Chapter 6: Signs of Cupidity: Chapter 6

“Yeah! Give it to him good!”

I look to my left and laugh at the shouting man. He’s a…well, I’m not really exactly sure what kind of fae he is, to be honest. He looks like a bulbous mini-troll. He has more warts on his face than hair on his head. And he’s just one of hundreds of fae gathered together to watch the royal tournament.

Currently, there are two contestants going head-to-head using blunted long swords. I know, I know. The sexual innuendos are practically erupting out of me. Especially when I have bystanders watching the tournament and shouting things like, “Stick your long sword in him!”

I look to my right at the woman pixie who’s responsible for my giggling fit this time. Watching tournaments is super fun.

I float around the bystanders, huffing some Lust-Breaths here and there as I go in the crowd. I watch pair after pair of contestants leave the arena, one as the victor and one as the sore loser.

Sometimes, they’re allowed to use their magic, and that makes the fighting even more exciting. I fly invisible amongst the crowd until the royals finally arrive. I wing it right up to them, taking my spot on the arm of the throne for the soon-to-be-princess as she takes her seat beside the prince.

It’s been a week since I came to the castle, and everything is going smoothly. This tournament is being held as part of the wedding festivities, no doubt chosen by the prince. It doesn’t matter which realm it is, men like watching people kick the shit out of each other.

Lady Soora watches with polite interest, clapping when a victor emerges and grimacing when a loser gets knocked around a bit too roughly. Prince Elphar, on the other hand, shouts with vigor, claps like he’s trying to mimic thunder, and curses like a pissed off drunk when his chosen fae loses. “Rip his wings off!” he yells during a particularly gruesome match between two high fae.

“He’s a bloodthirsty one, isn’t he?” I say to Lady Soora from my perch. I notice her stealing looks at him from the corner of her eye every time he shouts down at the arena.

I’ve grown quite fond of the lady. It’s obvious why she was matched with the prince. She’s going to be the perfect princess. She always looks flawless, her back is straighter than a leveled wall, she has impeccable table manners, she’s tactful when she speaks, she’s kind, and, based on more kitchen gossip, her father is loaded.

With only a week until the wedding, this cupid is sitting pretty on the match of the century. Yeah, I’m taking credit for it even though I haven’t really done anything. So what? There aren’t any other cupids around to know any better. There never are.

After the tournament, I follow Lady Soora and her maids back to the palace as they get ready for dinner in the great hall. There will be another party tonight, just like there has been every night since their betrothal was announced.

Tonight, there’s apparently going to be a play put on. Since I’m practically a professional spectator, I’m great at going to things like tournaments and plays and musicals. It’s kind of my thing. I can watch like everyone else, making it feel a little less lonely.

After Lady Soora is dressed and then after sitting through an excruciatingly long dinner where all I can do is look longingly at all the delicious food being shoved into mouths that are not mine, it’s finally time for the play.

Instead of sitting next to Lady Soora in the royal box constructed just for tonight’s festivities, I go right to the front of the stage where I can see everything up close and personal. I want to get right in on the action. I want to see the sweat on the actor’s upper lip, the stage hands running around frantically, the actresses throwing hissy fits behind the curtain. I love the hidden drama behind the stage drama.

The play has a little bit of everything. Romance, revenge, fighting, death, redemption. By the end, I’m trying to clap my non-physical hands together and whooping shouts of praise with the rest of the crowd.

“Bravo!” I yell to the actress who played the part of making two men fall in love with her and then leaving them both for another woman. It was epic.

By the time I get back to the royal box, Lady Soora is already gone. Knowing she probably went back to her rooms, I decide to follow Prince Elphar instead.

I haven’t followed him unless he happened to be with Lady Soora, because I didn’t want to get bored. There are only so many political talks I can sit through in the king’s council room before I want to stab my ears from boredom.

But I decide to follow him now, since he’s probably on his way to an after party. One thing I’ve learned while here at the palace—he’s always up for an after party.

Prince Elphar walks through the great hall, his guards in front of him ensuring that the crowd parts. Everywhere he goes, fae tilt their heads in recognition.

One high fae woman smiles at the prince, and her dress is so low cut that I fear her breasts will fall right out and make her topple over. I’m not the only one who notices, either. The guard and the prince eye her display with pleasure.

“Alright, move it along hussy. The prince is betrothed,” I hiss in her ear. She just smiles wider when she lifts her head and catches the prince’s eye.

But he passes by her without a word, making me sigh in relief. I really did win the jackpot with this betrothal. I’m not sure how I got so lucky.

The prince heads upstairs to his wing in the palace. It’s ridiculously fancy. We’re talking plush carpet, a fireplace I could jump up and down in, a huge bed and seating area, and a balcony.

I fly over to his bed and hover on top of it, spreading my arms out and pretending to feel the soft covers. “This is the life, eh, princey pants?”

He goes through a doorway to where he keeps his clothes and comes out wearing just a loose tunic and pants. For some reason, seeing the prince of the fae realm without shoes on makes me feel all giddy. It’s kind of like seeing the king’s knees. Maybe I have a thing for hidden royal body parts.

I sit up and join him when he goes over to one of his plush chairs by the fire and sits down, pouring himself a glass of liquor. When a knock sounds on his door, he kicks back the glass, swallowing the contents in one large gulp.

“Enter,” he calls out.

“Yeah, enter,” I call out. “Wow. Being royal is fun,” I say to him. “You don’t even have to answer the door. You can just yell across the room at it and someone else will open it for you.”

I longingly look at the crystal decanter of alcohol, wishing I could take a swig. I bet it’s nice and smooth. I hear the guard open and close the door behind me, and when the prince gets to his feet and walks over, and I turn around to see the hussy from the hall standing there.

“Oh, hell no,” I hiss, jumping up.

I march over, but before I can reach them, the prince already has her shoved up against the door and his tongue shoved down her throat.

“Hey!” I yell at him. “Stop that!”

I clap my hands together to try to get their attention, which is a horrible instinct that I should have broken by now because my hands go right through each other. I wish I had a spray bottle so I could spritz them with water. It worked on old Mrs. Bunson’s cats when they were going at it.

“Your wedding is next week!” I remind him. “You’re hopelessly in love with your betrothed.”

Standing beside them, I’m shorter than both, so I’m really just staring as their jaws unhinge like they’re trying to see who can swallow whom first.

I’m pissed. I wave my arm at their faces, but that does absolutely nothing. It’s times like this that really sucks to be a cupid. All I have in my arsenal are things that will help further ignite the lust. I have nothing to douse it with. And it’s not fair, because what about poor Lady Soora? What about their marriage?

If he’s already hopping beds and they aren’t even married yet, there’s no hope for a happy marriage later on. Not when he so obviously takes people from his court and the whole palace seems to know about, except, you know, Lady Soora and the Stupid Cupid.

“Gods, I hate this job,” I say with my hands on my hips.

I watch disdainfully as he rips the dress from her body and screws her right there up against the door. It’s fast and, if you ask me, there are a lot of exaggerated noises coming from the hussy. Seems like she’s really faking it. The prince either doesn’t care, or doesn’t notice. He finishes in four minutes flat. He didn’t even taken off his pants—just loosed the ties.

When he slips out of her, he tightens his trousers again and goes back to his seat to pour himself another glass of liquor.

The woman is busy trying to straighten her dress, but it’s obviously ruined.

“That’s hopeless,” I tell her as she tries to hold her bodice together. “Should’ve thought about that before coming in here and cheating with the prince. Maybe next time you go for a betrothed man, you’ll bring a change of clothes.”

The prince knocks another drink back and then turns to the woman when she makes a small noise, like he forgot she was there. I think she might’ve sighed, because she’s just realized that she’ll be doing a hell of a walk of shame with her breasts popping out all over. I don’t envy her at all.

You might not think it, but the guards here are terrible gossipers. I mean, even worse than the ladies’ maids, if you can believe it. In all fairness, the prince does supply a lot of juicy tidbits. Case in point.

“Why are you still here?” Prince Elphar says to her with contempt.

The woman blanches, and even I feel bad for her. “I…umm…my prince?”

“Get out,” he says with the tilt of his chin.

Both of our mouths open in surprise. “What an ass,” I say.

The woman recovers quickly, spinning on her heel and throwing open the door. I poke my head through to watch as she hurries down the corridor, her arms holding her ruined dress together. The guards laugh at her retreat.

I flip around and stalk over to the prince. I slap my hand at his cup, because he’s poured drink for himself. I envision my hand hitting the cup and causing it to fly out of his hand and shatter against the wall.

Of course that doesn’t happen, so I throw a slightly embarrassing hissy fit instead. “You are a jackass,” I say, punching through his face. “What the hell was that? Don’t do that again.” But we both know he will.

I glare at him as he continues to drink, and my glare follows him until he flops down on his bed and passes out.

One thing is clear. This is the easy win I thought it was. Dammit.