1. Myths and Legends

Summary: This is the story of the love god who fell in love with a mortal princess.

Theme used: the myth of Eros and Psyche.

A/N: This guy was supposed to be a oneshot . . . guess who decided that she didn't like writer's block when she couldn't finish this fic (this was started like eight months ago) but had an idea for a compilation fic? This was supposed to be like 'times of once', only it wasn't so vague and dream-like. It also refused to behave, which is why it has to share a story instead of going solo. I might continue this story later in this fic if people like it enough.

Posted: 22/02/2013

Word Count by Microsoft: 7,580

Disclaimer that will not be seen again because once is enough: Nothing.

If the guards of the palace had been paying attention they might have stopped whatever they were doing, stared and rubbed their eyes, trying to clear their sight in disbelief. After all, the men assigned for the night palace watch didn't often see a young boy with wings walking around the royal palace like he owned the place.

As it was, the guards couldn't see anything. Not that they were blind, because that may have been against the general idea of being a guard who was supposed to look out for any potential dangers to the royal family. It was just that the boy was a god, and gods in general were good at not being seen when it suited their interests. Queen Mizki of the Heavens would often sneak into a few households to either bless or curse the families. Huntress Rin visited the dreams of young maidens to give them courage and compassion. Reaper Rei was visible only in the eyes of the dying, not the living that nursed the sick.

The young boy wasn't any of these gods. Utatane Piko was the god of love. His appearance was a silver-haired child, around ten-years old or so, who carried around a miniature golden bow with a platinum quiver strapped in between his snow-white dove wings that sprouted out his back, the total effect resulting in a cherubic archer angel with one green eye and one blue eye and a mischievous smile.

His job was to shoot the mortals with his arrows, either gold or lead, to make them fall in love or hate with the first person they would have the fortune (or, in some cases, misfortune) to lay their eyes upon. Somehow the job gave him more respect than he had ever imagined. He didn't mind the respect – enjoyed it, actually. It not only gave him considerable status amongst immortals and mortals, but also a decent paying job.

Currently he was on a mission to make sure that a mortal princess would fall in love with some hideous thing or another. Honestly, favors like this were actually quite common for him. Every now and then some mortal would annoy a god and the gods, temperamental as they were would extract revenge, often by humiliating the poor human with unexplainable infatuation with a laughable partner. It was either that or smiting them down with divine powers. More often than not they just turned to him.

Piko had no qualms with that. He was well-paid, and his reputation grew. It was a win-win situation for all except the human and if the mortal had been foolish enough to annoy a powerful immortal deity then Piko was fairly sure that he or she would have been killed off later due to their senselessness. At least his arrows would let them live and give them a chance to repent later while finding love within someone.

He reached into the pouch hanging from his belt, searching for the piece of parchment where the order was written. Reading the elegant curves of the letters ordering the divine punishment the child-like god let out a low whistle. "A lifetime of this?" he whistled again through the gaps between the small pearly teeth in his mouth. "Damn. That must have been some insult."

Piko reached behind again, this time his arm going over his shoulder to his quiver. For that length of time, no mere arrow would do, at least not by itself. He would need the golden arrow made of the purest essence of love that dripped from the swaying branches of the willow tree he had been born from. Such an arrow could make even the Primordial Forces, Creator of the Gods fall in love with anything and anyone, and only formed once every decade.

"I'm charging Lady Nekomura triple the price for using this baby," he muttered, drawing his bow with the love-inducing arrow that could only be neutralized out by the lead arrow cast from the purest essence of hate. He had used that the last time which meant that for nearly ten years, no one was going to be hating someone else that strongly because of him.

Now that he was ready Piko could pay more attention to his surroundings other than the bare minimum amount required. It was a pretty nice palace (nothing compared to his own divine estates, of course) but still a high-standard place for mortals. White marble arches and pillars, fresh blossoming flowers everywhere, with tapestries showing off the royal family and the gods. Someone in the family – the queen maybe – respected the gods enough to have their images in the house. By now the mortals knew this meant the eyes of the gods could be very well upon them through those representations, but obviously they thought they had nothing to hide from divine eyes.

Piko paused at one particular bolt of cloth hanging from the walls. It was more of a group portrait picturing all of the well-known gods, clearly woven by a very skilled weaver who had accurate knowledge of the gods. "But I appear too young," he muttered aloud, and snapped his fingers, changing the five-year old boy woven into the tapestries into a more accurate age of his appearance. "Much better."

Satisfied, he made his way back again, passing by the guards who were still unaware of the invisible god in their presence. Briefly Piko considered causing mischief for the lazy men, but thought better of it. Business before pleasure was his rule despite his career choice. Perhaps next time, when he had nothing to do.

The magic inside of him tugged, a strange feeling – an instinct, so to say – in his chest area that lead him to the inner courts where the decorations were distinctively feminine compared to the outer courts he had just been in. Slowly, he stepped past the late-working servants and patrolling guards, following his growing gut feeling to the mortal he was assigned to punish.

Finally, after what felt like a hundred corridors – typical mortals, going by the 'bigger the better' rules – the god of love found himself standing in front of a large pair of double doors, firmly closed.

"The princess?" Piko raised an eyebrow. A member of the royal family annoying a goddess. That was odd. And stupid.

Shrugging, he slipped inside the chamber, wanting to get this over with so he could go and see the new play the mortals were dedicating to him. His eyes focused in the darkness automatically, divine magic allowing him to see all the details as if the sun was in the middle of the sky, shining down fiercely on everything.

A large bed rested in the middle of the room, veiled by several sheets of thinly woven cloth tinted with various shades of cool colours. Assuming that was where his target was, Piko cautiously stepped aside some of the fragile ornaments, making his way to the sleeping woman.

"Stupid things," he grunted as the last of the obstacles lay behind him. "Useless, and breaks too easily," just why women thought having vases and glass orbs hanging around everywhere was a great idea, he didn't know.

The girl in her dreams stirred a little, murmuring some nonsense about cherries or something. Piko paused, and then carefully drew the veils surrounding her sleeping form, fully intending to shoot her with the arrow that would leave no physical marks upon her body, but plenty on her emotional life.

The golden arrow was never shot out of his bow. Instead, the symbols of his power slipped out of his suddenly-numb hands as his mismatched eyes widened in surprise, a sudden draw of air leaving a loud gasp that tore through the silence like a knife.

Piko had seen a lot of beautiful women in his life. Most of his godly life had been spent around gorgeous women who happened to be powerful and immortal, and he was all too used to seeing beauty of the divine kind.

This . . . this maiden was another story. She had luscious red hair framing her delicate pale skin, a face that could only be described as 'otherworldly', and yet she was nothing like the actually otherworldly goddesses he had become accustomed to seeing daily. Nor was she like the nymphs and spirits that were always around him with their ageless appearances. There was something about her that was mortal, fragile, limited, and that made her even more stunning, the delicate mortality of this girl's beauty.

A pain shot through his foot, and Piko snapped out of his thoughts as he looked down at the arrow that had slipped throughout his fingers to pierce the leather strap of his sandal. The pain meant that the arrow was piercing his skin.

Green-and-blue eyes widened in horror. "No!" he gasped aloud without thinking. Even he didn't have immunity to his arrows, and especially not this one.

The girl stirred. "Mmrgh?"

Luck was not on his side that night. The sound the waking maiden had made had automatically drawn his eyes up to her face, slowly coming to consciousness at the noise he had made.

For the first time since his birth at the beginning of the Divine Gardens, the god of love found himself in love.

Love was a strange feeling. His chest tightened, burning with a foreign substance unfamiliar to him as his face flushed for no particular reason at all. Piko found himself drawn to the mortal, wanting to hold her in his arms.

It came to his distracted, burning mind that his arms were too small. Too childish.

Tonight was a night of many firsts. Piko had always been satisfied with his deceiving appearance of a young child, but in this stirring maiden's presence, he wished to be seen as an equal, as a partner, not some child, a young brat that would annoy her.

His body responded to his wish, growing and muscling until he was, in physical age, twenty years old. The wings followed suit, lengthening and strengthening until they were large wings with a span of fifteen feet or so, shaped as a predator's wings rather than a gentle dove's.

The redheaded maiden, upon waking, was met with a silver-winged warrior from the heavens, watching her with a gentle but sorrowful expression.

"Hah!" ruby eyes widening to the size of saucers, Miki gathered the bed sheets around her body, crawling backwards and trying to put distance between her and the stranger somehow in her rooms. "Who are you?" she demanded, shocked and irritated at how this man would have gotten past the guards.

Someone was going to get thrown in the dungeons and for once she wouldn't be begging her father to be merciful.

The man only smiled, running a hand through his silver hair. "I don't think you would believe me," Miki paused, somewhat reassured by the deep, calming voice of his. The calm didn't last long. It rarely seemed to for her when a silver haired man with mismatched eyes and wings on his back was in your room, watching you sleep. She tried to ignore the voice at the back of her head adding in its own opinions on how lean and muscular this man was, as well as how finely chiseled his facial features happened to be.

Miki hated being seventeen sometimes.

The man stood, waiting for her response. Tired and cranky, she decided to give him her response. "Yes, well, you're in my bedroom and you have wings. Wings!" Miki waved her arms around for emphasis. "Either I'm hallucinating or you're special, and," Miki pinched her arms, letting a sharp pain be felt on her skin. "Ow! No, this is real. Are you an angel?"

"You could say that," he agreed. Which most likely meant that he wasn't. She knew the talk of the advocates, having been taught by her mother (the woman that could barter the last piece of bread from a beggar if she chose to). Miki was annoyed. This guy was side-stepping all of her questions, and the only thing she knew about him was how good-looking he was!

"Look," she began, annoyed. "I don't know who you are, but you can't be here!"

"And you're right," nodding, the angel-man stood up, towering over her from where she was hunched up on the bed. "I really should leave."

"Without answering me?" she demanded, using the 'princess voice' without meaning to.

Something flickered in his oddly-coloured eyes. Regret? Pity? "I'm sorry," he apologized suddenly.

"For wh-" The last thing Miki saw was a large hand reaching towards her eyes, and then everything faded.

The princess fell asleep instantly, the magic inside his blood overwhelming her senses and forcing her back to slumber. Sighing, Piko picked up the bow, now a deadly golden longbow matching the rest of him, and slung the weapon onto his back.

He had messed up. Badly. Very, very badly.

The right thing to do would have been erasing her memories, and then never going near her again. That was what the laws dictated, and that was what would be expected by Lord Yuma.

The rules that were ignored by everyone else on a regular basis, a part of his mind argued. The king that liked to break his own rules for fun.

In the end, the two conflicting sides of Piko came to a compromise. He would leave everything as it was. Maintain status quo. Simple.

Opening a window, he spread his wings, marvelling at how differently the larger set felt and flew to the Divine Gardens that rested in the heavens. Before he flew out of sight of the palace, he sent a wave of magic back to fix that tapestry just a bit more.

One last glance given, the mismatched eyes faced towards the skies, and the wings flapped on a gust of the wind sent by the Keeper of the Western Wind, boosting his speed. He sent a silent thanks to Kasane Ted before entering the gates of heaven.

"Halt!" barked the guard. Piko suppressed a sigh. "Who goes there?"

"Who do you think, stupid?" he sneered. How many gods of love did these idiots see flying around?

The man paused. "I do not recognize your voice, stranger, but your presence is surely that of a god's. Who are you?"

About to answer back with a sarcastic remark, Piko glanced down at his feet and was abruptly reminded of his new transformation. "It's Piko," he called back wearily, just beginning to imagine the flood of rumours that would start at his change of appearance. Yet, he did not want to become his younger self again. "God of Love."

The man paused again. "Lord Utatane?" he replied back at last. "I beg forgiveness; this humble servant has failed to recognize you."

Translation; Please don't make me fall in love with a warthog, or something just as bad.

"Just let me in," Piko grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"As you wish, sir," the gates opened, and Piko stepped into the light that always filled the Divine Gardens, instantly refreshing him through the ancient magic that had created all immortal deities.

It failed to erase the image of large, ruby eyes from his mind. Growling, Piko launched himself into the air and flew towards his palace in the east, ignoring the literal gossip about him flying around.

"Move!" he snarled at one of the messenger fairies, and the tiny fey fell, gasping in fear. He ignored the small being, and let his wings release their new-found power and speed, streaking straight into the balcony of his own palace.

Letting the feathered mass of muscles flap once to slow down, Piko righted himself and landed easily on the sleek marble floor. "I'm home!" he called.

No one answered, and the love god dragged himself off to bed, that specific shade of crimson belonging to the girl haunting him.

"Gah!" he punched the wall, and slammed the door to his chamber shut in anger. Or frustration. He didn't feel like dissecting his emotions at the current state.

Depressed, he decided to smother the feelings in slumber, and lay in bed, closing his eyes with a sigh.

It was, by far, the strangest year the palace of Midori had ever seen. First, their princess had been asleep for three whole days, reacting to nothing and thought to be almost dead in the way that she was so still. Even after she woke, Princess Miki was not herself, always zoning out or screaming at the sight of the large tapestry that hung from the wall, the one depicting the gods in their splendor. King Kiyoteru and Queen Meiko worried for their daughter, but a bigger problem was coming up.

Miki was a rare beauty, her fiery hair and shining eyes glowing against the pale contrast of her skin. No one could or would deny that. However, despite her extreme popularity with the general male population, there was a problem. No one had asked for her hand in marriage.

It was actually quite odd. One moment, the current young man would be smiling and friendly, looking as if he was ready to ask for her hand in marriage, and the next, he would turn a strange, sick colour, and ask to leave to his home immediately.

This was bad. Already she was seventeen, closer to eighteen, and other girls her age were married and having their first or second children at the least!

"This is ridiculous," ground out Hiyama Kiyoteru after the fifth suitor left in this manner. "Absolutely ridiculous."

His wife looked worried, about both her husband's temper and her daughter's single status. "Perhaps we should consult the Oracle?"

The king looked pained, having less-than pleasant memories at the mention of the mystical seer of the Gods, but agreed, seeing no other way to find a possible solution to their dilemma.

Miki was just as enthusiastic at the idea as her father, but she, too, understood how important this was. So the royal family travelled to the temple of Kagamine Len, and waited for the verdict of the Oracle. Or rather, the Oracle herself, as the seer was taking a rather long time to come out.

Instead of sitting around doing nothing, Miki wandered around the temple, marvelling at the magnificent artwork on the walls depicting the brave deeds of the gods and the heroes of past times.

So concentrated on the mosaics, she didn't notice where she was walking until she accidently walked straight into someone. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, apologizing to the young man with golden hair.

The blond man didn't say anything; instead, he searched her face with bright, piercing blue eyes, ones that reminded her of the sky on a bright, clear day when the sun shone with extra heat and light. They felt similar to the eyes of the silver-haired man's, with the same intensity and power.

"It's fine," he muttered at last, breaking the hold his eyes seemed to have, and turned away into a dark corridor.

Miki considered following, but some part of her told her that as a princess, she really shouldn't be near a strange man she didn't know without some sort of a chaperone watching over them.

"Princess?"

She whirled around to see a woman in a simple black dress, her veil covering most of her short green hair. "I am the Oracle," she spoke quietly, but Miki could feel the power, the authority in her deceivingly soft voice. "Follow me, please."

The Oracle led the way down the marble halls until the white stone was replaced with a cave lit by burning torches, and then to a round room, where a stool with three legs sat among green fire and smoke rising from the cracks in the ground. At the entrance to the cavern stood a young girl in apprentice priestess clothing with writing materials in her arms, ready to record the answers given by the Oracle.

The Oracle lifted a hand, silently telling Miki to stay where she stood next to the girl while the seer continued to go on until she reached her metal seat. Sitting among the strange-scented fumes, she lifted her head to let her green eyes meet Miki's.

"Would you like to ask a question? And remember," she added. "You may only ask one question per year."

Of course, she wanted to know the identity of the silver-haired man with the wings first, but the proper thing would be to ask just why she couldn't quite get married. That man's identity could be learned later.

"Why can't I get married?"

The fumes began to swirl and gather around the girl, until she was nothing but a human-shaped shadow in the gray smoke surrounding her.

You, a hissing voice ran through the cavern, and the only other thing Miki could hear was the sound of a pen scratching away and her own heartbeat, pounding like crazy. Are not meant for a man of ordinary birth. Your husband will be he who resides on the mountain to the south that bears nothing in its soils. Denying your fate will lead your country to ruin of the kind that is worst. Do not fail your people, your sire and dame, and your waiting lover. Do not fail the will of the gods.*

The smoke was quickly absorbed back into the cracks through the ground, and the Oracle, leaning forward in her seat, jerked up, revealing drowsy eyes.

As the girl gave the written prophecy to her, and escorted her back to the world where the sun shone down on all, Miki stared blankly ahead. She'd just been engaged to someone the gods had declared for her.

And she did not like this. Not one bit.

"I don't care if he's busy! Tell him to let me in!"

Piko glanced up from his seat in his private garden, partly curious about the deep, feminine voice that was familiar to him. "Luna," he called quietly.

One of his spirit servants, in the guise of a white rabbit, hopped up to him and bowed as deeply as the small animal vessel she possessed would allow her to. "Yes, milord?"

"Allow Lady Nekomura in," he ordered, going back to staring at the small pool at his side.

The rabbit murmured something in response, and hastily hopped away. Soon, he felt a powerful, thundering force come towards him, something akin to vengeance and anger radiating off the deity.

He merely plucked a petal from the spring, idly playing with the red flower's detachment.

"Utatane Piko!" thundered the Goddess of Felines, and then there was silence, tense with shock.

Piko looked up, letting the faintest smiles grace his lips. He knew from her wide, golden eyes and hanging mouth that the sight of him, always a young child, as a fully-grown man surprised her, as much as it did to everyone who had seen him like this. Even if they had heard the rumours, hearing it and seeing it were two completely different things altogether. "Yes, Lady Nekomura?" he inquired politely.

That small snarky comment snapped her out of her shock. "I'll question you on your change of appearance later," she decided aloud. He raised an eyebrow, but nodded at her to continue. "Why has the girl not fallen in love with some hideous creature like I requested?"

He lifted his right hand, examining the nails that were in pristine condition as if they required all the attention he could give them. "Hmm? Oh, that princess. Remind me, what was her name again?"

"Hiyama Miki," ground out the goddess with the body of a fifteen-year old. "Why did you not shoot her?"

Piko snapped his fingers, as if he had just remembered. "That's right! I was supposed to shoot her with one of my golden arrows and make her fall in love!" he smiled brilliantly. "Now, why did I not do that like you so politely ordered me to?" Piko questioned himself, ignoring the fuming goddess. He began to trace the wood of his intricately-carved lounging chair, murmuring possible ideas as suggestions. "Boredom? Annoyance? Sadness at the small pay? Anger at missing that play dedicated to me? I heard it was rather fantastic."

"Piko…."

He ignored her, fingers running down the grooves of the rosewood. "Sore finger? Death of a friend? Cold feet? Rebellious feelings?"

"Piko."

Inwardly the god of love smiled but continued on, waiting for the explosion of her suppressed anger. "Saw a mirror that showed my face as less-than-perfect? Very likely, you know. Those wind gods can be such irresponsible people, and my poor, beautiful hair suffers so at their-"

"Utatane Piko, would you shut up?!"

"Tut-tut," Piko waved a finger at her in a condescending manner. "Such tempers, Iroha, will lead you to live a single life for all eternity, and as the god responsible for love, I can't allow such a terrible fate."

"Stay out of my love-life, pigeon boy, and tell me why you didn't shoot the princess and came back as this!" she exclaimed, gesturing to his body.

"No, thank you," Piko flashed the angelic smirk he had perfected in the course of two hours. "Now, please leave me to my magnificent self."

It may have been said with the utmost friendliness and joking ease but the meaning was clear; leave my territory. Nekomura Iroha had no choice but to exit the premises of the love god, lest she be smote by the Primordial Forces.

Piko leaned back into the cushioned seat, closing his eyes and letting the girl's face float in his mind again.

Or he tried to anyways. "Milord," Luna's voice called quietly. "Lord Kagamine has come to visit."

He opened his green eye in irritation. "Let him in," he ordered. After that one incident where he'd nearly ruined his relationship with his sister he owed the blond god quite a lot, something Len would always use against him.

At his approval the sunlight bent around itself, shining brightly in a patch of golden light before forming a humanoid form. Solidifying, the light shifted into a blond man with blue eyes, a bow and quiver strapped to his back. Kagamine Len. Sometimes his best friend . . . sometimes his worst enemy.

"So it's true," his friend said, eyeing him critically. "You really have taken the form of a man."

Piko and Len had a friend-enemy friendship. They were both competitive, their natures rather similar to each other's where both wanted to be the best and as they were both archer gods the world often found itself peppered with arrows. Often at these competition, Len would 'degrade' himself (in his words) enough to take the appearance of a fourteen year old to make it fair.

But now both were in the prime of their youths. Both had the body of a strong, young Alpha male, lean and tense with hardened muscles. The competitiveness was at its max.

"Get to the point, Kagamine," he snapped.

Len sat down next to the pool, tracing the water with his fingertips. The spirit within must have been pleased at the attention of the god because the water shivered. Piko scowled.

"I saw that girl of yours," he informed him carelessly. "Very beautiful. Good taste you have."

That girl of yours. Very beautiful. Good taste. Like she was nothing but an ox at the market, or a bolt of silk. That off-hand tone of voice angered him so much Piko didn't even think; he just saw red in his vision and when that haze cleared he found himself pinning Len to the wall with one fist swung back, ready to pummel his friend.

"I'm complimenting you!" Len yelled, trying to calm Piko down. Now that he thought about it, with the reputation he had with mortal lovers . . . no, it wasn't much of a compliment.

"If you touch her," Piko snarled. "If you so much as even touch her, I'll rip you to shreds!"

"I wouldn't touch her!" Len choked out, fingers scrabbling at the hand nearly crushing his throat. Even for immortals pain was something they wished to avoid. Especially because they were immortals they wanted to avoid pain because no matter how much it hurt they just couldn't die. You had to live with it. "I swear on Yuma's throne!"

Despite the solemn oath it still took some time for the importance of the words to break through his rage and release the other god. Len winced and rubbed at his throat. "Is this any way to treat someone who brought you good news?"

"If that was the good news Kagamine, then I want you out of here," Piko told him, leaning back in his chair again.

Len snapped his fingers and the light bent to create a chair for him. Sitting at his golden seat Len handed Piko a scroll. "My Oracle just gave a prophecy about your princess."

He snatched it out of his hand. "This had better not be a prank, Len," he warned him.

"Would I do that kind of thing to you?" Len asked innocently. Far too innocently.

"Yes," Piko answered without hesitation but he unrolled the scroll anyways. And then, after reading it, he let it go up in flames.

"Wha-?" Len frowned. "Why did you do that?"

"Excuse me while I go shoot your Oracle with a love arrow for every single male that comes into your temple."

"No!" Blue eyes widening, he reached out and grabbed his wrist. "You misinterpreted it!"

"How," he ground out. "Do I misinterpret something clear as that?! Your stupid fortune teller just got my princess forcibly engaged to some random stranger!"

"Mountain to the south that bears nothing in its soils," Len recited from memory. "Doesn't that sound an awful lot like Mount Pikochu?"

Piko blinked, and he realized that the mountain in the given prophecy did, in fact, describe the mountain named after his sacred animal.**

"So now, she's engaged to you!" Len continued, his grip on Piko's arm still strong. "Not some random stranger! See, it's a good thing!"

"You sure?"

"Positive," Len promised, and released Piko. "Now go to your temple on Mount Pikochu."

Piko didn't need to be told twice. His wings flapped and he leapt into the air, bombarding the ground – and Len – with powerful throes of air.

The sun god watched, and then he, too, left, dissolving into the sunlight. The pool rippled, and the servants cleaned up after the two gods, straightening furniture and flowers.

King Kiyoteru was not happy, to say the least. He had always promised his daughter that she would get some say in her marriage partner, unlike most of the other maidens, unless they were in an emergency.

This was an emergency. Therefore, he could not keep his promise.

Somehow, word of the prophecy had spread, despite their efforts to keep it quiet, and now the entire country looked as if they would revolt, all demanding that the princess be given to whatever waited for her.

So at the side of his daughter when she was in the wedding litter, decorated with silk, flowers, and jewels, ready to be carried by handsome youths, no one was smiling. Rather, everyone looked like they were at the funeral of someone dear to them, ready to burst into tears at the smallest thing.

Queen Meiko tried to put on a brave front, smoothing out already perfect red hair and constantly kissing Miki's cheeks and forehead, holding her hand so tightly that the blood couldn't have possibly passed properly. She was too numb to care.

The king made a shooing gesture, silently telling the carriers to back up a bit. They obliged all too gladly, fearing that the princess, beautiful as she was, might have had a curse on her.

"Miki," he whispered. "You once asked me just why I never shed any tears."

This was back when her father's arm had been injured in an assassination attempt, and even through what must have been excruciating pain, he had managed to laugh and joke, playing chess with his wife and daughter while the surgeon stitched up the wound. Everyone but the king had turned away from the surgery, wincing and shedding tears at the sight. The healer spread the word about the king's iron will through the country and the assassins were caught and executed. Miki hadn't thought about it in a long time, with the country doing well, but she remembered it like it was yesterday.

"And I told you that the place of a king does not allow one to shed tears," he continued, a bit more urgently.

She nodded again, guessing what would come next.

"But it hurts too much for me to bear it on my own," his words were the same as before. "Would you cry for me instead?"

Back when she had been young Miki had cried for hours, until the king had thanked her for her excellent weeping. Now, tears welled in her eyes before streaming down her face. That broke whatever restraint the queen had been putting on, and she too began to sob. Only the king remained dry faced, but his eyes were glistening.

"If I could," her father promised, wiping their tears with large hands. "If there was anything I could have done, Miki, please know that-" he choked off to a halt.

She nodded, afraid that speaking would ruin her resolve. "I love you," she still managed out.

"And we love you," her mother promised, before a fresh wave of tears poured down her face. Her brave, kind mother, and her strong, powerful father, both so helpless.

One of the priestesses from the temple came over. "It is time," she informed them, and the carriers gingerly reached forward, grabbing the handles of the litter.

They began to make their way up the mountain, steady and surefooted to ensure that the person inside the litter would not be shaken or dislodged by any random, erratic movements.

Inside, hidden by the silk and the flowers, the princess was still crying.

At the top of the mountain, the wedding process all but dumped the litter at the flattest surface they could find, and then ran back the way, terrified to face whatever may have come. Miki stayed inside, drying her tears. She had often wished for privacy in the castle where almost all eyes were on her, but now, when she had it, it wasn't what she had quite desired. Perhaps the Fates were punishing her.

"Princess?" she tensed at the male voice. The bright silk curtains shifted, and she saw a man with red hair, slightly more pink than hers, smiling with friendliness.

"Please, don't be scared," he said softly, and hearing his voice, Miki thought of the winds as they ran by stone walls and through branches of trees. "I am Kasane Ted, Lord of the West Wind."

He extended a hand, and gingerly, she took it. He carefully pulled her up, and out of the litter. "I was sent to escort you to your husband," he explained. "Please, hold on tight."

Before Miki could ask what he meant the winds wrapped around them, forming a curious sensation of being bundled up in nothing and something at the same time. They lifted into the air, and she watched, awestruck, as they flew over to the other side of the bare mountain, until they landed at a small clearing.

"There's nothing here," she said, unable to help herself from stating the obvious.

"Focus," his breezy voice whispered. "And look again."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but Miki strained her eyes, and tried to see.

At her efforts a palace faded into her view. It was, she noted, a small palace, but there was no denying the fine architecture, or the richness the building clearly had.

"Your new home," Ted pulled on her arm gently, leading her to the entrance. "Please, enjoy."

Miki turned to the redhead. "You're leaving?"

He gave her a soft smile. "My duty ends at the door," he bowed deeply, and faded away.

So that would mean that she could either wait outside the door forever . . . or go in.

Almost politely, despite being an inanimate object, the double doors opened slowly for her.

Not feeling particularly foolish, Miki thanked them as she walked in. Past the polite double doors, marble floors, pillars with graceful arches, silk tapestries with stunning details and flowers, fresh and everywhere, greeted her with kind silence.

One flower, she didn't recognize. Hesitantly she stepped forward to the plant in the small decorated pot, the one with small white blossoms amongst deep green leaves. She bent down a bit and took a sniff. Such a sweet smell . . . and the petals looked pure as the substance called snow that would fall from the skies in the colder regions up north. She had seen it once on a royal visit, and liked it very much, even if it melted away quickly in the presence of heat.

"What kind of flower is this?" Miki wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer.

"Gardenia," came an off-hand answer. Miki whirled around, shocked, and was met with the sight of the silver-haired man from that time when she'd been nearly scared to death during the middle of the night. She'd only seen him in the dark of the night, illuminated by the moonlight coming in from the open window, but it was hard to forget him, considering just how often she had seen him in that tapestry. "Even if they're not considered manly, I like flowers."

Miki looked at the silver-winged man. Then down at the palace floor. Then at the flowers.

Then she fainted.

He caught her before she crumpled on the floor, because – and he spoke from experience – marble floors hurt. A lot.

"Okay, so this was a bad idea," he admitted to no one in particular as he set her down. "What now, Len?"

It was meant to be a sarcastic comment. Meant to just relieve the stress by implicitly blaming the frustration he was feeling at being forced into love by one of his own arrows onto the sun god. He loved her but that was because of the extremely powerful influence of his special arrow. Until he could get a way to undo that magic, he was going to be extremely possessive of her. Brilliant. A slave because of his own doing. No one would have blamed him for being snarky and wanting to lash out.

It was not meant to be an invitation to the damn sun god who thought he had full immunity to everything. "It's not my fault if she found you so ugly she lost consciousness," he snickered as he twisted into being from sunlight.

"As soon as my next pure-love essence arrow comes in, I am shooting that right into your heart the moment you look at your sister. Then, I will shoot the pure-hate essence into your sister's heart while she looks at you. You will spend a decade suffering," Piko promised, though he didn't swear on Yuma's throne or Miriam's River.

Len paled. "You wouldn't."

"I would. And more. Now leave before I decide to make it an official promise."

His friend did so, recognizing which battles he was destined to be destroyed in. Piko sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I should have just stayed home."

Miki woke up to a soft voice humming a song of some sort. Well, that was a nice surprise to wake up to.

She opened her eyes to see the silver-haired stranger, and remembered just why she had been unconscious. Was this a nice surprise to wake up to?

Before she could quite make up her mind on her opinion the man raised his empty hands, a clear 'I-won't-hurt-you' sign. "Look," he said once he put his hands down – slowly, like she was a frightened animal he didn't want to scare into running away – "I'm not going to hurt you."

Miki found that easy to believe. After all, sincerity radiated from every pore of his body, and his words. "I believe you."

"Really?" When she nodded he visibly relaxed. "Thank you. That made everything much easier."

"Glad I was of help," she nodded, pulling herself up to a straight-backed, sitting position. "Would you mind-?" she began asking, the exact moment the man had begun to speak. "Let's start with-."

They both cut themselves off. Miki nearly ripped her hair out. Her mother had taught her better political talk than this! "How about you talk, and then I ask questions?" she suggested.

He blinked his odd, mismatching eyes. "Very well."

And talk he did. Miki had to bite down on her lips several times to stop herself from opening her mouth and just blurt out random words brought on by some of the things he said.

When the stranger – Piko – came to a finish on his story, she stopped biting her lower lips, and the first question that came out into the world was; "You're a god?"

The very thing he'd been telling her this whole time. If it had been her in his shoes she thought that she would have been really annoyed at how this person hadn't really been listening, but Piko seemed to understand that it was her amazement speaking, not her actual mind. "I am," he nodded. His wings slowly flapped once behind him, letting the fading red light of the setting sun glint off the silvery edges.

"And-" she scrunched her fists here. Okay, here was the awkward part. "You're in love with me."

Piko didn't seem to have any problems with coming out with that. "I am," he acknowledged, meeting her eyes. She looked away, just a bit uncomfortable at how jewel-like they seemed, so shiny and valuable and beautiful. . . .

"So am I supposed to - what do I do here - why did you – argh!" her mother would definitely have not been impressed with her diplomacy at the moment. "What am I supposed to do here?" she decided on that at last."

He gestured at a chair near her. "Rest?"

Temporarily forgetting that he was a god capable of destroying her Miki glowered at him. "That's not what I meant!"

Piko tipped his head to the side, examining her like a bored child would do. Somehow his look made her feel just a bit different than a curious child's would. Maybe it was the eyes . . . yeah. . . . "Would it be that bad to stay with me here?" he asked, sounding like he was genuinely sad at the idea of her leaving.

Miki had heard stories of gods. How they, despite looking like the most beautiful of humans, were terribly cruel because of their immortality, their power. How mortals were naught but pets to their pleasure-filled eternal lives. "I don't know," she answered. "But I don't really have a choice. I was sent here for you, apparently, unless there's another man of uncommon birth living here I need to be marrying."

"You," Piko began to step closer and closer to her. "Make," a few steps around her, his voice coming closer and closer. "It sound like," Miki flinched when he breathed out right next to her ear. "It's such a bad thing, marrying me," that last part was a purr.

"I don't know you very well?" she squeaked. But it just didn't matter in the end, because she was a princess that was supposed to have gotten married off anyways. This was probably a burden off her father's advisors, who were always trying to tie her off to some man.

"Believe me when I say that there are certain types of love that are just like that," he muttered into her ear, snapping his fingers with a loud click. Now, though, his voice had lost that extreme attractiveness and had changed into one that belonged to a work-weary man. "Fiery, spontaneous, and a whirlwind of passion."

Miki grabbed the previously offered chair and pushed it a bit closer to him before sitting in the surprisingly comfortable seat. "Do they last long?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. A few get their happy endings."

"And others?"

His lips twisted in what could have been a grimace or a smile. "They die tragically, or fall out of love."

"Oh," she squirmed, looking down at her wriggling toes. It was a habit she had never managed to fix. "That's . . . interesting."

"No it's not."

"It is," she insisted, and deep inside, she was a bit taken-aback at just how true that was. Here was someone who could be counted on to know everything about a certain subject. Love wasn't exactly the subject she and her mother discussed often, but it was better than nothing. "Really."

Piko looked at her oddly. "Are you tired?" he asked at last.

Miki would have denied it, but a huge yawn split her denial into half. "Yes," she admitted.

"Bedroom's the one with the double doors. Get some sleep. We'll figure this out tomorrow, alright?" he gave a hesitantly tender smile to her. The love god, awkward with his love. Interesting. "Good night."

"Good night," she hesitated a bit before practically fleeing to her bedroom.

Footnotes:

*The prophecies that I used to read when I was young were in short words, just telling them to go to a place of acorns or something like that. I wasn't going to make it PJO style, because... well, I fail at poetry.

**Because his voice provider's mascot… well, you get the idea.