9 • Psyche

After what felt like a small eternity, he whispered, “Ganymede?”

The slight intake of air made him realize he had been holding his breath. Ganymede took a wary step forward that halted when Apollo voiced, “Rise, Priam. Meet your uncle, though like your nephew he more so appears now.”

Priam obliged with a smile. “One so entreated by the gods would be blessed with his share of immortality.”

Ganymede could not hide his descending features, for as Priam stepped to meet him, Ganymede was meeting an old man. More apparent were the roots around his eyes, the valleys around his mouth. He had known already that Priam was different; that he aged in a way Ganymede did not, but as he gazed at the man who was last seen as a boy, his mortality was inescapably illustrated. Silver and honey clashed on his scalp like the river of time stealing away his years. Sharp, intelligent eyes framed by weathered skin. A strong, warrior’s body clothed in an extra robe against the night’s chill.

Priam was a mirror of what Ganymede was not, and his strong hands cradled his face as tears slid, unbidden, down his young cheeks.

“Why do you cry tears of sorrow?” Priam soothed. The voice of a father.

“Because you are old,” Ganymede croaked.

Priam laughed. “Yes, I am! Every year filled with the joys and turmoil of living. What a privilege: to be a king and to see old age.”

Suddenly, he had taken a step back, his hands removed from Ganymede. “I must apologize. I am too forward. A servant of Zeus is my lord and senior-r—”

The syllable coughed from him as Ganymede landed against him, relief flooding him in more ways than he could fathom. The strength of the man’s body despite his age, the warmth of his perfume sprinkled on his robes, the comfort of Priam.

He chuckled as his arms fell around Ganymede. They only parted when Apollo voiced, “I will leave you.”

Ganymede sniffed, wiping his tears as the god walked to the terrace and vanished behind a billowing curtain. Priam, too, seemed to heave with air as his countenance changed. Gone was the calm, proud king. Instead were anxious eyes and an incredulous voice that said, “Ganymede…I never thought I would see you again.”

“Likewise,” he admitted, pulling his cheeks as he wiped them anew.

“No, Gany,” Priam insisted. Still wary of touching him, the pads of his fingers met his elbow instead of pulling him to the divan by the fire. Ganymede had not noticed Apollo light it, but they sat as Priam rushed, “I was there. I saw the eagle take you and I saw him drop you before a light only Helios could rival snatched you up, and you were gone. I’ve heard your screams in my ears ever since.”

Ganymede smiled apologetically. “Then hear them no more. I’m all right.”

The crows’ feet adorning his eyes deepened as he whispered, “Are you?”

Ganymede opened his mouth to speak but Priam shook his head, still whispering. “I should not speak. I’ve never dared ask Lord Apollo about you. I cannot do anything for you anyhow, and to try would insinuate wrath and war among the gods…”

“Priam, please. I am fine, really,” Ganymede pushed. “I am only angry and sorry that I cannot share my health with you. Apollo loves you so dearly and yet…we are so different.”

Priam smiled, but his eyes shined with tears. “That is because…oh, I really shouldn’t speak. I ought to know better.”

“Please,” Ganymede pleaded. “I’ve wanted to speak with you since we were children, and now I’m faced with an old man. I don’t want to lose another moment to fear.”

“Am I the first sign of age you’ve seen?” he asked warily, his brow furrowed.

“No, but…” Ganymede considered. “I suppose I wasn’t paying attention before. Or it did not matter yet.”

Priam appraised him and relinquished, “Lord Apollo knows the value of mortality. The pleasure of the end. His Majesty Zeus has taken these pleasures from you. His selfishness, in the eyes of some and…I must admit, myself, has sown a cruel fate to you. My age wounds you because you will see my passing, as the gods see us all go eventually.”

Ganymede felt his lingering sorrow pulling on the skin of his own eyes, but just as he felt it, a smile contrasted it. “Zeus is certainly selfish, but he is good to me. I may be less vulnerable than you, but I am still mortal to them. Zeus treats me like something fragile, and I have already needed the gods’ medicine more than once, or else I would have greeted death like anyone else.”

But Priam frowned. “How can you say he is good to you when you have been so injured?”

“Because he protects me from his faults, as much as he can. He…tries. He tries like a mortal man. And he entrusts me with those who can ensure my safety and happiness. Lady Athena is most kind; she taught me to read, and Dionysus enabled me to attend his Dionysia recently. Zeus granted that I come to see you, and Apollo and Dion brought me here personally.”

Priam’s eyes widened before he smiled, shaking his head at the fire. “Such familiarity. You are blessed, indeed.”

Ganymede leaned to better see his face. “But you are not convinced?”

Nephew and king pondered that. “Perhaps it is my own selfishness that is not appeased, but I have thought of you all these years, hoping you were safe in Hades’ realm and equally yearning that you were not. We grew up learning the gods’ and titans’ lives so we would better conduct ourselves. Brutality and devastation was their lesson to learn; it was ours to be better.”

Ganymede observed him and the fall in his voice. “You sound…like it is man’s lesson as well.”

Those green eyes found him. “Lady Athena has taught you well, indeed. Though my wife does tell me I am easy to read. Entire conversations are held and I needn’t speak a word with her.”

“You love her?” Ganymede asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Deeply,” he nodded. “I am more than a fortunate man. I am a king who is slave to a loyal wife who treats me tenderly despite her power over me. I have a large family, which I have nearly seen entirely rise up into adulthood. What wars or intrigue I have seen, a god or two has blessed me with their incite in solving it. My court hosts Olympians and now I am faced with the focal point of my childhood, alive and he tells me he is well. But I am still a king who must govern the reckless children that is humanity.”

“I have been through Troy,” Ganymede picked up. The man’s mood seemed to lift as Ganymede told him, “I have walked your streets and seen your temples. It is a beautiful city.”

But Priam gazed at him strangely. “Only walked? You only saw? You did not speak with anyone?”

Ganymede did not know what to say, apart from the truth. “I don’t usually speak with people.”

“You don’t speak with men,” Priam revised. “Only gods.”

“I’m not looking down on anyone—” he defended.

“I’m not saying you are,” Priam assured. “But if I am the last human you knew, and the first you share words with, then we are indeed figures of poetry and legend.”

Priam seemed pleased, but Ganymede could not share it. He wondered if he had truly never spoken to so much as a wine vendor at the Dionysia, or read a hero’s tale that ended happily.

The exploration of his memory was clipped short by a familiar voice announcing, “My company far out-rivals a million strangers.”

Priam fell to his knee immediately while Ganymede stared at Dionysus strolling in from the terrace with what looked like a spear of grilled asparagus clutched between his fingertips. “Dion? What—”

“What what? As if we’re letting you be alone with anyone after our father trusted us to look after you.”

“Dion! For Styx sake,” Apollo’s jaded voice was heard.

“Kindest regards, Priam,” Dionysus finished.

Ganymede stood while Priam otherwise remained on the floor. “I apologize, Lord Dionysus, Lord Apollo. I meant no offense to you or your kin.”

“None taken,” Apollo rushed into the room. “Rise, Priam.”

Dionysus countered, “Offense at being concerned for a long lost relative? Offense at stating the obvious? Those who cannot withstand their own truths are hardly worth admiration, let alone worship. Yes, yes, rise.”

Priam finally did and came to stand beside Ganymede. “Thank you, Lord Dionysus. You and your family have been good to my own. I never want my loose speech to warrant his Majesty’s wrath.”

Dionysus waved his asparagus with a flourish. “Well, I won’t hinder praises if you feel like singing them. Everyone knows Apollo’s hair is so glittered with your shining prayers and burnt offerings.”

Priam’s arm more comfortably fell around Ganymede while he smiled. “Thank you for bringing him back to me. You’ve given me a gift I never dared think of—”

Ganymede opened his mouth only to startle at the crackle of electricity on his front. King Priam fell right back to his knee as the golden pin on the front of Ganymede’s himation transformed: golden lightning spilling from the pin’s center.

Dionysus grimaced apologetically. “Oof. About that. You only have him for twelve hours, respectively.”

“I apologize for the misunderstanding,” Priam began. “I did not mean to insinuate that Ganymede was returning to the mortal realm—”

Ganymede’s brow furrowed. “He’s not angry, he’s just possessive. You all are.”

Dionysus stopped chewing and held his hands out. “I worked hard on those adornments.”

Apollo deflated, “I was hoping to give you a pin of Troy. My lyre would be so lovely with your hair.”

Priam’s eyes lifted nervously. “I am honored to have a prince of my city here, but I cannot incur danger to my citizens.”

Dionysus waved his hand as he chewed the last of his meal, “You are quite safe from Zeus.”

“No?” Priam wondered skeptically as he watched Ganymede stride outside.

“No, because he promised!” he yelled at the sky.

The very clouds seemed to recoil as a warm breeze pulled at Ganymede’s hair; airy fingers sliding behind his ears. “Beware the greedy nature of man,” he heard.

“You’re an idiot,” Ganymede growled. “As if anyone could steal me with you stalking all the time. It’s an honest mistake, thinking I was coming back permanently.”

“So long as he makes the mistake once.”

“Have you never lost someone and expected never to have them again?” Ganymede questioned.

“Yes. Priam and I share the individual in common,” Zeus whispered.

Ganymede’s shoulders slumped. “You’re being silly.”

“We can only be who we are,” Zeus soothed. Ganymede could not see him, but he felt warm lips kiss his forehead. “I am sorry for disturbing your time together.”

“Tomorrow?” Ganymede reminded.

“Tomorrow,” Zeus confirmed. He felt fingertips leave his jaw as Zeus’s voice faded, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow…”

Even in the ache of longing, Ganymede huffed. Repeating Zeus’s path of pushing his hair behind his ears, Ganymede’s own lingered on the side of his head as he rotated, facing a bored Dionysus but an astonished Priam. Apollo had landed on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” Ganymede apologized to Priam. “He’s been nervous about me visiting cities. He was worse in Athens.”

But Priam’s reaction was not what he expected. Astonishment turned to fear as he held something hidden in his robe and himation. After a moment, he said more to himself, “Blessed indeed,” and then to Ganymede, “No reason to be sorry. I would only advise you to keep your conversations in private places. Mortal men do not usually know the difference between madness and the gods’ language.”

Ganymede stared at him, puzzled. “Language?”

Dionysus picked up from where he was snooping through Priam’s documents. “You look like you’re talking to the wind, darling. If a god has words for you, they are for you alone. And if you’re not a priest, everyone will think your pottery’s cracked.”

Ganymede frowned even further. “I’m not speaking another language, though? What are we speaking now?”

“Remind me to tell you the legend of Babel,” Dionysus said, strolling about the room. Ganymede did not understand what that meant, but he did not need to as a male voice drew their attentions to the door.

“Father?” a knock sounded on the door frame as Hector appeared. “Father do you have time—”

“Yes he does,” Dionysus declared huskily.

Hector was already on his knee. “Lord Dionysus. Lord Apollo. I beg forgiveness. I’ll leave immediately.”

“Apologize for insinuating such a thing,” the god sighed.

“Dion,” Ganymede scolded.

“Well stand up! Let me look at you,” he ignored.

“Be nice,” Ganymede insisted.

“I’m always nice.”

“You’re always obnoxious.”

“We all have standards to live up to,” he disregarded. He turned back to a dumbfounded Hector. “You’re doing brilliantly. With standards. And standing.”

Ganymede scrubbed a hand over his eyes while Priam went to join his son. “Hector, Lord Dionysus and Apollo have escorted someone very special to me here for a visit. You have the honor of meeting Ganymede, cup bearer of the gods and loyal companion to His Highest Grace.”

Hector’s eyes fell upon him, and Ganymede felt small in the face of so strong a figure. He was of similar stature to Zeus’s human form, but where Ganymede knew Zeus’s softness, Hector was foreign and crude. However, where he expected the man’s eyes to be dark like Paris’s, like their mother’s, Hector’s eyes were the hazel green of his father. They widened before he fell once more to his knee.

“Lord Ganymede, it is truly an honor. A thousand praises to His Grace for gifting us with your time.”

For all the occasions Ganymede had attended Zeus’s court, his royal festivities, he was not prepared for this. “Uh,” he blurted, and then sighed. “I’m just your…uncle? Or something — please, I came to see my family, not for ceremony or diplomacy.”

Hector raised his head, and at his father’s nod, stood. Ganymede’s breath hitched as his arm extended, and paused in the air. Hector smiled at his blatant confusion. “This is how we say hello to friends.”

Ganymede stared at him, and then at his hand. Reaching with his own, Hector finished the distance by grasping his wrist. Ganymede felt the bell of Hector’s forearm under his fingers, the skin smooth and muscle strong, but the man’s grip was gentle. Ganymede’s golden complexion contrasted with his roasted nut brown—

Hector’s chuckle drew his gaze up. “He looks like you,” he said to his father.

Priam guffawed, crossing his arms with a palm to his cheek. “Your mother has changed the color of our lineage, and for the better, I think. You stand out to your people better than I do, although blending with a crowd has certainly served me well.”

Hector turned back to Ganymede as their hands fell back to their sides. “Has he told you any stories?”

He smiled and shook his head. “We haven’t spoken for long.”

“May I ask when you arrived?” Hector requested.

“Just during the feast,” Ganymede said.

When his son’s smile faded, Priam intercepted, “He isn’t here for pomp or courtly introductions. Only you and I will know he’s been here.”

Hector’s jaw steeled as he nodded once. “I understand.”

Ganymede rushed, “I didn’t mean to cause trouble—”

Dionysus draping an arm around him, his silk robe slithering over his skin as the god held him familiarly close. “Our Gany’s a worrier. Trouble is my sort of activity. Has that proposal gone through yet?”

The transformation in Hector was immediate: his soldierly conviction blushed into the bashfulness of a lover. “Uh — No, my Lord. I haven’t found the right time.”

“Dion!” Apollo rounded from his place on the divan. “I swear—”

“To what? Yourself?” he scoffed.

The air around Apollo danced with radiating heat. “He’s taken, you imbecile. Loyalty is the halt to your depravity.”

“It’s not depravity if it’s consensual. She may join us,” Dionysus chimed.

Hector coughed. “I’m…flattered…”

Dionysus exhaled as Ganymede felt his arm go slack. “But I am rejected. Don’t worry, there’s no fun in it if I’m the only one pleased. I would make your wedding night spectacular, though.”

He released Ganymede to collapse on the divan with Apollo, his head on his fist being the only indication to his fallen mood. Ganymede inhaled nervously. “So… stories?”

Hector turned an expectant smile to his father, whose brows lifted. “Oh goodness. Are you sure? I know my children are bored of hearing them.”

“We’re not bored. We merely know the endings,” Hector corrected.

His father considered and then gestured to the seats around his council table. “Where shall I begin?”

Hector sat on Ganymede’s other side, inducing, “Start at the best part.”

* * * * * * *

The dawn light moved across the table. Empty carafes of water and wine stood sentinel over their conversation, their laughter. Ganymede’s eyes felt the fatigue of the time, but his mind was invigorated by Priam’s voice and Hector’s mirth.

“That poor ram shat gold for weeks, so forced was he to eat gold.”

Ganymede was both appalled and disgusted in his laughter. “Heracles really thought it would grow golden fleece?”

Priam’s smile was warm as he held his face over the table. “You can’t really blame the ponce, what with gods making special creatures now and then. Between my special steeds and his companion, Jason, Heracles was thoroughly conditioned to believe it a normal occurrence for animals to beget gold.”

Ganymede’s lashes fell to half-mast. “Those horses are gold?”

“Black, actually, but they’re certainly not normal to — Oh. You’ve heard of those, have you?”

Ganymede crossed his arms and sat back in his seat. “Yes. I know about those horses.”

Priam and Hector eyed one another across the silence, then, “I hope those horses bit Zeus before he gave them to you,” Ganymede snapped.

Hector snorted before he caught it in his throat, poorly disguising it as a heavy cough. Dionysus was snoring on the divan but Apollo assured, “The horses have defended your family on more than one occasion. So someone has been bitten their fair amount.”

“Don’t defend him,” Ganymede growled tiredly.

Apollo merely chuckled as Priam sounded relieved. “I hope it is not offensive to be…soothed by such a reaction.”

Ganymede’s frown faded. “What do you mean?”

At his father’s hesitation, Hector allowed, “It is not unknown for the gods to forcefully change one’s mind or to ignore it altogether in the favor of their intentions. The fact that you are so strong willed is a wonderful surprise. As much as it is a blessing to be chosen by a god, it is also…devastating, to say the least.”

Ganymede’s features slowly slumped, and he felt small again between the two of them. “I wasn’t always so. I was raised to be a servant. It was safer for me to be ignored, to be servile.”

“Good,” Priam surprised him. “Not to discredit your struggles, but I far prefer you alive and with sound mind. Sometimes that means foregoing the pride of a prince.”

“But I haven’t struggled,” Ganymede voiced quietly. “Not really. I’ve been unhappy…but nothing like what you have endured. You’ve spoken of espionage and battles. Councils and intrigue. I’ve only experienced such things as Hephaestus’s kindness and Zeus’s gentleness. Dion’s generosity and Apollo’s compassion. I feel it was an accident I was born a prince at all. I know nothing of cruelty or how to manage it.”

His eyes widened, then, at the sight of Hector and Priam staring at him. “What?”

“Ganymede,” Hector breathed, “the reason the gods are gods…is because they are monsters. It is our own monstrosities that make us like them and therefore able to learn from them. What a privilege you have, to witness them as something else entirely.”

Ganymede felt a familiar, numbing blockage in his mind; a wall keeping him from understanding. Apollo was silent on the sofa, and Dionysus’ snores had softened as if he might be listening. Ganymede understood why they believed the gods to me monstrous. He supposed to them, the former was as abstract as the fire, and the other as unmanageable as a wine’s spell, but to Gany, they were his friends. The longest family he had.

Priam’s voice sifted through his mind. “So much thought in one night, and the chariot already rides through the sky. Ganymede, you must rest before you return to His Grace. Let me show you to a room—”

“I have done so, Priam, thank you,” Apollo intercepted. “I will help Gany to sleep and then you may break your fasts together.”

“I look forward to it,” he said as king and prince bowed. Not long after they departed, Apollo guided Ganymede and a quiet Dionysus back to their rooms. The latter climbed into bed with Ganymede, taking his place on the youth’s chest without a word.

Apollo plucked an artichoke leaf from a covered platter of cooked vegetables and fruit before he sat on the bed. He pulled Ganymede’s feet onto his lap and answered his perplexed expression. “You will sleep easier with warm soles.”

Ganymede had hardly a moment to absorb that before he was indeed lost to slumber.

* * * * * * *

It was the same hands on his ankles that roused him to consciousness; the tickle of fingertips drawing him sluggishly through the waters of sleep. When he opened his eyes, Apollo held a book poised in one hand, a thumb on the other swiping over his arch. The room was filled with morning light, but Dionysus continued to breathe heavily, draped as he was around Ganymede.

“Is he all right?” he whispered.

Apollo turned to him and eyed his brother. “He doesn’t take rejection well. None of us do, really. Hungry?”

Ganymede nodded and the god stood. “I’ll summon Priam.”

“He doesn’t need to come here. I’ll go—”

Apollo’s lips turned to the side. “I can’t very well leave you while he is asleep.”

“I’ll go to Priam, I don’t mind,” he insisted, extracting himself from the bed before he glanced down at Dionysus. “Will he be all right, though? I didn’t think…I guess I didn’t think he was serious about Hector.”

“Oh, Dion is always serious,” Apollo sighed. “I’ll have to have a word with Eros.”

Ganymede frowned as he followed Apollo out of the rooms. “Eros hasn’t been with us. Wouldn’t Dion notice if he was pierced with an arrow?”

“You’d think,” Apollo murmured bitterly. “Between Aphrodite’s wiles and Ares’ technique, Eros is only matched by Hermes at outsmarting gods.”

Ganymede did not dare say more. He had forgotten that Apollo and Eros did not stand on even footing. It was a relief when they returned to Priam’s study, however it had been tidied and was now adorned with platters of food. Ganymede assumed it was Apollo’s influence that kept them unseen while the servants cleared the room as if a silent call had passed through them.

“Go ahead and eat. Priam won’t mind,” Apollo instructed. “I hear him in the corridor.”

Ganymede stood beside the council table, plucking a fig off the dish as Apollo stepped around the door. His head turned at the sound of a clatter on the table, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of a glass tipping over—

He caught the glass but the water remained in the air, droplets and torrent splayed—

“Wonderful reflexes.”

Ganymede faced Poseidon on his other side, eyes darting to the doorway before he jerkily bowed. “My Lord. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he crooned, lazily strolling along the open doorways to the terrace. Ganymede dared to stand up, the better to see when Apollo would return…but as the water was still lingering in the air, his stomach fell in its place.

“What are you doing?” he meant to say, but his voice gave out, the words pushed through a whisper.

“Seeing how you’re enjoying your visit,” he said, and then turned to him. “Apollo did not tell you I also built Troy’s walls? That’s so like him, taking credit of the city’s foundation. The same as Athena. It is my city as much as his. We are within eye view of my waters, after all.”

“I-I didn’t mean to discredit you, my Lord,” Ganymede stammered. “Why-Why isn’t the water falling?”

“Why is Apollo still in the corridor, you mean,” Poseidon gazed at him. “A lot can fit in a moment. A second. I’ve found it most interesting how my sibling and nephews so cater to your mortal perception of time.”

Ganymede’s eyebrows twitched, wanting to frown but he was frozen. “I get sick when I move at their speeds.”

“I do not mean their physical abilities, but their abstract ones.”

Ganymede involuntarily stepped back as the god moved forward, his fingers trailing through the water. “Like your lover’s wind against your cheek. Or the caress of water while you swim.”

Blood drained from Ganymede’s face. He felt sick. He stumbled backward, away from his reaching fingertips—

Golden light streaked across his eyes.

He was on the ground before he could fathom it.

In an instant Eros was soaring over him, and then he was over Poseidon, likewise prone on the ground. Eros’ bow was drawn, his sandaled foot pressed to Poseidon’s chest and his arrow point between his eyes.

“You don’t touch him,” Eros growled. Ganymede could not breathe. He sounded like his father. Ganymede scuffled backward, his heart shuddering at the sight of Poseidon’s smug smile.

“I can break you, boy. I am the sea and all of the oceans on this marble.”

Eros smirked, but it was without mirth. “You are not the sea. The grace of titans has let you play king in their waters. But my mother is a titan, and those waters run through our veins. I am the son of creation, infliction, and war. Chaos is the string of my bow…”

Ganymede watched in horror as the color entirely left Poseidon’s face, his whole body. For all his seaweed green fabric, lustrous black hair, and sunbaked flesh, he was a transparent ghost.

“I. Out. Rank. You, fish. You and I have both been eavesdropping. Let us continue the talk of monsters. Humans are monstrous without their emotions. Gods, however, perish completely without them…it is the greatest irony of our beings and I control the most powerful one of all. Your love for yourself doesn’t exist without me. And the next time you steal one of my arrows, I will unleash Dionysus and Athena’s wrath on you. Zeus will not save you. Get out.”

Water splashed on the ground and Poseidon was gone.

Eros straightened and then he was face to face with Ganymede. For a moment he looked like his father too, but where Ares had eyes of intent and fire, Eros’ were kind and eager.

“Gany?” he whispered. “Gany…Gany…”

Emotion overflowed within him and tears raced down his cheeks. Eros was lifting him in his arms, murmuring softly against him. Ganymede clutched dumbly at him, sobbing as Eros apologized over and over.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was even this late. He will never touch you, Gany. I’ll make sure of it.”

“W-Why was h-h-he here?” he struggled.

“Because he is jealous, sweet Gany,” Eros soothed. “He has always been jealous of the people’s love for Athena and Apollo despite his own efforts on their behalf. He is jealous of Zeus for stealing you and then earning your love. Poseidon tried something similar once and was sorely refused. It made him an eternal enemy out of Athena. Hush, sweetheart, I have you now.”

“Apollo is coming back — Priam is coming!” Ganymede hiccuped. He began to take hold of his extremities, but Eros’s hand on his hair stilled him.

“You’re in my time, now. We have time. You have every right to wear through your terror. You will feel better soon.”

His fingers pulled through Ganymede’s hair, cradling his nape as he recovered. Slowly, he stopped seeing spots from Eros’ brilliance and instead of fear he felt exhaustion. “Where is Zeus?” his voice cracked.

“Working, I expect,” Eros said, his voice like velvet. “He’ll never leave you again if he knows.”

“I don’t want him to know,” he confirmed, “but maybe he should.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Eros worried. “Athena should be the one whom you tell. She knows better than anyone how to deal with Poseidon. But his jape is over. Even he will understand how many of us are against him.”

“Jape?” Ganymede’s voice heightened. “This was a jape?”

“Not everyone is predisposed to a moral compass,” Eros said as if in apology. “Our ideas, our glee and shame are more fleeting than humans’. And with an immortal age, our actions are wild and — I shouldn’t justify him. He was wrong, but it is over now. Think of better things. Your nephew is overjoyed to see you for breakfast.”

“Is he?” Ganymede sniffed, wiping his haggard eyes.

“Of course he is,” Eros smiled. “I can feel emotion and he is radiating. He loves you and is worried for you.”

Ganymede wetly sniffled again as he nodded. “He doesn’t trust that Zeus is good to me.”

“None of us trust Zeus,” Eros admitted darkly. To Ganymede’s shocked, glistening eyes, he smiled sadly. “It doesn’t matter how he was. What matters is how he is now, how he is to you. And he is good to you. I know that. I’ve known it since he first stole you, and I’ve known it since I first saw you with my own eyes. The two of you are odd.”

“Why does everyone feel I’m wrong for loving him?” Ganymede uttered as silent tears moved over his skin.

“We cannot go by traditional rules when it comes to the affections of the gods,” Eros voiced. “But if we did, Zeus would be the last person you would love.”

“I know he abducted me,” Ganymede growled. “I know he stole me from my family and vice versa. I’m not happy about it. I’m not crazy like Priam thinks—”

“He doesn’t think you’re crazy,” Eros soothed.

“But he does,” Ganymede crumpled, sobbing anew. “Am I insane?”

“No, no you’re not,” Eros pulled him back against him. “If you were, you would have a very different attendance of gods around you.”

“Would I?” Ganymede doubted. “Apollo is mad with creation and grief. Dion is a god of madness and falls into melancholy after one suitor’s refusal—”

“Poseidon stole one of my arrows. Dion is stronger than his worshipers give him credit for. It is a testament to my own power that Dion was so affected—” Eros tried.

“Athena’s watched over me for years,” Ganymede pushed. “She knows a mind better than anyone.”

“Gany,” Eros hushed. “You are caught between mortal ethics and godly freedom. What divides brilliance and madness? Human judgment. People call Dion mad and Athena brilliant when they are actually the same. You adore Zeus, and today is not changing that. I cannot change that. What lies between the two of you is of your own making.

“Take it from me, everyone is mad when it comes to love. It has been my task for centuries and centuries to make both healthy matrimonies and to drive people as far as their deaths because of love. It is a devastating novelty, what you and he have. You have both crippled and invigorated me…”

He manifested a handkerchief for Ganymede to blow his nose, but he had succeeded in tearing the youth’s attention to something else. “We are why you were gone for so long?”

After a while he admitted, “Yes and no. I’ve been so tired. Dion teases that I am in my mother’s cage but she has been helping me…cope. I can’t stand firing arrows of false love anymore. My arrows have been the same as death for so many. But then I saw you.”

He smiled sadly, hopefully. “One so full of affection and kindness; so willing to share this kindness. Such headstrong affection for the greatest fool among us, and to visibly see him become better, Gany. Styx and heaven…that’s the whole point. I am the son of war because it is a constant fight. You’ve become braver and he’s become kinder and fools think love is a trick to reproduce. Love is in the mind, the body is only the aftermath. That’s why Zeus dislikes my mother and I. Because we can see inside the mind in a way he and Athena cannot. Let yourself be mad, Gany, because I am learning.”

He reached up for a glass of water from the table, patiently letting Ganymede gulp it dry. He refilled the cup and waited some more before he relinquished, “I have…found someone.”

Ganymede’s brows lifted. “A lover?” he said clumsily around his mouthful. Eros nodded, but his expression prompted Ganymede to say, “You gods are always sad when you’re in love.”

That sparked a laugh from him, but Ganymede guessed, “Are you worried your mother won’t like him — her?”

Eros gazed at the floor before he admitted, “Her. And no, my mother hardly cares with whom I spend my dalliances. She is the reason I found her.”

Ganymede blinked. “Really? Then what’s wrong?”

Eros sighed, “It is a long story. In short, a beautiful woman prayed to my mother for help. Any help. Help to marry quickly so men would stop looking. Poison men’s hearts so they stopped coveting her. It is the same beseech for freedom so many women ask of my mother: freedom from men’s privilege.

“So she sent me to handle the situation. Find a husband for her or indeed turn their hearts. I encountered her sisters first. Horrible, already married women who harass her for taking so long to marry. I was sure I’d find a self-entitled brat who thought herself prettier than she was.

“I was wrong. Sweet and sharp, she’s the smartest of the lot. The poor thing has had to outsmart suitors to keep herself safe. I suspect Athena has been attending her as well. She has similarities to Medusa.”

“Medusa?” Ganymede inquired.

Eros stared at him. “She’s never told you of…no, I suppose she wouldn’t.”

“Medusa is a person?” Ganymede blurted dumbly, unfamiliar with the name.

“Oh yes,” Eros said with a unique mixture of sadness and…was it fear? “Her tale is not for me to tell you. Athena may share it with you but I cannot. The point is, Gany, I…I cannot hope to be like you. I can’t…”

He fell silent, his eyes ruddy and their shine was diminished. Ganymede gently ventured, “Like me, how?”

Eros huffed, “I cannot know if she loves me because of what I am or because of our time together.”

Ganymede swallowed, unsure how to help him. “Can you not…ask her?”

Eros laughed, like a forced bark. “She does not yet know I am a god. She must learn that first.”

Ganymede smiled warily. “It seems a little…unfair to judge her before you’re honest.”

“Oh, Gany,” he rubbed his eyes. “This whole affair has been shrouded in absurdities.”

“Would you elaborate?” he asked.

Eros had crossed his legs and now planted his elbows on his knees to hold his face. “She’s yet to see me.”

Ganymede absorbed that and clipped, “What?”

Eros scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’ve…arranged for her to be married to me. She’s living safely in my palace but I only visit her at night, in complete darkness.”

“What?” Ganymede exclaimed, and then, “You’re married? Congratulations!”

“Ugh,” Eros moaned.

“But I don’t understand,” Ganymede said. “If you’re married, then…is she happy that you’re married?”

Eros held his mouth as he considered. He ultimately nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“Do you actually talk to her or just…?”

“Yes, we converse,” Eros retorted.

“And she does not know who you are?” he clarified. “This is putting myself and Zeus into a curious perspective.”

“Gany, if you’re not going to be helpful—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But…she must enjoy you under the belief that you are human, right?”

“However way she enjoys me may change as soon as she knows otherwise,” Eros worried. “She may blame me for her suitors’ attentions, or become like her sisters, full of pride at having married a god.”

“I’m surprised she’s not annoyed at only seeing you at night. You’re a horrible husband.”

Eros huffed an involuntary laugh. Ganymede let the smile linger before he said, “It sounds like you both have something to lose. But…if love is a fight, then…Apollo was right.”

Eros gazed at him peculiarly, expecting an insult at the mention of Apollo. Ganymede finished, “He said between your mother’s wiles and your father’s skill, you have what it takes to outsmart gods.”

Eros’s eyes narrowed. “Apollo has the unique tact of crafting an insult within a compliment.”

Ganymede laughed but pushed on, “If you’ve already won her heart, can’t you do it again? And you said it yourself: she’s better than her sisters. You’re better than your brothers.”

Eros blinked, his expression clearing in wonder. Ganymede smiled softly; glad he had said the right thing. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Eros matched his smile, reaching forward to wipe the last of his tears from his face. “I am too.”

“What is her name?” he asked.

Eros changed much how Hector had. His lips parted and his eyelashes touched his cheeks softly. “Psyche.”