Prologue

In the fading sunlight of the imperial gardens, King Leonidas regarded his three daughters pensively. He had instructed them to attend to him, sending orders that they dress in their finest whilst serenading the bending willows and rustling grasses with their flutes and lyres. Now, as the evening dusk descended, he began the difficult task of his decision.

He leaned backwards beneath the shade of the trees, observing them silently as they calmed his nerves with the sweetened notes of their song. His gaze traveled slowly amongst their delicate faces, fondly remembering them as children. They had played here often among the leaves and flowers, wading barefoot into ponds wreathed with rushes and lilies. Later, as they'd grown older, he'd watched them chase each other through the pillared rose gardens, their laughter echoing against the marble tiled walls which enclosed them.

Enclosed, King Leonidas mused, considering the word. It was perhaps the best term to describe the childhoods of royal children, idyllic and safe from the toils which plagued the common people. Unlike many of the female nobility, the king had taken care to educate his daughters in matters of the kingdom as well as the subjects of science, math, and history.

When they had excelled in all of these, he had employed his scholars to expand their minds still further, imbuing them with knowledge in topics of literature, languages, and philosophy. Their studies had naturally been accompanied with lessons in the feminine arts and still further classes in music, painting, and poetry. He had watched them advance, maturing in their talents, taking pride in the fruits of his labors. And now after many years they were grown, cultivated women, ready to unite kingdoms and broker peace.

He closed his eyes, recalling the letter read aloud by a servant that very morning. King Odysseus of the eastern isles had requested a bride for his son, the Prince of Kadmos. In exchange, and with the promise of a new trade agreement, Odysseus had vowed to pull back the troops currently threatening King Leonidas's southern border. It was a well known fact that the infamous diamond caves littered this dividing line between kingdoms, their ownership a constant source of friction and warfare. With the unification of a marriage however, the discord between the two royal families would at last be at an end.

And yet, which beloved daughter could he bear to give away?

He opened his eyes, his gaze moving toward Antiope, the eldest. Tall and slender, with the blue, wide-set eyes of her mother Queen Thesia, she embodied the spirit of a forest nymph. Even as a child, she'd been playful, delighting in mischief her sisters dared not try. He watched as she plucked expertly at her lyre strings, her dark tresses loose and curling, the gold circlet upon her forehead glinting faintly in the light.

Beside her sat his second eldest, Hypatia. She played the flute, each finger dancing nimbly through the tune. Her posturing was stiff yet elegant, her nobility indescribably apparent. Hypatia exuded poise, her eloquence with words frequently remarked on by courtiers of the palace. The fine, white-gold strands of her hair were held back by a silver filigree hairnet, their beauty contained much like the reserved nature of her demeanor.

And then there was Psyche, his youngest. Delicate and fay-like, with white shoulders obscured in streaming copper waves, she was the family's ray of sun. Her eyes were a long lashed amber, their glow mirroring the flickering torchlight of palace halls.

King Leonidas shifted uneasily within his seat. There had often been talk amongst the courtiers of the unearthly luminescence which seemed to accompany her. Her beauty was forceful, eerie, and grew only stronger with each passing year. Where her sisters gleamed, Psyche shone, the brightest star in a midnight sky. It was a dangerous quality as King Leonidas had soon realized, often leading the men of his court to worship his daughter rather than the Goddess of beauty herself.

He'd been aghast upon the discovery of these rituals, acting swiftly to appease any perceived insults to the temples of Aphrodite. Then he'd spearheaded a number of ceremonies in honor of the Goddess, banning anyone who dared worship elsewhere. This had been followed with strict orders for his daughters to veil themselves in public, though it was in truth only Psyche's face which required concealment.

While the Goddess had been seemingly placated, the male courtiers had not, and word of Psyche's beauty had persisted, spreading swiftly throughout the kingdom. Gossip over his youngest daughters parentage ran rampant, the most popular of which suggested Zeus as her father and Queen Thesia as his mortal lover. To further infuriate the king, messengers had sent word of the beginnings of temples to be erected in Psyche's honor—activities he had quickly crushed without informing his daughter of either.

It was a delicately perilous thing to maintain favor with the Gods and yet it was a task Psyche had unknowingly made more difficult with each passing year. He was well aware that gifting her as a bride to the Prince of Kadmos would not end her troubles—no, it would almost certainly increase them. It could not be Psyche who he gave in marriage, at least not now. But which daughter did that leave him?

Antiope?

Hypatia?

He rubbed wearily at his brow, saddened by the loss of any one of his children. Still, it had to be done. They were women, and though educated, their roles as such required the guidance and guardianship of men. It was, after all, his very last task as their father—to unite them with husbands in their destined roles as wives and mothers.

Hypatia, he decided finally.

He gazed sorrowfully at the three young women playing innocently before him.

Hypatia would be the Prince of Kadmos's bride.