Soul in Darkness Page 14

  Either I would choose to believe my husband and do my best to act as his teammate in this mysterious game, or I would continue to listen to the paranoid voice in my head saying to fight him until the bitter end to save myself.

  It was time to decide.

  INSTINCTS

  As I sat there contemplating, Mino was lifted back into the room. All at once, the bedchamber went dark as pitch, and the candles bloomed to life along the walls. My heart gave a great pound and I backed away from where I’d been standing near my husband.

  “Psyche,” he said, disappointment in his tone. But he seemed to understand my trepidation, because he spoke softly now. “There is something intimate about darkness and candlelight.”

  I nodded. “I’m going to wash up.” Then I hurried away to the closet to grab a fresh nightgown, taking it to the bathing room where I closed myself in. My body shook as I ran a damp cloth over my skin and brushed out my hair. I could not bring myself to believe him about not touching me anymore. Once I was dressed, I hurried back through the room to my bed but stopped short when I saw the indentation on one side, the cat curled up above the indentation in mid-air, and Mino on his back in the middle, appearing to get his belly rubbed. Was Sphinx laying on my husband?

  “I will sleep beside you,” my husband said matter-of-factly.

  My mouth fell open and stayed that way for a long moment.

  “Y-you said you wouldn’t come to the bed unless I invited you.” And yet twice he had done that very thing, coming into my bed and forcing affection upon me.

  “What I specifically meant, dearest wife, was that I would not consummate our marriage until you requested it.”

  It felt as if a flame had been lit beneath my skin. I stared down at the edge of the bed, chewing my lip, heart galloping. He had to know I would never request that to happen, but he spoke with his usual characteristic, perplexing confidence, as if it would eventually be a sure thing.

  “Tell me why you have decided not to touch me again?” I said, then quickly added, “I am not complaining. I’m simply curious.” My weight shifted from one foot to the other.

  “It felt ingenuine,” he answered. “To force it.”

  He sounded so sincere. It drove me mad that he did not consistently remain in the villainous box within my mind. And then he amended, “As with any game, if your strategy is not working, you must rethink it.”

  Ah. So, his forced affections were not having the desired effect.

  “It was wrong,” I told him, earning a low grunt in response. “But I do not understand your ultimate goal. Was it to…” I blushed. “Make me want you? Physically?”

  He was quiet a long time before solemnly replying, “I cannot say.”

  Of course, he couldn’t. For once, I found myself wishing I could know, not just the truth, but his heart. His true thoughts and feelings, all of them.

  “Are you really going to…” I waved a hand at the bed. “Sleep there?”

  “I am,” he responded. “And you are going to sleep…” He patted the open spot beside him. “Right there.”

  I glowered, not caring for this at all. Mostly because it forced me to acknowledge the flare of anticipation his nearness brought.

  “Put these on so you do not accidentally touch me.” A gorgeous pair of iridescent gloves appeared from nowhere in front of me. I startled, giving a small jump.

  “How did you…? I cannot sleep in gloves.”

  “You will find they are quite comfortable.”

  I crossed my arms. “Perhaps it would be simpler if I slept on the lounger.”

  “Put on the gloves and get into bed, Psyche.” His forceful tone irked me to no end. My arms tightened across my chest and my lips pursed.

  “There are limits to my patience,” he warned.

  I did not trust this. Not at all. But I loathed when he forced me to his will and would prefer not to feel powerless like that again, so I huffed through my nose as I yanked the gloves on. Damn them for feeling so wonderful. They were lightweight, yet when I touched my hands together, I could not feel a thing through them. I roughly pulled down the blanket and climbed in.

  Mino jumped up, turning ‘round and ‘round as he pressed against me, tongue lolling, begging for pets. It was hard to keep my grumpy disposition with his loving, carefree attention. I sighed and tried to focus only on him, but it was impossible not to feel my husband’s invisible eyes on me, laying so close.

  Sphinx, apparently perturbed by the puppy’s antics, leapt across the space to pounce on him, her tiny paws wide. My husband and I both laughed as they rolled around between us making adorable growling sounds. After a while of this, I found myself sinking down and getting comfortable. I wondered if my husband had propped his elbow to hold his head as I did while he watched the precious spectacle. I wondered if his wings were folded neatly on the bed behind him or if they hung off and trailed the floor.

  What did he look like?

  Were his eyes warm and kind or beaded and calculating? Was his head covered in scales and horns or the hair of a man? Most importantly, who had control over him, and why?

  “What are you thinking right now?” he asked.

  I decided to answer without holding back. “I was thinking of you, and what you might look like, and how you came to be in this situation with me. I would like to know your story.” I felt splayed open just then, vulnerable.

  “And I would very much like to share every detail with you. Someday, if our team wins, I will.”

  I regarded his presence and felt the wall of fear slipping. I had worked so hard to hold it up, expending every last bit of my energy, that my body all but sagged with relief as I let it go. Perhaps this would be my greatest downfall, this very moment, when I finally decided to push past my trepidations.

  “I’m going to trust my instincts,” I said softly. “Maybe that makes me a fool, but I cannot continue to live in fear. I was not built that way. I want to trust you. I want to…work with you. As a team. To do whatever it is we are meant to do.”

  A grateful sound escaped his throat. “I know I said I would not touch you,” he breathed. “But I must.”

  I went very still and closed my eyes as I felt his large, warm hand touch my cheek and hold the side of my face with utter gentleness, his fingertips slipping into my hair. Would he kiss me? My chest rose and fell in a shudder as I recalled the feel of his lips.

  No. No, I didn’t want that. I shouldn’t. It was one thing to work with him to achieve a goal, whatever that elusive goal might be, but I had to keep my mind clear. This twisted lust I sometimes felt did not belong. It was misplaced emotion—a product of madness caused by an outrageous situation. I would not waste another moment feeling guilty for what had happened, but I also could not allow myself to indulge those sorts of thoughts, husband or not.

  “You often overthink,” he said with patience, his hand dropping away.

  I shook my head. “There is no harm in caution. Especially when my life and well-being are on the line.”

  “Hm.” My lips twisted at the sound, and he asked. “Why are you making that face?”

  “I hate when you say, Hm.”

  He had the nerve to laugh. “My hands are tied. Figuratively. You know that.”

  “It is still annoying.”

  Another laugh from him had me shaking my head again and trying not to smile.

  “You know,” he said, “If there is something you want…anything…you need only ask.” I got the distinct impression he was talking about what had taken place between us in this bed. He may have promised not to do it again against my will, but he was still hoping for more. I cleared my throat.

  “I want nothing.”

  “Shame.”

  I rolled my eyes. For a creature of Olympus, he was such a man.

  “Continue to follow your instincts, Psyche,” he whispered. “Even if they go against your need for precaution. You will not regret it.”

  I hoped not, because at this point, my instincts
were all I had. But I was not going to indulge in any misplaced desires that might arise along the way, no matter how much he wanted me to. From here on out, my mind would be clear. I would work with my husband as a teammate, but that was all. No kissing or touching or anything of the sort. And please gods, no more dreams of Leodes.

  SPEAKING WITHOUT WORDS

  It was bizarre to wake in the dawning light with a puppy curled against my belly, a kitten beside my head with her tail draping my throat, and a heavy, warm hand over my waist, his leg pressed against mine from behind. I lay there very still, soaking in the sensation.

  Why did he have to feel like such a normal man? A monster’s touch should never be so comforting. Would it be okay to pretend, for a brief moment, that he was Leodes? No, not Leodes; thoughts of him got me into trouble. But a man. A respectable man my parents had married me off to with their blessing. A man who cared for me and would always look out for my well-being. A man who would eventually fill my belly with his seed to make us a father and mother.

  No. Not that last one. I’d hardly given any thought to motherhood, so I wasn’t sure where that came from. No pretending. This entire line of thought was not beneficial. I would drive myself to despair thinking of that which I would never have. My life had no room for childish daydreams anymore. Dreams were not harmless. Desires were a danger.

  I felt my husband’s fingers flex on my waist, his leg stiffening just before he stretched, wakening.

  “Good morning,” he said, wafting warm honey my way. Who wakes with perfectly scented breath? My creature, apparently. It was dizzying.

  “Morning,” I mumbled, keeping my face turned away.

  He patted my hip and I felt the bed shift as he climbed out, causing the animals to stand and stretch, yawning. Mino shook out his ears.

  I also got to my feet, about to take the puppy out when the door opened and Renae entered, carrying in a tray.

  “Good morning, Princess,” she said. “Here is your morning meal. Come with me Mino and Sphinx; time to go out.”

  They both seemed excited to leave the room, bounding away.

  I removed my gloves, setting them on the bed and rubbing my hands, feeling shy.

  “Sleep well?” he asked.

  “Fine. You?”

  “Better than fine.”

  I held back a smile, and asked, “What will you do today?”

  “Work for my allotted time, and then return to you straight away.”

  I peered down at my toes as they dug into the soft rug of woven, colorful wool.

  “What will you do, Psyche?”

  I had no answer. Every morning I was awash in melancholy. Of all the times of day, mornings were the hardest for some reason. Perhaps it was knowing the day held no hope of seeing people. Just me, two animals, and the trees, who did not care for said animals.

  “What is the matter?”

  Could he not see it? “Loneliness, I suppose.”

  He paused. “You are accustomed to companionship.”

  “Are you not?”

  “No.”

  I frowned.

  “On occasion,” he amended. “But not daily.”

  It was hard to explain how I felt when we were so different, especially knowing it made no difference. Nothing would change. I meandered over to the tray and lifted the lid, picking at a ripe berry. Even its mix of sweet, tart juice on my tongue did not raise my spirits. The tea pot lifted, and a stream of steaming light brown liquid poured into a cup, followed by milk, then it moved toward me. My husband was serving me.

  “Thank you.” I took it and added a large drizzle of honey. “I’ll feel better after some tea.” I held the cup in my hands and blew at the steam, feeling silly that he was probably watching me with pity. Assuming he felt pity for me. That was the ambiance he gave off anyway.

  “I have to go.” He sounded regretful.

  I took a tentative sip of the hot liquid and it immediately soothed me a fraction. “Have a good day at work.”

  “I will tell Renae she can play games with you if you would like.”

  “How generous of you.” I gave a small smile and he sighed before leaving.

  Weren’t we the picture of domesticity?

  Moments after he left, Mino came running back into the room, and I fed him. As I watched him, I battled the gloom inside me. I had never been prone to depressive bouts before I came here. As much as I wanted to climb back into bed, I would not let myself give in to the sadness. I went outside with Mino and Sphinx and ran with them, playing, even rolling down the hills with them. Strangely, not a single grass stain marred my silk stola.

  I stopped at the range as I did every day, honing my archery skills. I wondered what bow my husband used since only my own was present. When I’d hit the target three times from three different positions, I left the range to find the animals.

  Both were thoroughly exhausted, so I brought them to my room and went to see the trees, as promised. I was nervous, fearing they might still be upset, but they welcomed me with open branches and were happy to swing me and let me climb, even brushing their leaves over my hair, lifting the strands, which I had left down. It was the touch of a friend, and I adored every moment.

  The last thing I did before retiring back to the palace was to dip my feet in the moving stream. I found that if my intentions were not to try and cross it, the water did not rise. It seemed to know. Sentient waters. Sentient trees. Such a wondrous place. If only I had someone to share it with.

  I took my time walking back to the grand palace, finding hot food awaiting my return. Mino was doing his best to climb a chair to get to it. I was ravenous this afternoon and immediately sat down to eat, taking bites and sharing with both animals until it was all gone.

  We were about to retire to the inviting bed for a nap when the window opened, and I felt my husband’s larger-than-life presence. A bubble of giddiness rose up and I smacked it down. Yes, I had agreed to work with him as a team, but it was nothing to get excited over. For all I knew, I was being fooled, but I was choosing not to bother with those thoughts as well.

  “You look spent,” he said. “Perhaps a bath?”

  That did sound nice. I probably should not climb under the covers with dried sweat covering me. I gave a nod, and soon the sound of running water filled the room. Like every time he had run a bath for me, he left me alone and closed the door, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he was somehow spying. He had seen me nude the day of the ant bites, but it hadn’t been a moment of sensuality in the least. Never before had I been bashful of my nakedness; the people of my culture were not modest, but the thought of him seeing me without clothing made my skin prickle with nervous awareness.

  I became mindful of the heaviness of my breasts and the way my waist swooped in, then flared out over my hips. The way my thighs lightly brushed, and how my hair fell with a delicious tickle across my back and arms. What would he think of the way my nipples pebbled into tight pinkish-brown buds?

  I blinked the thoughts away and slid into the water, holding back a groan of pleasure. Nothing mattered less than what he thought of my body. I was being ridiculous. Perhaps I should ask him not to touch me while we shared the bed. The affections were going to my head, a dagger to my logic.

  But if I were honest, it was more than the physical affections. On its own, his touch was not enough to affect my mind. It was his attention that was wearing at my wall of resolve—attentions that reminded me, against my better judgment, of Leodes. Either my husband was a better actor than any in Greece, or his concern for me was genuine. His questions, his conversations, his complete focus on my interests and well-being…it was flattering in a way I wished it wasn’t. It felt as if he cared about me as a person, not a princess. Of course, it could all be a part of my husband’s dark, ulterior motive—a thought that sent a sour stitch of disappointment through me.

  I sighed and sank deeper into the warmth of the bath, pushing those thoughts away.

  The water soothed away my a
nxieties as I lathered my skin with lavender and vanilla. When it began to cool, I climbed out and patted myself dry with a thick, warm cloth, squeezing my hair. I stepped from the steaming bathing room, wrapped in the fabric, and immediately felt my husband’s eyes on me. He was hard to ignore as I made my way toward the closet.

  One heartbeat later, I had a moment that can only be described as spontaneous madness. Without thinking on it, I dropped my towel, not looking his way, heading nonchalantly into the closet with my naked body fully on display for him. An unmistakable intake of air came from my husband where he stood at the windows before I disappeared from his sight. My heart was like a gong in my chest over and over as I fumbled to dress, suddenly terrified that my small show would bring him over here in expectation of something more.

  Stupid, Psyche, why must you be so impulsive?

  I felt like an idiot as I forced myself to walk back into the room, my cheeks hot, pretending it had been nothing at all. A small gasp parted my lips when the room went dark like a starless, moonless night. When the candles did not light as they usually did, I knew I had made a horrible mistake. Should I apologize? No, I had to feign innocence.

  I forced out a whisper. “I cannot see.”

  “Pity.” His voice was directly in front of me, startling my senses. My whole body went on high alert. “Because I have made myself visible.”

  Visible, standing right in front of me, and I could not see him. My lips pursed in annoyance.

  Something soft pressed against my hand, and he said, “Put these on.”

  The gloves. My hands trembled as I slipped them on. At no point did my heart settle its steady pounding. I was torn between acknowledging the mistake I’d made and being too prideful to bring it up.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “You must be tired.” He was being so matter-of-fact.

  “Are you…angry?” I asked, trying to prepare myself for what was to come.

  His chuckle was deep, reverberating through me. “Anger is far from what I feel.”