Experience the myth and magic of antiquity’s most alluring—and provocative—goddess as never witnessed before, in this gorgeously rendered, unflinching, and deeply vulnerable retelling from the author of Mother of Rome and Medusa’s Sisters.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Aphrodite In Pieces by Lauren J. A. Bear, which releases on April 21st 2026.
Two hundred years before the common era, Aphrodite surprises an itinerant sculptor with a shocking request: Hear my story, see me for who I truly am, and carve it into stone. Never before has the goddess posed for her likeness, and as the artist works, she shares pieces of herself.
Her greatest triumphs and most grievous mistakes. The truth behind the tales of her beneficence and vengeance. And the one epic romance that slips through her perfect fingers, time and time again.
Part memoir, part fantasy, and all heart, Aphrodite in Pieces begs the eternal, essential questions: what do love and beauty truly mean? And can they last?
EXCERPT
And then, as if the crowds had parted just for us, I saw him staring back at me.
Not Hermes, but Ares.
Again, that Oh.
Almost frozen, as if we were alone, I held the intensity of his attention, took in the entirety of his face. That low brow and small mouth, the slight furrow to his forehead—such touching points of contrast, soft features on a hard-seeming man.
And then the thump of my own heart, ever beating, jolted me out of the moment.
I inhaled.
Ares promptly turned and strode away.
No doubt Hephaestus was still speaking, but I couldn’t be sure. “Excuse me,” I murmured as I rushed off, pushing a path through the partygoers. I’m not embarrassed to admit I chased after Ares. Patience is no strength of mine, and I needed to understand why my heart reacted to him in such a way.
Maybe I’m more embarrassed that this would become a pattern of ours.
Me, impetuous. Him, reserved. One always pursuing, the other retreating.
I searched every shadowy alcove, found more than one guest sleeping, couples kissing, others crying. But then I spotted Thalia.
“Have you seen Ares?”
Confusion wrinkled her nose. “Ares, are you sure? He’s the mean-looking one, Aphrodite.”
“Yes.”
“And he is the god of war.” She whispered his provenance like it was taboo.
“I’m aware.”
Thalia’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, then, he left.” She led me to the balcony and pointed. “He went down that way.”
The stables.
“Thank you.”
I flew in that direction.
“Aphrodite!” Thalia called. “Wait!”
I whipped back around. “What is it?” I demanded, hands on my hips. “I don’t care how he looks.”
Her expression saddened. “No, Aphrodite. I only wanted to say, be careful.”
The soles of my sandals clipped against the marble floors as I hurried outside the palace, so worried that I would be too late, that I would find him cuddled up with some pretty nymph in the hay.
When I set foot in the stables, the horses broke into a racket. I lacked the language for the din then—the neighs and whinnies were just snorts and screams—but I hushed them, nonetheless. One large brown beast stuck his nose at me over the door, nostrils flaring and lips quivering, showing enormous yellow teeth.
I recoiled. “No,” I told it firmly.
At the sound of my voice, Ares appeared from out of the farthest stall. He saw me in the aisle and tensed.
“Why are you here?”
It was my first time hearing his voice. Low and understated. A thrilling surprise.
I lifted a shoulder. “For fresh air?”
He frowned, gestured to the manure on the floor, then crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’ve caught me.” I gave him my most kittenish smile. “Perhaps I was just curious why you were here.”
Ares snapped his fingers, and a massive wolflike creature came to heel at his side. It had scarred skin and mottled fur. One ear was missing. Its mouth opened enough that I saw fangs twisted and far too long.
I reeled. “What is that?”
“My dog.”
“Oh.” I cursed myself. “Of course.”
“Graegus is not allowed in the palace.”
“Because he’s so ugly?”
“Because he growls at pretenders.”
It resonated the ether between us, what went unsaid, for the dog hadn’t growled at me; in fact, it seemed to grin in its dilapidated way, a thick line of drool spilling from its open mouth.
I typically preferred birds to other animals, but this one, hideous though he may be, had potential.
“I am Aphrodite—”
“I know who you are.”
“—and I don’t have any friends here—”
“Friends are gratuitous.”
I stepped closer. “Only because you’ve never been friends with me.”
It was exhilarating, this boldness.
“Go back to the party, Aphrodite.”
“I’d rather we get to know each other.”
His mouth tightened. “No.” And he shook his head. “I’m not interested.”
“In what?”
“In you. In what I see in your eyes.”
I could barely breathe, could hardly make the words, let alone affect a tone of lightheartedness as I took another brave step forward. “What is it you see?”
I was so present, so alive and aware of my own pulse and breath.
Of his body, impossibly strong and achingly close.
“Eternity.”
Before I could clutch him, the god of war turned on his heel and fled.
Excerpted from APHRODITE IN PIECES by Lauren J. A. Bear, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2026
