Cupid & Psyche

Cupid & Psyche: A Love Story

What if the gods weren’t perfect? What if love wasn’t easy—even for them?

Psyche, revered for her beauty, longs for something deeper. While others see only her face, she wants someone to see her soul. Her sisters marry for advantage. Her suitors worship her form. None know her heart.

Cupid, son of Aphrodite, is used to seduction without sincerity. Love was a game he never took seriously—until Psyche. When he sees her, he wants to be seen in return—not as a god, but as a man. With the wind spirit Zephyr, a protective Aphrodite, and a complex cast of allies and adversaries, an unorthodox courtship begins.

But nothing is easy—not even for immortals. Misunderstandings grow. Trust fractures. Psyche is tested again and again, through divine trials and dangerous tasks. Dragons rise. Gods interfere. And love, somehow, endures.

This reimagining of the myth doesn’t shy away from its characters' flaws. It embraces them. Cupid and Psyche’s relationship is mutual, messy, and deeply human. Love isn’t blind—it sees everything, and still chooses to stay.

Read the story of two imperfect beings trying to build something perfect.

Excerpt from the book

I

It was her eyes. They stood out and left a lasting impression. The soft sea-blue washed over the viewer like a coaxing wave of peace, with its tide pulling the gaze into the epicenter of the dark pupil. As sailors drawn to the call of the ocean, many men had lost themselves in the enchantment. Just as the sea is littered with the bodies of those who longed for the depths, so too is the iris scarred with fragments of the souls who never recovered from looking too deeply.

It was not as though the rest of Psyche were not as impressive. She was a gorgeous woman. Full auburn hair, highlighted with white-blond ringlets, hung to her mid-back like a dark sheet of satin, gently canvassing her strong shoulders. Youthful cheekbones rose impishly, directed by the generous curvature of thick, pouting lips, providing a frame for a delicate, slightly upturned nose. While her height was more petite than average, her assets commanded more presence than women twice her stature. Well-defined arms hung on either side of ample breasts which, with each breath, dictated gravity rather than succumbing to it. The slender arch of her midriff, clothed in the same soft caramel skin as the rest of her body, extended into wide-set hips and powerful thighs, inviting enough to welcome a resting head, strong enough to crush an invasive throat.

Psyche was a dream, crafted into flesh. Any who saw her knew that, and they were enthralled—most left speechless.

Psyche felt invisible.

Haris of Edessa raised a goblet to his lips and drank deeply from the thick red wine that it contained. He concentrated as he observed the scene. Over two dozen men had come to this courtyard under the impression that they would be meeting three sisters, daughters of an unknown king and queen. They were searching for husbands—someone to help them govern the kingdom that had been left to them. Most of the attendees, Haris included, were rich landowners and kings in their own right, looking to expand their influence.

Haris had a chance to meet each of the sisters. All three were beautiful, but one had enraptured him. He had trouble thinking of anything else. Watching the scene now, he saw three or four of his competitors engaging with two of the sisters, joking and teasing them casually. None of them reeked of desperation, which disappointed Haris slightly. During the event, he had only been able to interact with the sister that he adored once, and he felt like he had left that impression during their conversation. He could not help it; all he had wanted to do was worship her, as though she were a goddess.

These suitors seemed calm and collected. Of course, they were not talking to the object of his desire. She was nowhere to be seen.

A loud munching sound distracted him from his observations, and he turned to see the origin of the noise. Approaching him was a stocky man of middling height, openly munching on a leg of lamb: Marinos of Nafplion. With an inner sigh, Haris nodded to the newcomer. He had known Marinos for some time. Marinos would have described them as friends. Haris would not echo that sentiment as readily.