Page 37 of The Cinderella Prince

I chuckled. “What happened to the temples? The sculptures?”

“What happened?” he mused.

“You said there were two thousand statues and busts.”

Cedric shook his head sadly. “Christians happened. They first denounced Antinous with everything else that was pagan and homosexual. Then, they banned all of pagan imagery around the end of the fourth century. The cult was silent until fairly recently.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, the neo-pagan movement re-sacralized Antinous, and he’s a gay icon.” The cheeky smile on Cedric’s lips filled me with such inexplicable hope as though something terrible had been prevented and there was still a chance for good things to prevail.

I put my hands on Cedric’s chest and gazed into his eyes. “You’re such a romantic.”

“I’m a scandalous pagan, Tris,” Cedric said with a laugh. He leaned in and pressed his lips softly against mine.

It sparked tingles in my toes when he kissed me. It awakened the butterflies in my stomach. It made me lighter than a feather and clearer than a drop of water from a cold forest brook. And when he pulled back, still gazing into my eyes, I blinked. “You’re not scandalous to me.”

The smile on his lips was so pure and fiery that I wished to become one of the statues in this room and remain with him forever.

“This one is special to me,” he said, gesturing at the bust with his head. “There were queer gods in Hellenic mythology for centuries before Antinous. Apollo, Hermes, Eros. There are Achilles and Patroclus, of course, and some stories about Hercules. Zeus, Ganymede, Hyacinthus, you name them. But Antinous was a mortal man who had never been a great hero or an emperor. People like him simply weren’t deified, and it was a scandal at the time.” He took my hand and began leading us out of the gallery, throwing one last glance at the bust.

“That’s really amazing,” I said. “I didn’t know any of this.” Before this evening, it had only been another bust in a room I’d visited once in my life. I wondered if each had a story as large as his was.

Cedric rolled his shoulders. “I’d like to honor him.”

My heart leaped. “How do we do that?”

He grinned at the fact I included myself so gladly. “I’m happy you asked.”

Cedric hurried out of the museum, one hand holding mine like he was never going to let go, the other holding the canvas bag that hung from one of his shoulders. We walked fast around the museum, and Cedric found us a paththrough Central Park that led us straight to Arthur Ross Pinetum, less than ten minutes away.

“I was hoping to convert you,” he said mischievously. “Of course, I’m not going to sacrifice you under the full Moon, just in case you were wondering. This is more of a thing I like to do for the purpose of reflection. Antinous was athletic and artistic, according to some rumors, and we know he was educated in Rome, so he’s a god of light of sorts. Some modern pagan groups call him a god of homosexuality, but I disagree with that.”

I was smitten even without Cedric going on about all these incredible things, but I listened happily. We reached the Pinetum and sat down on a bench just as the last of the daylight set the sky and the wispy clouds on fire.

“To me,” Cedric continued, “he’s much more than that. Especially because there are many better-known gay gods if you like. I generally don’t think of any ancient god as something singular. They weren’t seen that way then; they shouldn’t be so simplified today.”

“Sorry, but…” I winced. He was very much into this, and I needed a moment to catch up. “Do you actually believe he’s a god?”

Cedric threw his arm around my shoulders and gazed at the pines before us. “It’s unknown if even Hadrian believed it,” he said softly. “But that’s not important. Who knows what comes after? Who knows if there’s anything out there in the universe? We’re just one species from a planet brimming with life, and we happen to be a species that exists on stories. Everything’s a story, Tristan. History, religion, and nationality, they’re all stories we collectively agree on. Or disagree, so we go to war over our differingstories. But stories have lessons, and people need to learn so long as they live. And the story of Hadrian and Antinous is one I like, so I sit down and spare them a thought, and I drink a bit of red wine or read a poem, and that’s a way to honor him.”

“Red wine? Tell me more,” I said flirtatiously.

Cedric smirked. “I knew that would get you interested. You could also go for a swim or, if you’re particularly devoted, fight for gay rights, equality of all people, and for peacekeeping.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” I said.

Cedric pulled his canvas bag open and produced a bottle of red wine and a corkscrew. “That’s why we’re starting with something easy.” As he opened the bottle, he spoke about his childhood fascination with Greek and Roman religions, as well as most of the world’s ancient religions. To Cedric, these things weren’t literal, and they had never been particularly organized.

While it might have passed as an eccentric hobby that would surprise nobody coming from a willful prince—a fact I still struggled to wrap my mind around—it was much more intimate, according to Cedric’s words.

His eclectic paganism was not an organized thing with a hierarchy or a dogma. There were no rules to follow, but his intuition dictated which gods had a place in his life.

“It’s like collecting art,” he said. The fact that he was speaking to someone who couldn’t even fathom the idea of collecting stamps with how little he owned in life, let alone art, flew way over his head. “It enriches you, the individual. And it presents you to others in a way. So you ask yourself, ‘What are the things that matter to me?’ And if you’re alover of beauty and peace and compassion, like you are, then you do some little things that affirm those beliefs.”

“Like public drinking,” I teased.

Cedric laughed aloud and pulled the cork out of the bottle. “Better be quick.” He tipped the bottle, pulled a long sip, swallowed, and handed me the wine. I mimicked him and hurried to return the bottle to his bag. Cedric stoppered it with the cork again and leaned back, his arm returning to my shoulders.

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