Soul in Darkness Read online

  Copyright © 2019 Wendy Higgins

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

  Published by

  Wendy Higgins

  Image licenses from: Shutterstock.com ©conrado “Romantic blonde beauty wearing white dress” and © belletatyana “Ancient Greek Apollo Temple in Side city, Turkey”

  Graphic Design by: Jennifer Munswami © J.M Rising Horse Creations

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  AUTHOR NOTE

  EPIGRAPH

  PROLOGUE

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY WENDY HIGGINS

  To the guy in my creative writing class at George Mason University who told me everything I wrote was cliché—I still remember your expression as you looked down at my stories in front of you, trying to get a laugh out of the other literary writers, poking fun at the romance genre. Words have power, but sometimes insults become stepping stones. Without meaning to, you forced me to fight harder to elevate myself. The memory of you is a constant reminder to use my words to lift others, not tear them down.

  So, thanks.

  I read many, many versions of the Cupid/Eros mythology, namely The Golden Ass: Being the Metamorphoses of Lucius Apuleius. Some of them were vastly different, with contradicting details. And many of the versions left me wanting, questioning, confused about a character’s motives. I did what all authors have to do when they choose to write a retelling; I went with the details that felt right for my particular version of the tale, borrowing a little from here, a lot from there, and making up some things of my own. I hope you will forgive any wavering from your preferred account of the story.

  Ultimately, the version I found most aligned with my vision used the Roman names, so I went with “Cupid” for the god of love versus the Greek form of “Eros.”

  I hope you enjoy the incredibly romantic mythology of Cupid and Princess Psyche (Sy-key/Sie-kee) as much as I do! Happy reading, friends.

  “There is musick, even in the beauty and the silent note which Cupid strikes, far sweeter than the sound of an instrument.”

  ~Thomas Browne

  SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT!

  This book is #4 in the FANTASTICAL GOLDEN EGG HUNT! Happy hunting…

  THE THIRD DAUGHTER

  On an island in the Aegean Sea during the Roman Empire, warm cypress winds blew across the cerulean Mediterranean, welcoming the isle’s third royal daughter. Never had such a beautiful child been born. Her mother, the queen, and every nursemaid present gasped at the sight of the babe’s perfectly formed face, lacking any of the usual misshapenness or wrinkles of newborns.

  A sea breeze gusted through the arched windows as if even the lands sighed in awe. Full lips like pink blossoms. Chestnut waves of silken hair. Eyes round with golden flecks, surrounded by long, coal lashes.

  Unlike the queen’s first two daughters, this child had no bout of frenzied crying when she entered the world. She was quiet, almost contemplative as she stared with rapt attention at each woman who held her. The absolute peace of her arrival was like a breath of fragrant air. And so, the queen named her after the word for breath and soul.

  Psyche. Like a whisper…Syy-keyy.

  As with the births of their first two daughters, the king and queen of the isle brought gifts and sacrifices to the temple of Venus, goddess of love and beauty, to thank her for their child, imbued with aesthetic fortune. For years they had been barren, yet faithful to the gods, earning themselves the gift of three daughters. But prolonged times of blessing had a way of making the most grateful hearts take for granted that which they once held high. Soon, their attention was only for the child, growing more stunning with the passage of time, and Venus’s role in their lives was forgotten.

  All eyes and hearts on the island, royal or servant, belonged to Psyche. Even as a toddler, the youngest princess had a way of giving her full, unguarded attention to whomever she spoke, making them feel honored, even breathless. None could take their eyes from her. As she grew into a youth, word of her loveliness spread far and wide, bringing visitors to the island in hopes that they might catch a single glimpse of her famed beauty.

  But what most saw as a holy fortune from the gods, gifted to this royal family, was not viewed as such by Psyche herself. For the third princess, physical perfection was not a talent or a blessing. Beauty was her curse.

  PSYCHE

  “She is a mortal danger to all men. She is beautiful without knowing it and possesses charms that she’s not even aware of. She is like a trap set by nature—a sweet perfumed rose in whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush! Anyone who has seen her smile has known perfection. Venus in her shell was never so lovely…”

  ~Cyrano de Bergerac

  FREEDOM SEEKING

  I escaped the guards again.

  By now they knew all the places to look for me, and they’d no doubt find me soon. Still, I laughed as I sprinted to the side of the cliff, my stomach tightening in anticipation of the fall to come.

  With a scream of exhilaration, I leapt, never stopping, and soared into the blue sky, legs kicking, gauzy skirts whipping, stomach swooping. The salted air pulled at my face as I flipped to dive downward. I sliced sharply through the surface, caught in the warm arms of the lagoon. Deep under water, my lungs constricted in a satisfying way as I kicked, making it to the top in time to inhale and wipe my eyes. I peered up as I bobbed on the water and laughed at the three worried faces above. The guards never dived after me. I supposed if I were floating, dead, or failed to resurface they would jump to my rescue, but it was always the same. Me smiling up. Them frowning down.

  I enjoyed another minute of seclusion as they quickly scaled down the side of the rocky cliff and stood at the edge
of the lapping water, muscled arms crossed, guarding me once again as I paddled on my back, the thin fabric of my dress swishing soundlessly around my body. Their frowns softened as they looked upon me.

  “Why must you give us such a fright, Princess?” Boldar asked. He was one of the oldest royal guards, as old as Papa, the king of our isle, and he spoke to me with barely concealed adoration, exactly as he had since I was a young girl.

  “For two minutes each week, I must have my freedom or I will perish.”

  All three men attempted to scowl at my dramatics but failed.

  “You need but ask,” Boldar said. “And we shall escort you anywhere your heart pleases.”

  “That’s not nearly as fun,” I said, running my hand along the water surrounding me. What my heart sought above all else was a chance to be alone in nature, and to be looked upon as an ordinary girl.

  Well, I suppose “ordinary” was a lot to ask as a royal, but at the very least to be looked upon as my sisters were. Both were pleasing to the eye. People respected their talents—Dawn with her music and Miracle with her paintings—people conversed with them, speaking of literature, art and philosophy. If I attempted to speak of those things I got bizarre smiles and incoherent mumbling, eyes raking me from top to bottom. Even the women. I wasn’t a person to them. I was an object. After seventeen years I should have been used to it; however, I wasn’t. In every person I met, every new face, I sought the one who would finally lock eyes with me and see through to my soul within.

  Until then, under the sky, in the ocean, among fields of wheat, with the animals, I was accepted, and I was alive.

  I sucked in a breath at the feel of a nibble against my toe. Small, bright colored fish hesitantly approached, their toothless mouths touching my feet and legs with curiosity. I was careful not to kick out at their tickling touches, but I giggled furiously.

  I truly did believe I’d perish without these outings. Craggy cliffs shielded this deep lagoon of crystalline waters. It was peaceful in its ominousness, closed in like a dangerous, well-kept secret.

  When the guards raised their chins and nudged one another about something they saw at the entrance of the shaded lagoon, I knew my friends had arrived.

  I turned and smiled at the two dolphins, laughing as they circled me, sliding past and nudging me with their smooth noses. I always recognized the larger animal by the deep scar near its left eye.

  “Hello beautiful and handsome. Lovely to see you, as always.”

  My older sister, Miracle, used to shriek and swim frantically to shore when the dolphins came to us. She loved to watch them from afar, but up close they frightened her with their wild power. Miracle was also too cautious to ever jump from the cliffs. Dawn, the middle child, was half as cautious, jumping when she felt the whim. As for sea life and other animals, she wasn’t afraid, but neither was she outgoing. I think she wanted animals to like her, to come to her, but she found it hard to simply relax.

  Dawn watched me with animals in the same way she watched me with men—too closely. Enviously. When it came to males, I did everything possible to quell her jealousies. I tried not to smile. I dressed modestly. I opted out of conversations. I swear, I attempted to be as boring as possible.

  But no matter what I said or did, men stared at me with that same lost look on their faces. Mesmerized. Like I was a piece of art hanging in our castle to be gazed upon. I hated it. And I hated how my sister Dawn could never see how much I didn’t want any of it. Miracle understood. Perhaps because she was older, so there was less competition between us. But I’d spent a good part of my life trying to make Dawn understand me, seeking her full acceptance, yet always falling short.

  When it came to animals, however, I couldn’t bring myself to downplay the connection for the sake of Dawn or anyone else. Wild beasts wouldn’t understand my brush off. They accepted me wholly and paid no mind to my beauty. For that, I would forever reward them with my affections.

  “How do you get them to come to you?” the youngest guard asked. He stared so intently he probably wouldn’t have noticed if an army attacked from behind. “I’ve never once been approached by a sea creature.”

  “It helps not being a brute. The three of you probably swim with your swords on, grunting and splashing about.”

  They laughed, taking no offense.

  One of the dolphins squeaked at me until I took him by his fin and he darted ahead. A peal of laughter gurgled from my mouth as water sprayed up and I held on tight, being pulled around the lagoon.

  “Not too far!” Boldar shouted. “It’s nearly time for dinner and your father is expecting guests!”

  My heart sank at the reminder of Dawn’s courtship dinner. I grumbled to my friends, “I have to go.” Papa believed this was the match. A prince from the mainland with grape vines and olive trees as far as the eye could see. Even Miracle and her husband, Alesandro Christos, a prince from a land near Constantinople, would be visiting. And while I adored time with my sisters, I loathed large gatherings.

  When we neared the shore, I kissed each dolphin and patted their backs before swimming until my feet could touch the bottom. I trudged onto the pebbled sand. At least I felt like I was trudging, but from the outright stares of the three guards, a symphony had erupted overhead with me swaying toward them in a sensual dance. I crossed my arms over my chest, causing Boldar to blink and then smack the other two with the backs of his hands.

  The men ripped their eyes from my body and cleared their throats, motioning me ahead of them. I squeezed out my long hair as I walked and flapped the fabric around my hips, trying not to let it stick to my backside. They’d seen me soaking wet countless times, yet the shock never seemed to lessen, especially since I’d entered my seventeenth year.

  I breathed deeply of the fragrant flowering bushes that grew wild along the path, trying to clear my head. On one side was the hill where our fortified lands stood, enveloped in a wall of earthworks overlooking the cliffs. Within those walls was our castle of stone and the town market with the homes of our wealthiest merchants. On the other side of the path, guarded by thick brush, was a sheer drop to the sea—vibrant in the spring sunshine, glistening in bright shades of blues and greens. No person could be called beautiful in comparison to what the gods made and oversaw.

  Up ahead on the worn path, the deep braying of hounds broke out. I smiled as Olive and Berry charged down the trail on long legs, tails wagging as they approached me for scratches behind the ears. They licked sea water from my arms, sniffing me all over as I walked.

  In twenty paces, we would take a heavily guarded side door that tunneled beneath the castle and into our royal lands. Never could I walk the entire path to the open beaches and fields. Never could I ride a horse through the isle’s countryside, stopping to pick wild apricots and figs hanging heavily on trees, waving to commoners the way my sisters or parents could. Even flanked by guards, my presence always caused a disturbance.

  Someday things would be different for me. Once Dawn was married it would be my turn. I would have a prince of my own and a home with more freedom. Once I was married, men would be forced to see me as a wife, a woman of value, not a maiden for their ogling. Someday.

  PRINCE OF SOMEWHERE

  Being late to dinner was the worst thing I could have done. I’d rather have been seated when everyone arrived, but alas, my grand entrance caused every eye in the room to lock onto me, even in layers of cream fabric up to my neck.

  “I apologize for my delay.” I gave a small curtsy before glancing across the faces. Next to Dawn sat a slightly balding prince, his fine blue toga wrapped with a belt of gold to match the gold ringlet over his head. He stared openly, lips parted. When Dawn glanced from him to me, and back to him, I quickly looked away.

  And there was Miracle, beaming next to her husband. She kept her curls short in the Roman style and swirled across her head with gold leaf pins.

  I knew I should wait for introductions, but I couldn’t help myself. I ran to her, hugging he
r and laughing as she kissed my cheek.

  “So good to see you, Sister,” I said.

  “And you. Were you swimming in the lagoon again?”

  I smiled, then glanced over when I heard Papa clear his throat. I knew my lateness bothered him, but when he looked upon me, all traces of anger evaporated into fatherly adoration.

  “Prince Drusus, this is our third daughter, Dawn’s younger sister. Psyche.”

  I gave the barest of glances toward our guest prince. “How do you do?”

  “Psyche.” My eyes darted to him once more, a shiver of apprehension rippling across my skin at the way he said my name. His brown eyes bore into me. “The rumors have not been exaggerated.”

  I peeked at Dawn, whose jaw had locked as she stared down at her plate. Papa and Mother, oblivious as always to the discomfort, both laughed with pride and took one another’s hand on the table top.

  “Yes, well,” I said, swishing into my seat beside Mother. “Have you had the honor of hearing Dawn sing yet? Her voice is heavenly. I couldn’t carry a tune if you placed it in a basket for me.” That last bit was all truth, though my lack of ability didn’t stop me from singing. I actually loved when my sisters teased me about it. Everyone around the table chuckled.

  Dawn finally lifted her eyes, and we shared a small smile. I still felt her prince’s eyes on me and couldn’t help being irked as my sister sat there, radiant in peach silk, her cheeks rosy, hair painstakingly curled into ringlets and pinned up.

  “You’re a bloom this eve,” I told her before eyeing Prince Drusus. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Hm?” He broke his staring reverie to look around, glance toward Dawn, then back at me with a partial smile. “Oh, um, yes.”

  I clasped my hands tightly in my lap and vowed not to give him attention the rest of the night. Foolish, foolish man. Then I looked up at the assortment of food and spotted my favorite.