Chapter Text
Medea Solon.
The Violet Blade, known for bringing victory upon victory under the Vasilios banner. The High Commander of the Vasilios Empire known for her unrivalled strength and master tactician. There is no one in the empire who did not know her glory but few have forgotten how she obtained her title in the first place.
Born second to the Duke Thesion Solon and Lady Meti Solon, she grew up like every other young noble lady. Learning etiquette, needlework, elegance and eloquence to a degree befitting as the daughter of the only Duke in the empire.
It took everyone by surprise that the Duke named her as heir on the same day his first born son, Dekis, denounced his own claim and exiled from the Duchy. Some voiced concern over a greenhorn taking over such a high position so suddenly.
Those concerns were gone like the win when Medea brought back the flag of a small neighbouring country to become a vassal under Vasilios on her debutante. With Emperor Eros’ personal validation, none dared to raise their voice.
It didn’t take long for the Emperor to send the Solon heir on another conquest. Each victory was awarded with yet another chance to bring glory upon Vasilios and House Solon. The one time the Emperor sent the Duke, only a casket returned. The following week Medea held a funeral for two, as her mother was overcome by the death of her husband, or so they said.
Despite what the people believed, the new Duke of Solon was not a woman driven by blind loyalty. Medea, who bore her title with heavy disdain, had taken up the mantle covered in more blood than sweat or tears. She marched on conquests to prove her allegiance to the Emperor, but behind the grandeur of war, she was forging her own power, gathering forces under her name.
As reward for her service, the Emperor gifted her a future wife—an apparent honor, but one laced with venom. The woman was of low birth, the second adopted daughter of a powerful count loyal to the throne. The arrangement was designed not only to stain Medea's prestige but also to tether her to one of the noble houses.
Medea, annoyed by the new reward Eros graciously gave, decided to pay a visit—if only to maintain appearances. If they were to be wed, she might as well meet the person fate had bound to her at least once. She sent a letter announcing her arrival by the week.
That girl was Psyche.
Psyche was beautiful. Golden blonde hair, vivid emerald eyes and soft features were all inherited from her mother. It is that exact beauty that also caught the count’s eye—enough to make her a concubine.
After her mother's death, Psyche became little more than a servant in her new home and had not known warmth ever since. When news came that the Count had to send one of his daughters to marry the High Commander, he offered Psyche without hesitation.
The Count had quickly arranged for an afternoon tea as soon as he received Medea’s letter. He lavished her with dresses and tutors, if only to save face. To everyone’s surprise, Psyche quickly caught up to her elder stepsister, a fact that stoked envy within the spoiled girl.
Unlike her, Psyche was eager to learn, sharp, and graceful despite her quiet nature. But she had long since surrendered to her fate; hope had been slowly beaten out of her by years of neglect and ridicule.
Psyche was afraid. Afraid of making a mistake in front of the High Commander. Afraid to be locked up in the basement for angering the count. Afraid of the cups hurled to her face when her sister or mother lashed out.
But most of all afraid that she would live worse than she was currently. She had to make it work, if not a wife then, another maid at the Solon Duchy would suffice. She had to survive.
The big day finally arrived. From the moment Medea stepped down from her majestic black steed, all eyes were on her. Not many have seen Medea Solon in person as she was more often than not on the battlefront. Rumors about her scar riddled body, barbaric manners and disfigured face were all just rumors.
They did not however do justice to her beauty and grace. Dark purple hair tied in a high ponytail, piercing violet eyes, tall and lean dressed immaculately in imperial military uniform. Even her commanding aura exuded an air of regalness.
Count Callista wasted no time in trying to butter up the High Commander with endless praises of her heroic feats.
Such empty flattery was obvious to Medea. Seeing that only he and the household servants came out to greet the High Commander speaks volumes about the characters of the Callistas. “Count, shall we get the show on the road? My time is quite limited, you see.”
Count Callista flinched, “Y-Yes, at once Your Grace. My daughter is waiting in the drawing room. Let me show you the way.”
Opening the doors to the drawing room stood a blonde girl .
“Your Grace, It is an honor to meet you. I am Psyche Callista,” Psyche bowed in curtsy as per her etiquette teacher lessons. She prayed no one saw the tremble in her hands.
Medea furrowed her eyebrows. The girl was too small, too young to be of age. She knew Eros wanted to put a leash on her but this is going too far. Silent rage boiled in her blood. She turned to the count fury in her eyes for daring to deceive her, for having the gall to push a child towards marriage.
Fortunately for him, Medea’s second in command, Marquess Helio Niccolo arrived with urgent news. An attack force was gathering at the border.
Clicking her tongue, Medea turned around and headed back to her steed.
After quelling the disturbance, Medea commanded Helio to find out more about Psyche. She reasoned that Psyche could not be the count’s daughter at all. They looked nothing alike. While Psyche possessed beauty, the count was average at best.
Breaking free of Eros’ command will be much easier if the count was foolish enough to attempt. Unfortunately, Psyche was indeed the count’s biological daughter born out of wedlock only 16 years ago.
That made her 8 years younger than Medea. Being engaged before coming of age was still common practice, had this been an order of marriage, Medea could have refused outright. Instead, she is stuck entertaining a minor. Reluctantly, Medea allowed the bare minimum of meetings between them and only them.
Though their first meeting was brief, their second and third were quite striking. Psyche, quiet yet composed, held herself with poise far beyond her years. Medea had expected a haughty, reluctant child bride—not this mature, demure young woman. Something about Psyche reminded her of the girl she used to be. For once in her adulthood, she allowed kindness. Letting Psyche off for small mistakes, indulging her in conversations longer than 10 words and even sending a letter or two.
Meanwhile, the elder daughter of Count Callista observed the budding relationship with growing resentment. Rumors about Medea’s fearsome persona had unsettled her—until she met the commander herself.
Medea was cool, calm, and gorgeous, not at all the monster she had imagined. Watching her interact with Psyche sparked something twisted: desire, jealousy, and entitlement. She petitioned her father to let her marry the Commander instead. He refused to use his own daughter as a commodity to be exchanged.
Still, she insisted, demanding for a chance to speak with the Commander herself. If the Commander chose her, her father would have no power to stop it. Unfortunately, her attempts to approach the commander were met with cold indifference. Frustrated, she turned on Psyche.
"End it," she demanded. "You don’t belong in nobility. It should’ve been me. This engagement should have been mine."
Psyche had begun to feel something for Medea—genuine affection. She was the only one who had shown her kindness. For once, Psyche had something to look forward to in life. So, she said no.
Enraged, the stepsister locked her in the attic the day of her meeting with Medea. No matter how hard Psyche banged or cried by the door no one came.
The next day, it wasn’t Psyche who greeted Medea in the drawing room but a girl bearing resemblance to the count.
“Where is Psyche?”
Medea was met with a saccharine smile and a lie, “Psyche is ill.”
This girl insisted it was contagious and offered to entertain Medea in her stead. But Medea wasn’t fooled. She gave a cold warning, her voice sharpened by suspicion.
“Do not interfere in matters beyond your understanding.”
That night, the stepsister’s jealousy boiled over.
“She gets everything,” she hissed. “I’m the count’s daughter—not her!”
In a fit of rage, she ordered the servants to lock Psyche in the garden shed instead, never to be let back into the house until she said otherwise.
Psyche was overjoyed that they finally let her out. That hope was short lived when they dragged her out of the house and threw her inside the cold dark shed.
“Please no, don’t leave me here!”
She begged only to fall upon deaf ears. The servants locked her away without sparing a glance. Depraving Psyche of all light into the small dark confinement. Only tears and darkness kept her company.
The next day, Medea returned bearing get-well gifts. Though she despised the Callista family, she maintained civility for Psyche’s sake. Once again, it wasn’t Psyche who greeted her by the door. Medea had no reason to stay. She dropped off her gifts and walked out.
By the fourth day, Medea had enough. She had her suspicions upon seeing the state Psyche was in. A rich count who had more than enough wealth to support two daughters, yet one of them was skin and bones.
“Helio.”
“Yes, Your Grace,”
“Don’t let anyone escape,” Medea stormed from room to room, searching for a particular blonde. Her men rounded up every servant and attendant.
She scoured the entire mansion and yet there was no sign of Psyche. Walking down the main staircase, around 20 people had been arrested, including the count, his wife and daughter.
“What is the meaning of this, Commander!?”
Helio handed her a file and Medea threw the stack straight to the Count’s face. Pages scattered around their feet. The count paled upon reading one of the pages.
“Tax evasion. Poaching. Slave trafficking. Attempted murder. Child abuse. Can’t you read? Or have you suddenly gone senile?”
Count Callista desperately tried to prove his innocence. Medea slammed his face to the ground and held him down by the heel of her boot.
Drawing her sword, she held the blade by his throat, “Save your lies. Where is Psyche?”
The pathetic man didn't answer her question, only pleading for mercy. Irritation grew on her. Medea raised her blade to strike.
“She’s in the garden shed!”
It was an old maid who dared raise her voice.
“Please, High Commander. That child has been in there for days.”
Medea clicked her tongue, “Helio, spare her and deal with the rest of them.”
She sheathed her sword and ventured to the garden. Spotting a small shed in the corner, where one usually stores gardening tools. As she approached the shed, faint crying drew her attention.
She knocked softly, “Psyche.”
Psyche’s heart surged at the familiar voice. Relief and anguish crashed over her.
“Please... save me,” she cried desperately.
“Step back from the door,”
Medea kicked open the door and light poured in the small dark space. There sat Psyche in a nightgown on the cold ground. Eyes red and puffy, face stricken in tears, skin as pale as the night.
She crouched and draped her cloak over the shivering girl. Her face scrunched in rage as her eyes took in the numerous cuts and bruises on Psyche’s hands and feet. No doubt from trying to escape from her confinement.
Medea extended her hand. Psyche took it and finally her body gave way, collapsing against Medea. Medea pulled her close, letting her sob into her chest. It didn’t take long for Psyche to pass out from the stress and exhaustion. Medea cradled her close to her chest and carried her.
Too light .
She settled Psyche inside her carriage as she sat on the opposite side. With two knocks against the glass separating the driver and her, the carriage set course to the mansion. She watched the sun set against Psyche’s golden locks, though tussled and dusty, the beautiful golden could not be hidden.
Her cloak slipped off from Psyche’s shoulder and Medea was kneeling in front of the sleeping girl before she knew it. Her eyes drifted to Psyche’s face as she fixed the cloak. Even in her sleep Psyche was not at peace with brows furrowed and slight fidgeting. She brushed Psyche’s hair from her face as gently as possible. It felt like Psyche would break from the slightest gust of wind.
The carriage stopped in front of the mansion and Medea was still kneeling. She let Psyche’s hair slip through her fingers, admiring the golden hue. It was odd how she felt so inclined to make Psyche’s matters hers.
It was not that pity she felt. It was curiosity at first, seeing a small sprout in a land devoid of water or grass. She wondered how it survived for so long and still kept that shine in her eyes. Would she still see those brilliant emeralds once Psyche wakes up? She hopes so.
It was minutes after the carriage stopped that the High Commander descended the carriage. A servant noticed another body in the carriage. Thinking it was another body to interrogate, they stepped up. But Medea waved them off and carried the body herself. Not to the side door leading to the dungeons but to the main entrance of the mansion.
Servants scrambled to the door and opened them for their lord. The ones waiting to greet their lord froze at the sight of their commander cradling a bruised and unconscious young girl .
The head butler glanced between his master and the stranger in her arms.
“Your Grace,” he pleaded, “Please, don’t go down this path.”
Medea’s gaze turned glacial. “Watch your tongue. This lady is not a guest nor company . She is your future duchess.”
Whispers filled the hall. The idea of the High Commander returning in the dead of night with her young fiancée—disheveled, vulnerable—shook them. Medea quelled it with a sigh.
“Whatever assumptions you have, banish them. Her family was the one who put her into this state, not I. I expect all of you to treat her with respect and rectitude.”
The older servants exchanged knowing glances. Medea had once been gentle, once loved deeply, even if she didn’t put her heart on her sleeve. That kindness had been betrayed—but now, perhaps, there was hope. They decided to put their faith on this girl to heal their master.
Medea took Psyche to the room across to hers and instructed the maids to freshen up Psyche, before retiring to change. She was halfway unbuttoning her shirt when a commotion in the chambers next door drew her attention. Within seconds, Medea was already out her door and in front of Psyche’s.
After knocking, a maid opened with a conflicted expression.
“What happened?”
“My apologies, Your Grace. She’s alright... just startled. But…” she nervously looked back “There are scars. Deep ones.”
Medea’s face darkened. Maids gathered in front of the bathroom door, looking distraught at one another. She dismissed them and knocked on the door. Three soft knocks.
“Psyche, It’s me,” she called softly.
There was some shuffling before the door opened. Through the small crack, Medea saw Psyche standing in borrowed robes, her eyes red.
“I’m sorry for the commotion,” she murmured.
Medea shook her head, “No, It was my fault for leaving you with strangers after what you’ve been through. Are you alright?"
Psyche’s gaze landed on Medea’s state of undress. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she willed herself to look her in the eyes. She nodded hurriedly, “No one ever attended to me. So…”
Medea acknowledged her with a hum. Given her circumstances, it made sense that Psyche wasn’t used to having maids at her beck and call, following her every move.
“Alright, I will let them know. For now, bear with me.”
Medea rolled up her sleeves and Psyche blinked her eyes.
“My lord?”
Medea sent her a quizzical look, “Get in the bath, Psyche. I will wash you instead since you are unwell.”
Psyche’s face burst into flames at the suggestion. This was not what she expected.
Seeing Psyche’s reddened face, Medea understood Psyche's inner turmoil. She smirked and leaned into her ear.
“You step in the bath with the robe on Psyche. That is unless you wish to undress.”
Psyche turned around and sat in the bath dutifully. The temperature of the water was nothing compared to the heat of her face. She couldn’t bear to look the Commander in the eye.
Medea let out an amused grin. She grabbed a cloth nearby and wet it in the bath. Tenderly, she brought Psyche’s hand into her own and started wiping down the dirt and grime off her skin. From the tips of her fingers to the underside of her arms, she made sure to thoroughly wipe down Psyche. An attempt to clean her from the memory of being locked up for days.
Psyche found herself studying the Commander’s face as she focused on tending to Psyche. This once a stranger had changed her entire course of life. She still didn’t understand the rumors surrounding her. How could they call someone this kind a monster?
The Commander had been nothing but polite and kind from the moment they met. Her answers were curt and her facial expressions rarely changed, but rare doesn’t mean never. She is attentive when Psyche tells her about the flowers in the garden. She grins when teasing Psyche. She brings sweets that Psyche likes. Medea is more humane than the people in the Callista Manor.
“Psyche.”
A warm touch on her cheek and a cloth on the other.
Not to mention how incredibly attractive the Commander is. Her mother was beautiful. The most beautiful person she has ever seen and the Commander was a close second. Sharply dressed in uniform, tall and lean build, flowing violet locks. But her favorite is her eyes. She had been caught staring into them a few times already.
Ah, I’m caught again
“We’re done. Go change. I’ll be waiting outside.”
Medea worried over Psyche. Her face was as pink as a peach. She should get her out of the bath, lest risk her passing out again. The maids were right. Psyche has scars all over her. Some deeper than others. She should have the Callistas go through what they put Psyche through.
She pulled the rope by the bedside and a maid knocked not long after. She asked for tea and a light snack to be prepared. The maid returned with a tray just as Psyche emerged from the bathroom. Medea took the tray from her and motioned for Psyche to come close.
To her surprise, Psyche sat right next to her instead of across like she usually does. Her eyes glued on the tray, particularly at the bread . Medea was glad Psyche still had that shine in her eyes.
“You must be hungry.”
Medea handed Psyche a spoon. Her brows furrowed in confusion and Medea couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle.
Typically pastries are served with a fork and knife, alas what they had wasn’t pastry. It was a zuppa. A cream based soup filled with potatoes, beans and greens, topped with a puff pastry on top.
Medea cracked the pastry on top of her bowl, revealing the soup hidden underneath. She mixed the pastry into the soup, absorbing making it thicker and fulfilling.
Psyche eyes were glued to whatever Medea was doing. Eyes wide with wonder. Such a small, simple thing and yet Psyche appreciated it like gold. It was times like these that Medea found herself at ease. She ended up wanting to show her more and more about everything she doesn’t know and anything she wants to know.
Taking a spoonful of the soup, she blew until it cooled down and offered it to Psyche.
Her eyes darted from the spoon and the Commander’s face. The way she looked at her was unfair. Seeing that faint hint of a smile and that gaze, truly unfair. It made her feel bashful.
Psyche opened her mouth anyway and accepted being spoon fed. Any shyness was overshadowed by the excitement of a delicious meal.
Her meals had improved somewhat ever since she was told to marry the Commander. Even if she didn’t get to dine in the dining hall, her meals weren’t moldy or stale anymore.
“What is this, my lord?”
Medea turned to the maid waiting in the corner. Giving her a silent nod, she was granted permission to answer.
“It’s Zuppa, my lady. It is made from potatoes, beans and a little cream. It is all that we have right now given the time of day. I apologize if it is lacking.”
“Oh no, not at all. It’s delicious! Could you pass my regards to the chef? And thank you for making something so late at night.”
Psyche flashed the maid a warm smile as the maid excused herself and exited the room.
Medea watched silently as Psyche continued to eat the soup. For someone dubbed as an illegitimate child, Psyche had more grace and eloquence than most noble ladies.
High society was where noble ladies threw words laced with poison. Would Psyche be okay if hers was filled with honey?
Perhaps that was what made Psyche stand out among all the ladies she has met. She was genuine. Her existence was the truth. She wore no masks.
Medea poured them each a cup of tea. She left a judging gaze as she poured milk into Psyche’s cup. Psyche was pouting and Medea felt the urge to bite something.
“My lord, I am already 15. I am not a child.”
“I didn’t say you were,”
Medea added a block of sugar to Psyche’s milk tea.
“Then why are you adding milk and sugar to my cup?”
The contrast between the two cups was drastic. Medea’s clear and dark compared with Psyche’s light and sweet. Medea took Psyche’s wrist into her hand. Too thin.
“You are too light. I’m afraid a gust of wind will blow you away.”
The Commander’s thumb rubbed the inside of her wrist. Whether intentionally or not she didn’t know, it tickled her all the same. She couldn’t help but pull her arm away, not from discomfort but insecurity. Compared to her step-sister…
Well, it was like comparing weeds to a flower. Her physique was nothing to be jealous of. As the Commander said, she is just skin and bones. Skin riddled with cuts and bruises, palm rough with callouses, her womanly assets weren’t that impressive either. As much as she enjoyed her company, there are many others, more suitable, more beautiful, much better than whatever Psyche is. Perhaps she is a fool for hoping for something that shouldn’t and couldn’t be hers.
“Psyche, don’t cry.”
Psyche felt her heart drop. The sound of her heartbeat was loud in her ear. No—she had to smile. She was fine .
“What are you saying? I’m not —”
She couldn’t see the Commander. Everything was blurry. At least, she showed her that she’s fine.. right?
Medea furrowed her brows. She cupped Psyche's face with both hands, her thumb wiping away the tears that fell.
“Um.. This is.. I’m not..”
No matter how many Medea wiped away, heavy drops spilled over those emerald eyes. That shine was now gone. Psyche’s hands grabbed her wrists. Whether it was to keep them there or push them away, she couldn’t tell. It trembled too much.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Psyche tried to speak but her throat felt tight. Still, she had to speak. She tried again.
“I’m fine.”
Her pitch went up at the end. That won’t do.
“I-I’m.. fine..”
Now it’s too low and she messed up the start. Panic started to fill her heart.
“Fine. I’m fine. I’m fine!”
No, she mustn’t yell. Again .
“I-I— hic —fine.”
She tried to repeat but all that came out of her mouth were sobs. She felt pathetic.
Medea didn’t know that watching Psyche cry would feel worse than being stabbed in the chest. Unsure on how to proceed, she kept trying to wipe the tears away to no avail. A memory came to mind. A time when Medea still had her nanny with her, when her brother was still by her side, when she was still a foolish child. A happier time.
“Psyche.”
Psyche blinked away the tears in her eyes, lifted her head to look at the Commander. There she was with one eyebrow raised, eyes furrowed and a crooked smile. A few seconds of silence fell between them until she let out and choked snort. Instead of desperately trying to stop herself from crying, now she had to stop herself from laughing. Her shoulders trembled from holding in her laughter.
“My lord, what are you doing?” Psyche finally managed to squeak out between chuckles.
“I was trying to stop you from crying.” Medea schooled her expressions once more. “Whenever I was upset, my nanny would comfort me. She would call out my name with a smile and hold me close.”
Choked sobs now turned into small giggles. While her efforts fell short compared to an experienced caregiver, Medea was glad she managed to stop Psyche’s crying. This was the first time in quite awhile since she found herself at a loss. It didn’t feel right to treat Psyche with her usual demeanor to her subordinates, other noblewomen or even superior. She felt different.
Medea let go of Psyche’s cheeks in favor of grabbing an ointment in her pocket. A medicinal salve she carries around for treating cuts and bruises. She crouched down and showed the contents to Psyche.
“This will help you heal. May I?”
Psyche’s heart fluttered at the sweet gesture. Averting her eyes, she responded with a nod. Her face felt a little flushed.
Medea rested Psyche’s foot on her knee and started to gently apply the salve on the cuts on her soles. It enraged her how they dared to lock away and abuse Psyche. She shifted her attention to her other foot. There were more cuts on her left foot, perhaps from trying to kick down the door. There was also bruising on her shin. Her brows furrowed once more as she found more on her calves and thighs.
“Um, my lord?”
Medea looked up only to find Psyche beet red, holding on tightly to the hem of her robe. Ah .
She withdrew her hands from Psyche’s pale thighs and mumbled a quick apology. Both for what she has done and what she was about to do. She wrapped her arms under Psyche’s knees and shoulders, lifting her up with ease. The captive in her arms squeaked in surprise. She walked towards the bed and gently sat Psyche down in the middle before climbing up herself and sitting behind her.
“Psyche, can I treat your back?”
Psyche flinched from the question, her shoulder raised and tense. She gripped the labels of her robe tighter together. Unexpectedly, she felt strong arms wrap themselves around her waist. Her back flushed against the Commander’s sturdy body. It felt warm.
“You’re safe here. No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it.”
The Commander’s words tickled her ear as well as touched her heart. The cat was out of the bag the moment she was saved from confinement. She knew what happened in the Callista Manor. There was nothing to hide anymore.
Reluctantly, Psyche sat up straighter and the Commander gave her space. She let the robe slip down her shoulders, exposing her back to the cool night air. She already missed the warmth against her back. The Commander said nothing as she began applying the salve in numerous places.
“Thank you, my lord and I apologize that you were engaged to someone like me.”
Psyche couldn’t see what face the Commander was making. Not that she could guess her fate from studying those brilliant violet eyes, she had hoped she could enjoy their time together a little longer. Sadly, that wouldn’t be possible. House Callista would be no more. The act of abuse was found by the High Commander herself, who knows what else she also found. Count Callista has never been an honorable man after all.
The Commander said nothing as she finished up Psyche’s back. She shifted around until she was face-to-face with her once more. Those violet eyes pierced through her soul.
“And what is someone like you?”
Medea asked as she took Psyche’s hand, gently applying more salve. She didn’t give Psyche time to answer.
“Someone brilliant, warm hearted and gentle?”
“I am none of those, my lord.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“No!”
Psyche pulled back her hand out of reflex. The Commander quipped a brow at her and opened her palm, silently asking Psyche to let her continue what she was doing. Psyche kept her hand close to her chest.
“It’s just that you deserve someone better, better than a Count’s illegitimate daughter.”
Medea intertwined one of her hands with Psyche’s, “I do not care for your status or origin of birth. I only care whether you’re in pain.”
She brought Psyche’s hand close and resumed applying the salve.
“You must have faced a lot of hardships but your scars don’t matter. You’re still beautiful in my eyes. Both in mind and appearance.”
Psyche instinctively looked up at the Commander, only to find her looking back at her with a small grin. Her face felt like it was on fire. Her heart was going to explode from how fast it was beating. She opened her mouth to retort back, to refuse but nothing came out. She only gaped.
“I enjoy your company. You are far more brilliant than what you give yourself credit for. You will see in due time the way I see you.”
Medea planted a kiss on Psyche’s knuckles.
“I’m glad you’re my betrothed,” she whispered. “I’m glad I met you, Psyche.”
Before she realized, tears rolled down Psyche’s cheeks once more. She used her free hand to wipe them away.
“I’m sorry.”
“You apologize too much,” Medea said gently. “Here, you can be selfish. Say what you want, whenever you want. I’d rather know your true thoughts than hear forced apologies.”
“I’m—” Psyche hesitated, then tried again. No more apologies this time. She locked eyes with the Commander with a smile, a genuine one from her heart, “Thank you.”
Medea smiled back and patted her head, “Good. Much better.”
She opened her arms and Psyche dived into her embrace, giggling and crying at the same time. Medea couldn’t help but let out an exasperated chuckle.
“I must be a terrible spouse—making you cry twice in one night.”
Psyche laughed softly, still teary. “For you, my lord, I’d cry a thousand times. Besides, these are happy tears.”
Medea smiled and stroked Psyche’s back with a gentleness she didn’t know she had.
It didn’t take long for Psyche to drift to sleep in her arms. When Medea stood to leave, a gentle tug at her sleeve stopped her. Not wanting to disturb her sleep, Medea sighed and surrendered. She couldn’t believe it only took a hug from a small girl where many have pleaded and conspired against her to get what they want.
As she lay beside Psyche, she couldn’t help but make plans for the future. She got to see a glimpse of the real Psyche, a playful and dedicated girl. She decided she would protect this cute, delicate flower with all her might.