave or an inevitable roll of thunder. Then it dropped into her glass with the tiniest of splashes, and the moment passed.
“Anyway, it may be some fun,” she went on with a brilliant smile of her own. “I spend enough time imagining derring-do and mysteries for my novels-may as well play the part of lady spy in real life. Especially if it’s for the greater good.”
Their food arrived, and they busied themselves with the mortal routines of cutting and chewing and ruminating. Zeus glanced up at her through his eyelashes and felt a shiver of admiration. That was remarkable on its own, as there were few that had proved worthy of his pride. But looking at her now, as she sipped her wine and lifted a forkful of lettuce to her dark red lips, he saw what he had first glimpsed so many centuries ago-only now amplified and properly matured. Psyche had been a remarkable mortal woman; unconsciously blessed with a divine gift. In a race so willing to be beguiled and placated, she had seen only the truth, no matter how hard or sharp its edges. She stood apart from her fellow sisters, and had very nearly paid the ultimate price for this. Instead, she had found further blessing in the love of Eros, who could only love wisely, and in the taste of the ambrosia. That divine elixir had given her nothing new. It had only deepened her innate gifts and beauty, and the millennia since had burnished her to a tawny gold.
Zeus knew that he was looking at perhaps the only person he could fully trust, because just as Psyche could only see the truth, she could only speak it in return. There would be no manipulations from her; she had no taste for greater power, content with what she had always had. And she was a woman who could be relied upon, who had never stooped to pettiness-and she was like granite with her convictions. Since that bygone day when Eros led her before the most powerful of Olympus, Zeus had known that any attempts at seduction would be useless, no matter how appealing her face and figure were to him. She was made to give her heart only once, and that had been in Eros’ keeping from the moment she saw him. Somehow, this elevated her in his eyes. For while this modern world they now called home was becoming more democratic, Zeus was largely what he had always been; and a rather large part of him would always look at women as little more than playthings and diversions. Hardly equals. But Psyche? No, she had never been that in his eyes.
All of this made her incredibly unique, and more powerful than even she realized. For while Zeus may have turned to his noble brother Poseidon, or even his able Queen and wife Hera, he had instead sought out Psyche. It was Psyche who he confided in, because it was in Psyche that he had the utmost faith and confidence. At a time such as this, when the ground began to shake unsteadily and previous assurances resembled quicksand, Zeus knew he would need a steady foundation to lean on. Psyche would be that for him. And there was something else: whatever was happening was influencing both their godhoods and their mortal bodies. As a mortal-turned-goddess, it could be that Psyche would understand the full effects and scope better than any other.
“If I may,” he said finally when their plates were clear, “I would ask you to make me one promise.”
“Oh?” One dark eyebrow curved questioningly.
“Take care. Be cautious. Whoever is meddling like this, it can hardly be for good. And if they have enough power to strip Aphrodite of her immortality, or play with our memories… Don’t count on your godhood to protect you.”
She was smiling before he’d finished, a light dancing in her eyes. “My Lord, I’m rather shocked. You’re actually concerned for another’s well-being. Perhaps you are learning how to change.”
“And you were never so smart-mouthed with me,” he said huskily, brow furrowed but only for show. “How many other liberties will you take?”
“Well, for starters,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing quickly. “I’m going to insist that you dance with me. There’s a guitarist sitting just to the left of the fountain-do you see? And I’m sure for a few Euros he’d be willing to play us a request.”
“Only because you insisted,” Zeus said. “And because you’re my favorite niece.”
They danced for four songs, her skirt spinning dizzily above her knees, his suit jacket crumpled by the fountain, the guitarist cheering his encouragement as they kept pace with his lively strumming. They were both breathless and bright-eyed by the end. Her laugh was a silvery bell in the deepening twilight.
And while he had been very good at holding himself back from this golden woman, that didn’t stop him from savoring the feel of her hand in his, the curve of her hip as it brushed against him, the glistening drop of sweat that trickled down between her breasts so invitingly.
And though she loved her husband, and knew better than to dare more, it was still a gratifying thing: to know that she could make the King of the Gods smile so. When his breath hitched in his throat, she knew it was her and not the dance that affected him so.
When they finally broke apart, the guitarist finishing with a dramatic flourish, they sat on the edge of the fountain to reclaim their breath. She fanned herself slowly, the last bit of sunlight glinting off her wedding ring. He looked down at his own and twisted it thoughtfully.
“Things are going well with Hera, then?” she asked nonchalantly.
“As well as can be expected. She’s letting me back into her life. She’s sharing more.”
And you’re shagging like rabbits again, Psyche thought to herself, catching the unspoken thought as deftly as an expert angler. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said sincerely. Life was easier for all of them when the King and Queen were speaking to one another. “Perhaps-”
He looked up. “Please, don’t stop on my account.”
Psyche shifted slightly, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt. “This may not be a good time to tell you, but better now than in front of an audience.”
He straightened, lips thinning as he pressed them together. “Psyche, I’d rather you didn’t start with a dramatic prelude. Simply tell me.”
“Hedone’s boyfriend. Hercules. I trust you’ve met him?”
“Briefly, in passing. I’d know the boy again to say hello.”
“You didn’t look too closely at him, did you?” she said shrewdly. “Because I recognized him, in a way. He has your shoulders, for starters.”
Zeus stared at her for a long moment, his gaze just shy of a glare. “I haven’t been with a mortal since Danaë. Perseus was my last son.”
“I believe you completely,” Psyche replied calmly. “It’s just that Perseus? He’ll be thirty in three months. And Hercules? He’ll be thirty next month.” She looked away, eyes following a passing bicyclist while he pondered that. “I thought I should prepare you, in case the truth comes out. And, I admit, I was half hoping you’d go to the boy yourself. From what Hedone tells me, he’d dearly love to have a father in his life.”
“I somehow doubt I’d live up to his standards,” Zeus said, glancing at his watch.
“He’s already mixed up with us,” Psyche said pointedly. “He loves Hedone, and she loves him. The chances are good that they’ll be petitioning for the ambrosia in the near future. And, perhaps, if you were to talk to Hera before it became wider knowledge, that would prevent any unnecessary bloodshed, so to speak?”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” he said heavily. Psyche laid a hand over his arm and squeezed supportively, but there was no real pity in her face. This was his own doing, after all.
And how could one ever pity Zeus? Everything he did was brash, bullheaded, and arrogant. He moved through the world firm in his conviction that his decisions were always the best and wisest. Yes, he was their King, and yes he was the strongest and most powerful. But the best rulers were those who understood their subjects, and Zeus had never lowered himself to, say, Hermes’ level before. His affection was sparsely given, often reserved for his paramours, and even then it was a fleeting thing. He trusted no one-
Ah, but then that wasn’t true, Psyche corrected herself sharply. Because he trusted her. It was in the way his shoulders relaxed as he sat beside her, in the way the lines around his mouth faded when he looked at her. She supposed that she was his safe harbor when the pressures of the others, and the world in general, became too much. He could confide in her, because he had always recognized her value.
It gave her a sizzling thrill, knowing that the most begrudging of the Olympians appreciated her. Admired her, even. She didn’t often feel the burn of pride, but Zeus could make her ego swell with just a look.
Given the man in question and the power of his looks, she supposed that was a fairly atypical reaction. But she had never really felt that particular burn around him. There would be the briefest of flickers, perhaps, depending on the circumstance. She was once mortal, after all. But then she would inevitably think of Eros, and there was no doubting that he was where her true passion lay. Zeus could never, never make her ache or smile the way Eros did. He may be charming, debonair, rakish and a thousand other Harlequin titles, but it was Eros who held her heart in his hand.
No, she had never been seriously tempted by Zeus. And she had never stood in awe of him, either, or allowed him to intimidate her. He could bluster and storm and throw bolts where he wanted, but she had never wavered because she? She could see everything that lay behind the masks of anger and outrage. She had known when he cheated, and with whom, and when he had toyed with the others to suit his own whims. He had never dared to lie to her, knowing that would be useless, and so whenever he had conjured a particularly nasty storm, Psyche always stood safe and calm in its eye. He had never attacked her, because she was the only one of them that would never lash back. And more than anything, Zeus liked a willing partner when it came to a fight.
How could anyone pity a man like that? Who was so willing to deal out strife or swift punishment, who was perpetually cold and distant in his regal disdain, who was as faithful as he was forgiving. Truth be told, there wasn’t much there to truly admire, either. But he was not wholly flawed. He had his noble moments, and sometimes decent intentions, and could protect just as readily as he destroyed. He was a troublesome ruler, absolutely, but perhaps the best for the job given all of the circumstances.
And she called him friend, because she saw his goodness as readily as she did his faults. She could speak freely with him, and expect respectful treatment in return, which was more than could be said for Hermes or Pan or even Dionysius.
“So, where are you staying tonight?” she asked finally, as the guitarist drifted away in search of other tourists with deep pockets. Night had settled in properly. The streetlamps were glowing yellow above them, and the shop and restaurant fronts spilled white and red and blue and green light into the street. There was something to be said for Spain: they knew how to make a night colorful.
“I was planning on flying back after this,” he said, standing up and picking up his suit jacket. He shook the wrinkles from it before pulling it back on.
“Meeting in the morning?”
“Several. Then a lunch date, and then a test flight. We’ve a new prototype that should revolutionize economic world travel. Or so the consultants and designer tell me.”
“Well, then I suppose I’ll say adieu and let you keep to your schedule,” she sighed as they returned their table. He left several bills next to his plate while she reclaimed her purse and a beaded shawl he hadn’t noticed before. “I do hope it won’t be another ten years before we get to have another evening like this.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“You always do for me,” she smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“And you will be careful?”
“Absolutely. I will listen to my instincts and pry as discretely as possible. Scout’s honor,” she added, holding up her hand in the well-known salute. Then she laughed, almost a schoolgirl’s laugh, and bounced onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“Does Hera really like all that scruff?” she demanded.
“She hasn’t complained yet.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t kiss you every day,” she said archly, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. “Have a good flight and all the luck to a smooth tomorrow. Thanks for the dinner.”
“Good night, Psyche.”
He couldn’t help watching her go, with that confident stride that made her hips swing just so, the multicolored lights shining in her hair… Then he shook his head, chuckled at himself, and turned away.
CAST:
clive owen as ZEUS & billie piper as PSYCHE
admiration and pride, a zeus & psyche mythfic, pg
(Dedicated to mylittlepwny, who gave me this prompt roughly five years ago.)
The Lord of Olympus is careful about who he trusts. Psyche can always see through a lie. A most unusual friendship could come in handy in these troublesome times...
A slow smile spread across Zeus’ face, crooked and glittering; it was a smile that had made hundreds of women throw caution to the wind in the past. He had hoped she would offer her assistance without him having to ask as much. “Thank you, Psyche.” (3,156 words)
He looked up from his BlackBerry at the sound of her heels against the cobblestones. Smiling, he set the device down beside his plate, stood with a scrape of his chair, and moved around the table to pull out hers.
“My, such a gentleman,” she said lightly, sitting down and promptly crossing her legs, one shapely knee over the other. The large leather handbag that had been hanging at the crook of her elbow was dropped carelessly by her feet.
“It’s not often that our schedules coincide in such a fortuitous fashion,” he replied, sitting back down and straightening his jacket. He took a moment to just admire her from across the café table. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing her dressed like this, in a short green skirt and loose blouse that hung open just enough to reveal an ample curve of cleavage. Several heavy necklaces draped down, bulky gold and jeweled affairs. Her hair had been swept up into a calculated mess of curls and pale wisps. The lipstick was a dark red, the eyeliner thick and dramatic, the black eyeshadow in a swooping cat’s-eye curve.
“Zeus, you’re staring,” she chided him gently.
He shook himself slightly and smiled. “If you expected me not to, you shouldn’t have come to dinner looking like that.”
“I hope you’re not thinking this is just for you,” she teased, reaching for her wine glass. He was quick to lift the waiting bottle and fill it for her. “I had a meeting with my publisher here, to discuss the Spanish-language translation of my newest series. And playing the part of Rose Cupid, romance novelist, requires something of a specific sort of costume.”
“I see. Yes, I must say that it doesn’t really strike me as you, if you follow my meaning. You look stunning as always, but it does feel more like a mask affected.” He sipped at his wine. “Shall we order?”
“Yes, let’s. I’m positively starving after all of that negotiating. And for some reason I kept wanting to slip into Greek rather than Spanish,” she added as a puzzled afterthought, picking up her menu and scanning it quickly. “It became exhausting, trying to focus on just one language.”
“Has this been happening frequently?” he asked, going very still.
She tilted her head, eyes sharpening. “You’re worried.”
“Curious.”
“No, you’re worried. You get this twitch along your jaw when you’re concerned.”
“Ah, well, that was stupid of me,” he sighed. “Forgetting that it’s impossible to lie to you. Yes, I’m worried.”
“Why?”
“Odd things have been happening to us. For a while now. I had hoped I wasn’t the only one to notice it.”
“To be fair, Zeus, I have been rather distracted as of late,” she said apologetically. “Haven’t been quite on my game, so to speak. What are your suspicions?”
“I’ve nothing of any conviction for the moment.” A waiter was bustling over, and he nodded sharply at her. “Yes, I’ll have the sirloin steak, rare, please.”
“The chicken parmesan for me, thank you,” she said smoothly. “With a salad, please. Onions, tomatoes, and olives with the vinaigrette. Do go on,” she said in a softer undertone when the waiter had departed with their menus in hand.
“Small lapses in power, minutes missing from memory. Aphrodite becoming fully mortal for a day and the strangeness at Dionysius’ bachelor party that only he could recall. Something is happening, but I’ve yet to pin down what precisely.”
“Could it be someone testing the limits of the Pact?”
“I half-suspect Eris, only…” He sighed, rubbing his thumb against the line of his unshaven jaw with an audible rasp. “I can’t fathom how she’d accomplish any of this. Even with the constraints of the Pact, I am still King. I would feel if she were abusing the power left to her. And Eris was never strong enough to meddle with Aphrodite’s realm of influence, or even Dionysius.”
Psyche was silent for a long moment. She sipped at her wine, eyes shuttered and brow furrowed in thought. She uncrossed, then re-crossed her legs, one hand lifting up to play with a necklace of deep green jade.
“I’ll keep my eyes opened,” she said finally and very firmly. “Pay closer attention to what’s going on at the periphery. You know how observant I can be.”
A slow smile spread across Zeus’ face, crooked and glittering; it was a smile that had made hundreds of women throw caution to the wind in the past. He had hoped she would offer her assistance without him having to ask as much. “Thank you, Psyche.”
“For agreeing to play spy?”
“For proving me right at every opportunity. I thought I was making the wise choice, when I let Eros take you as a bride.”
“Eros took nothing,” Psyche said archly, finishing her wine and holding her glass out pointedly for a refill. “I gave, just as he gave. Equally. As lovers in a partnership do.”
“Yes, of course, I apologize for any archaic implications in my phrasing,” he chuckled. The last ruby drop of wine clung to the lip of the bottle for a second, and as he focused on it there seemed to be a great weight building behind it, the sense of an approaching wave or an inevitable roll of thunder. Then it dropped into her glass with the tiniest of splashes, and the moment passed.
“Anyway, it may be some fun,” she went on with a brilliant smile of her own. “I spend enough time imagining derring-do and mysteries for my novels-may as well play the part of lady spy in real life. Especially if it’s for the greater good.”
Their food arrived, and they busied themselves with the mortal routines of cutting and chewing and ruminating. Zeus glanced up at her through his eyelashes and felt a shiver of admiration. That was remarkable on its own, as there were few that had proved worthy of his pride. But looking at her now, as she sipped her wine and lifted a forkful of lettuce to her dark red lips, he saw what he had first glimpsed so many centuries ago-only now amplified and properly matured. Psyche had been a remarkable mortal woman; unconsciously blessed with a divine gift. In a race so willing to be beguiled and placated, she had seen only the truth, no matter how hard or sharp its edges. She stood apart from her fellow sisters, and had very nearly paid the ultimate price for this. Instead, she had found further blessing in the love of Eros, who could only love wisely, and in the taste of the ambrosia. That divine elixir had given her nothing new. It had only deepened her innate gifts and beauty, and the millennia since had burnished her to a tawny gold.
Zeus knew that he was looking at perhaps the only person he could fully trust, because just as Psyche could only see the truth, she could only speak it in return. There would be no manipulations from her; she had no taste for greater power, content with what she had always had. And she was a woman who could be relied upon, who had never stooped to pettiness-and she was like granite with her convictions. Since that bygone day when Eros led her before the most powerful of Olympus, Zeus had known that any attempts at seduction would be useless, no matter how appealing her face and figure were to him. She was made to give her heart only once, and that had been in Eros’ keeping from the moment she saw him. Somehow, this elevated her in his eyes. For while this modern world they now called home was becoming more democratic, Zeus was largely what he had always been; and a rather large part of him would always look at women as little more than playthings and diversions. Hardly equals. But Psyche? No, she had never been that in his eyes.
All of this made her incredibly unique, and more powerful than even she realized. For while Zeus may have turned to his noble brother Poseidon, or even his able Queen and wife Hera, he had instead sought out Psyche. It was Psyche who he confided in, because it was in Psyche that he had the utmost faith and confidence. At a time such as this, when the ground began to shake unsteadily and previous assurances resembled quicksand, Zeus knew he would need a steady foundation to lean on. Psyche would be that for him. And there was something else: whatever was happening was influencing both their godhoods and their mortal bodies. As a mortal-turned-goddess, it could be that Psyche would understand the full effects and scope better than any other.
“If I may,” he said finally when their plates were clear, “I would ask you to make me one promise.”
“Oh?” One dark eyebrow curved questioningly.
“Take care. Be cautious. Whoever is meddling like this, it can hardly be for good. And if they have enough power to strip Aphrodite of her immortality, or play with our memories… Don’t count on your godhood to protect you.”
She was smiling before he’d finished, a light dancing in her eyes. “My Lord, I’m rather shocked. You’re actually concerned for another’s well-being. Perhaps you are learning how to change.”
“And you were never so smart-mouthed with me,” he said huskily, brow furrowed but only for show. “How many other liberties will you take?”
“Well, for starters,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing quickly. “I’m going to insist that you dance with me. There’s a guitarist sitting just to the left of the fountain-do you see? And I’m sure for a few Euros he’d be willing to play us a request.”
“Only because you insisted,” Zeus said. “And because you’re my favorite niece.”
They danced for four songs, her skirt spinning dizzily above her knees, his suit jacket crumpled by the fountain, the guitarist cheering his encouragement as they kept pace with his lively strumming. They were both breathless and bright-eyed by the end. Her laugh was a silvery bell in the deepening twilight.
And while he had been very good at holding himself back from this golden woman, that didn’t stop him from savoring the feel of her hand in his, the curve of her hip as it brushed against him, the glistening drop of sweat that trickled down between her breasts so invitingly.
And though she loved her husband, and knew better than to dare more, it was still a gratifying thing: to know that she could make the King of the Gods smile so. When his breath hitched in his throat, she knew it was her and not the dance that affected him so.
When they finally broke apart, the guitarist finishing with a dramatic flourish, they sat on the edge of the fountain to reclaim their breath. She fanned herself slowly, the last bit of sunlight glinting off her wedding ring. He looked down at his own and twisted it thoughtfully.
“Things are going well with Hera, then?” she asked nonchalantly.
“As well as can be expected. She’s letting me back into her life. She’s sharing more.”
And you’re shagging like rabbits again, Psyche thought to herself, catching the unspoken thought as deftly as an expert angler. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said sincerely. Life was easier for all of them when the King and Queen were speaking to one another. “Perhaps-”
He looked up. “Please, don’t stop on my account.”
Psyche shifted slightly, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt. “This may not be a good time to tell you, but better now than in front of an audience.”
He straightened, lips thinning as he pressed them together. “Psyche, I’d rather you didn’t start with a dramatic prelude. Simply tell me.”
“Hedone’s boyfriend. Hercules. I trust you’ve met him?”
“Briefly, in passing. I’d know the boy again to say hello.”
“You didn’t look too closely at him, did you?” she said shrewdly. “Because I recognized him, in a way. He has your shoulders, for starters.”
Zeus stared at her for a long moment, his gaze just shy of a glare. “I haven’t been with a mortal since Danaë. Perseus was my last son.”
“I believe you completely,” Psyche replied calmly. “It’s just that Perseus? He’ll be thirty in three months. And Hercules? He’ll be thirty next month.” She looked away, eyes following a passing bicyclist while he pondered that. “I thought I should prepare you, in case the truth comes out. And, I admit, I was half hoping you’d go to the boy yourself. From what Hedone tells me, he’d dearly love to have a father in his life.”
“I somehow doubt I’d live up to his standards,” Zeus said, glancing at his watch.
“He’s already mixed up with us,” Psyche said pointedly. “He loves Hedone, and she loves him. The chances are good that they’ll be petitioning for the ambrosia in the near future. And, perhaps, if you were to talk to Hera before it became wider knowledge, that would prevent any unnecessary bloodshed, so to speak?”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” he said heavily. Psyche laid a hand over his arm and squeezed supportively, but there was no real pity in her face. This was his own doing, after all.
And how could one ever pity Zeus? Everything he did was brash, bullheaded, and arrogant. He moved through the world firm in his conviction that his decisions were always the best and wisest. Yes, he was their King, and yes he was the strongest and most powerful. But the best rulers were those who understood their subjects, and Zeus had never lowered himself to, say, Hermes’ level before. His affection was sparsely given, often reserved for his paramours, and even then it was a fleeting thing. He trusted no one-
Ah, but then that wasn’t true, Psyche corrected herself sharply. Because he trusted her. It was in the way his shoulders relaxed as he sat beside her, in the way the lines around his mouth faded when he looked at her. She supposed that she was his safe harbor when the pressures of the others, and the world in general, became too much. He could confide in her, because he had always recognized her value.
It gave her a sizzling thrill, knowing that the most begrudging of the Olympians appreciated her. Admired her, even. She didn’t often feel the burn of pride, but Zeus could make her ego swell with just a look.
Given the man in question and the power of his looks, she supposed that was a fairly atypical reaction. But she had never really felt that particular burn around him. There would be the briefest of flickers, perhaps, depending on the circumstance. She was once mortal, after all. But then she would inevitably think of Eros, and there was no doubting that he was where her true passion lay. Zeus could never, never make her ache or smile the way Eros did. He may be charming, debonair, rakish and a thousand other Harlequin titles, but it was Eros who held her heart in his hand.
No, she had never been seriously tempted by Zeus. And she had never stood in awe of him, either, or allowed him to intimidate her. He could bluster and storm and throw bolts where he wanted, but she had never wavered because she? She could see everything that lay behind the masks of anger and outrage. She had known when he cheated, and with whom, and when he had toyed with the others to suit his own whims. He had never dared to lie to her, knowing that would be useless, and so whenever he had conjured a particularly nasty storm, Psyche always stood safe and calm in its eye. He had never attacked her, because she was the only one of them that would never lash back. And more than anything, Zeus liked a willing partner when it came to a fight.
How could anyone pity a man like that? Who was so willing to deal out strife or swift punishment, who was perpetually cold and distant in his regal disdain, who was as faithful as he was forgiving. Truth be told, there wasn’t much there to truly admire, either. But he was not wholly flawed. He had his noble moments, and sometimes decent intentions, and could protect just as readily as he destroyed. He was a troublesome ruler, absolutely, but perhaps the best for the job given all of the circumstances.
And she called him friend, because she saw his goodness as readily as she did his faults. She could speak freely with him, and expect respectful treatment in return, which was more than could be said for Hermes or Pan or even Dionysius.
“So, where are you staying tonight?” she asked finally, as the guitarist drifted away in search of other tourists with deep pockets. Night had settled in properly. The streetlamps were glowing yellow above them, and the shop and restaurant fronts spilled white and red and blue and green light into the street. There was something to be said for Spain: they knew how to make a night colorful.
“I was planning on flying back after this,” he said, standing up and picking up his suit jacket. He shook the wrinkles from it before pulling it back on.
“Meeting in the morning?”
“Several. Then a lunch date, and then a test flight. We’ve a new prototype that should revolutionize economic world travel. Or so the consultants and designer tell me.”
“Well, then I suppose I’ll say adieu and let you keep to your schedule,” she sighed as they returned their table. He left several bills next to his plate while she reclaimed her purse and a beaded shawl he hadn’t noticed before. “I do hope it won’t be another ten years before we get to have another evening like this.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“You always do for me,” she smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“And you will be careful?”
“Absolutely. I will listen to my instincts and pry as discretely as possible. Scout’s honor,” she added, holding up her hand in the well-known salute. Then she laughed, almost a schoolgirl’s laugh, and bounced onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“Does Hera really like all that scruff?” she demanded.
“She hasn’t complained yet.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t kiss you every day,” she said archly, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. “Have a good flight and all the luck to a smooth tomorrow. Thanks for the dinner.”
“Good night, Psyche.”
He couldn’t help watching her go, with that confident stride that made her hips swing just so, the multicolored lights shining in her hair… Then he shook his head, chuckled at himself, and turned away.