Chapter 8

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Psyche took a deep breath. 

She looked at Aglaura who was sitting to the right of a balding noble, the current frontrunner in her options. 

Cydippe sat to his left. 

They were getting desperate and were determined to guide her through every step of conversation and decorum. Clearly if left alone, Psyche would make a mess of things. 

Aglaura looked sternly at Psyche. 

Say something her eyes commanded. 

Psyche uncomfortably cleared her throat. 

“So,” she started, “Balding Noble.”

He didn’t even look at her. He was examining the linen threads of the napkins. 

“I say,” he said suddenly, clearly wrapped up in his own thoughts, “I’ve never seen linen woven so tightly. How many threads do you think they used for this cloth? 200? 400?” 

Cydippe casually lifted her glass. 

“We have only the finest linen here,” she said before taking a sip.

“Yes,” Aglaura said, not taking her eyes off of Psyche. “We take great care with every detail. Princess Psyche, for example, is tasked with managing — “

“But really,” Balding Noble said, cutting her off. “It’s quite baffling, contemplating the labor and detail it would take to weave such a fine linen.”

He continued staring at his napkin, as if it were a piece of fine art. 

Cydippe shifted and joined in glaring at Psyche. 

“The linen is magnificent. I know the craftspeople who make it,” Psyche said. 

Balding Noble finally looked up. The only thing that could tear him away from the napkin was the thought of its maker.  

“Oh, really??” he said. “I would very much like to meet them. Oh, what an honor it would be to meet the genius of such fine quality. I need to have them make fine napkins for my table. I simply must!  How splendid they would look, how soft they would be to the fingers.”

He abruptly stood up. 

“We must meet them immediately!” he said. “There’s no time to waste.”

Everyone at the table stood, trying to keep up with the will and pleasure of Balding Noble. 

He snapped his fingers at his attendants who started following him toward the door. 

“But the meal!” Aglaura called after him, confused. “We haven’t even started on the –”

“There’s no time for that,” Balding Noble said, from the doorway. 

He was soon out of the room, leaving the princesses staring after him speechless. 

They could hear him navigating the various corridors.

Aglaura turned to Psyche.

“What are you doing??” Aglaura fumed.

“Me?” Psyche said, bewildered. “I’m not doing anything.”  

“That’s right,” Cydippe chided. “You’re doing absolutely nothing. All of our work is going to waste!” 

“I’m trying. It’s just that –” Psyche said, trying to search for an explanation.

“Enough excuses, Psyche.” Aglaura interrupted. “This is serious. We have gone through every king, prince, and now the lowest of the lowly noble. What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know. I tried to make eye contact, but he wouldn’t even look at me. He was completely engrossed with his napkin,” Psyche said.

“Well, I have to agree with you there,” Cydippe said. “Balding Noble is entirely gross. He would have made a horrible match.” 

“Cydippe, that’s mean!” Psyche said, alarmed. “Engrossed simply means — “

“Psyche, we know what it means,” Aglaura interrupted, exasperation in her voice. “Though, these suitors they keep bringing are getting worse and worse. How do Mother and Father expect us to work our magic with such poor materials? ”

“I don’t mind how my husband looks,” Psyche said, bothered by her sisters’ mean comments. 

“We need a new strategy,” Aglaura said, beginning to pace. “We need something to attract some real attention; something to draw more potential suitors.”

“I know!” Cydippe said after a moment. “What if we did a festival? A festival of Psyche.”

“A festival?” Aglaura said, stopping and looking at Cydippe.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner,” Cydippe said, getting excited. “Maybe I was just expecting this to be a lot easier. But, what if we hosted a festival to draw more people, people from farther and wider. We could have games and contests, all centered on Psyche. It could culminate with a final night of various performances during which Psyche would perform the grand finale.” 

Psyche frowned.

“Perform?” Psyche said. 

“Yes!” Cydippe said, smiling. 

Then, looking at Psyche, Cydippe felt momentary panic and her smile flattened slightly. 

Would Psyche outshine her? 

Her little sister had never sought that kind of attention and Cydippe had happily enjoyed the stage all to herself. 

But desperate times called for desperate measures. 

And anyway, Psyche couldn’t possibly perform better than Cydippe. Psyche was an ametaur. 

“I don’t know,” Aglaura said, not totally sold on the idea. 

Psyche was even less convinced.

“I’m not nearly as talented as you, Cydippe. I couldn’t possibly –” Psyche tried to say.

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Cydippe said, encouraged by Psyche’s lack of confidence. She would definitely not outshine Cydippe. “We have to help Mother and Father attract more suitors.”

Psyche stood nervously trying to think of another possible option. The thought of attracting so much attention made her feel sick. 

“I could try, um — uh,” Psyche said.

“You see!” Cydippe said. “There are no other ideas. This is our last remaining option. Make it a spectacular event that no one will want to miss and we’re bound to find someone, anyone. I’ll take care of everything, don’t worry. You’re in good hands.” 

“I admit, I can’t think of anything else either. It appears to be our only option,” Aglaura said.

“It’ll work,” Cydippe said confidently. 

“I don’t know,” Psyche said. 

“We could make a stage near Psyche’s shrine,” Cydippe said, focusing now more on Aglaura. “I’m sure Mother and Father would spare no expense on the decorations. Since I’ll be handling the costume and getting her ready to perform, you’ll have to make sure the stage and all of the other arrangements are perfect.”

“Do you really think the worship complex is the best setting?” Psyche said. “I feel like that would be overdoing it a bit.” 

“I can manage all of the other arrangements, no problem,” Aglaura said, sensing Cydippe’s challenge. “Just make sure Psyche wears something that speaks of power, of wealth, and of timeless beauty.”

“Does the costume really need to say all that?” Psyche said, more to herself. Her sisters weren’t really listening to her anymore. 

“Well, of course,” Cydippe said to Aglaura, annoyed. “But what should she perform? A song? A poem?” 

“Either one,” Aglaura said, dismissively. “It’s getting enough suitors in the audience that’s important.”

“It matters a great deal which one she does,” Cydippe said sternly. “You might get suitors in the seats, but will they be captivated? We need to select something that is deep and moving; something wistful and beautiful. It has to be something that will make every man weep and beg for a chance to be with Psyche.” 

“Maybe I could sing a song,” Psyche said, jumping in. It was less likely that Cydippe could make a song embarrassing. At least, Psyche hoped Cydippe couldn’t make a song about anything — too erotic. 

“That could work. That could work,” Cydippe agreed. “And we could get the vocal master to work with you, and the lyrical master as well. It should be an original song, something no one has ever heard before.”

“Well, we had better get started,” Aglaura said, moving towards the door. “Cydippe, I’ll leave Psyche to you.”

“Have no fear. I will transform our sister into the most magnificent goddess. You won’t even recognize her,” Cydippe said confidently.

“Can we at least finish our meal?” Psyche said, indicating the abandoned feast which attendants had brought shortly after Balding Noble’s departure. 

“There’s no time for that,” Aglaura said, stopping at the door. 

“And anyway,” Cydippe said, moving around the table to take Psyche’s arm. “You’re going to have to adjust your diet if you have any hope of fitting into your costume.” 

“We haven’t even made it yet. Couldn’t we make it to fit me as I am?” Psyche said. 

Aglaura looked at Cydippe. 

“You have your work cut out for you, Cydippe,” Aglaura said.

“Don’t worry,” Cydippe said, patting Psyche’s arm. “This will be fun!”

Psyche wasn’t so sure. What was the fun in starving?  

Psyche sighed.

Let the torture — get worse. 

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