A/N: I'm SOOO sorry for the wait! I've been on vacation for two weeks, and my computer had to be repaired, so I understand if you resent me for the abandonment. BUT, Chapter 7 is here at last! Please please PLEASE review, and of course, I don't own either Eros or Psyche, but I wish I did in this chapter! I'm hoping like crazy that it was worth the wait!
She was shaking. Oh gods, how pathetic, she was shaking. Despite being a rational, levelheaded person, Psyche's imagination took flight as she fidgeted in her room, waiting for the arrival of her betrothed. Hesper had been a comforting companion for most of the evening, but at the last moment had been called away by another servant, leaving an uneasy Psyche to herself.
Checking herself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, Psyche paced to the balcony and leaned upon the railing with a great sigh. Perhaps he wasn't even there, and she had been worrying needlessly. Flopping onto her chaise, she gazed up to the heavens, admiring Selene's waxing beauty and wondering vaguely if the goddess was looking back at her as well.
There was a quiet knock upon the entry to the balcony, and Psyche looked up to see a smiling Hesper. "It's time, mistress," she announced, a knowing gleam in her bright eyes. Psyche's stomach flopped she stood, and with some inner prompting, she followed her maid out of the room and down the hall.
She wrung her hands together in anticipation as Hesper strode ahead of her at a brisk pace, leading her down the hallway. At the end of the hallway was a large, ornate door. At this door Hesper stopped, turning to Psyche. "He said he would meet you in here, my lady," she said with an excited tone.
Psyche looked from the door to the maid in desperation, but Hesper ignored her and nudged her forward. "It'll be wonderful, miss, don't worry about a thing." With a flourish, she opened the door and with a firm hand guided Psyche inside.
Psyche found herself in a room even larger than her own. Near a massive marble fireplace sat several plush, deep red couches trimmed in burnished gold, two of the predominant colors throughout the entire room. Over the fireplace was an intricate painting of a lovely couple seated in a field of brilliant red poppies. The man was leaning over the girl, placing a hand upon her cheek and gazing into her eyes so tenderly that their love for each other radiated from the canvas. So taken was she by the painting that she failed to realize what room she was in- her husband's bedroom.
As she studied it, a deep voice sounded behind her. "Lovely, isn't it?" Psyche froze where she stood, unable to move. With a gentle whoosh, the candles that lit the other side of the room went out. Turning slowly, Psyche felt her insides flutter as she looked toward the source of the voice. On the darkened side of the room, a man's tall form was silhouetted faintly in the moonlight. "Please, sit down," he said, gesturing to the couch behind her.
She squinted into the darkness, straining to see more of him as she sat upon the couch. "Are you…" she croaked, her voice momentarily escaping her, 'my h-husband?"
He laughed, and Psyche felt she'd never heard a more wonderful sound in the world. "Well, it would be more correct in saying that we are betrothed, little one, seeing as we have not yet been wed. But yes, I am he."
Finding her voice again, Psyche immediately burbled with questions. "But what of what the oracle said? She prophesized I would marry a great and terrible beast!" she exclaimed, hungry for the answers she'd been seeking for so long.
The figure sighed, putting a hand to his hair as he sat upon the large bed. "The oracle," he shook his head, seemingly exasperated, "she seems to have her own way of doing things. I suppose you could think of it as a test, before you could come here."
Raising an eyebrow, Psyche crossed her legs, a perfect picture of a dignified princess. "I didn't know a test was required to be your wife, " she blurted, her tone cool. Realizing how she must have sounded, she groaned inwardly. What a wonderful impression she must be making.
Again, her husband laughed. "I like your spirit, Psyche. I do believe that's one of the things I enjoy most about you." Once he said her name, she changed her mind. She liked the way he said it better than his laugh.
Shaking herself out of the momentary lapse into girlish swooning, she eyed him curiously, thinking about what he said. "You mean you don't like my beauty best?" she asked without a trace of vanity, genuinely surprised.
She could almost hear him smile. "Well, I admit that it was the thing I noticed first," he paused, thoughtful, then changed the subject. "Do you like your rooms?"
She nodded emphatically. "They're absolutely beautiful, I've never seen such lovely rooms. Thank you, for the time you took on them."
He seemed pleased to hear of her approval. With a surge of newfound confidence, Psyche rose and began to walk toward him slowly. As she neared him, she found herself inexplicably drawn to him. He in turn was frozen at her sudden decision to come closer, and with caution he backed his large frame more closely against the wall.
"Might we light some candles? I cannot see your face," she prompted, stopping when she neared the edge of the bed. So near to him, she could smell an exquisite aroma, sheer masculinity mixed with spices, it was practically narcotic.
At her request her husband remained painfully silent, staring at her as he stood, though his body language was tense. "I'm afraid not, my dear." He gestured for her to sit while he searched for the right words to say. "You see, though I wish it were different, you won't be able to see my face for awhile. That is why I will only visit you at night."
Psyche frowned. "But why?" she asked, utterly confused.
He heaved a labored sigh. "That I cannot say, But, I promise, soon we'll be able to see each other face to face." Looking to her with an apology written on his hidden eyes, he wished with everything in him that he could explain the whole situation and allay her questions and fears, but he knew to do so this soon was impossible.
Psyche looked upon him intently. Though she knew virtually nothing about him, she hadn't seen his face, nor would she for a while, and she had only just met him, she felt strangely calm and comforted in his presence. It was preposterous to feel that way after only just having met him, but she couldn't help but feel it. "So," she said, breaking the thick silence between them, "you know my name, but I still haven't found out yours."
Eros chuckled. Yet another question he could not answer. Thinking for a moment, he finally came up with a solution. "You can call me Evander," he replied, slightly impressed by his own ingenuity. For of course, the name Evander meant 'archer'.
"Evander," Psyche softly repeated to herself. "It is a nice name," she mused.
The air around them was charged, and Psyche could feel his gaze boring into her, melting her. The silence was practically deafening, and just when Psyche thought she could no longer stand it, he slowly lifted his hand. Psyche stared at it, her eyes huge as it drew nearer and nearer her face. Ever so gently, the large hand brushed a stray hair from her cheek, his fingers softly grazing her skin.
His touch was electric, sending a huge jolt all the way through her body. His hand lingered in hesitation, so close to fulfilling his desire to touch her again. Psyche's jaw dropped, and a small, strangled sound emitting embarrassingly from her throat. At that he checked himself and drew his hand back, locking it to his side. She slapped her had to her mouth and dropped her head, thoroughly mortified as her cheeks burned scarlet.
Eros couldn't help but smile at her reaction, his mind racing with the thoughts of all of the nights to come after this first. Oh, how much he had to look forward to.
"I must leave now, but I will visit you again very soon," he told her as though he spoke a solemn oath. Psyche merely nodded, looking up to him. Tenderly, he brushed her hair behind her ear and held her face for a moment, and with great reluctance pulled it away, his heart smiling as he watched her depart.
