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“And this?” He lifts a small medallion at my throat and I swallow, feeling his hand so near me. I can smell the cedarwood scent of him. The medallion bears the figure of the god Eros—my father gave it to me when I was a child, to ward off harm. Although perhaps of late it has not done its job very well.

“You have a particular devotion to Eros?” I am sure I hear asmirk in his voice. I know what he’s thinking. Eros is the god of Love, but the god of more bodily pleasures too.

“He is the patron of my city,” I snap. “And I gladly give him my allegiance.”

“Then tell me—” He drops the medallion back against my throat. “What would you say is the difference, exactly, between demons and gods?”

I eye him sidelong. I have no interest in his trick questions.

“Seeing as you despise demons so much, and yet worship your gods so ardently. What’s the difference between them?”

Something about the way he asks the question makes me feel stupid—makes my father, and Dimitra, and all of Sikyon,soundstupid—and I resent him for it.

“Demons sow confusion,” I say boldly. “Anarchy. Brutality and war.”

“And what of Eris?” he counters. “What of Ares? Of Deimos and Phobos?”

I know the gods he’s naming: the goddess of discord, the god of war. And Ares’s twin sons, young gods of terror who go with him to the battlefield.

I set my jaw. I feel he’s tricking me, and yet I can’t find a winning answer. The gods he names may wreak havoc, yes, but they are part of the great balance of all things. They, too, must have their place in the pantheon. I frown. But then, if we were to call a demon by a god’s name…

I can feel his eyes on me, enjoying my confusion.

“Perhaps gods and demons, Psyche, are all in the eye of the beholder.” I hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Perhaps all either of them do is bring man’s true nature to the surface.”

*

I follow him back along the corridors, until we near the door to the great-room. And then he takes a familiar strip of silk from his cloak and beckons me to turn around. I hesitate.

“Psyche, there’s no need to make this difficult.”

Reluctantly I turn and feel the blindfold slip over my eyes. The touch of his hands is a shock again. His skin feels no different than a human’s, but something very different throbs below its surface—the immortal part of him, the life force, more silent than a heartbeat but alive as a hummingbird’s wing.

“Very good.”

I hear the door open, and he puts an arm under mine to guide me. Such a strange feeling. It’s almost....

No matter. I dismiss the thought as we advance into the room, and the delicious smells fill me with desire and dread.

“I know you have been reluctant to dine here.” His voice seems very near. “But you must eat. You are mortal: we both know what must happen if you continue to refuse my food.”

The few shelled peas from the garden have long since ceased to quiet my appetite.

“Maybe…just some bread and water…”

“Sit,” he says, and guides me to a chair. If he senses the desperate grumbling from my stomach, he makes no comment on it. There is something strangely intimate about his voice when I am blindfolded—as though he speaks directly inside my head, to my inmost thoughts.

“I recognize you are at a disadvantage: I have desired you to eat with me, but you cannot see all the dishes laid before you.” He clears his throat. “Perhaps I can describe them to you. I will fill a platter with whatever you desire.”

I say nothing. If his gallantry surprises me—which it does—then I don’t let it move me. Gallantry is easy when you’re the one in charge. I’m not so cheap a plaything that he can sway me with some handsome words. But it galls me, how my skin responds tohis voice.

“Rolled lamb,” he begins. “Stuffed with mint and dates. Skewers of fish with lemon and tarragon. Sliced pomegranate. Aloe with shaved ice. Braised eel, sturgeon roe; asparagus broth…” He goes on, naming delicacies I could imagine only on a king’s table.

I shake my head slightly.

“Psyche, you must stop this. Do you think I will send you home if you do not eat? I will not.”

“It’s not that,” I say faintly, although perhaps part of mehadbeen thinking that. But I don’t think it any longer.