Bonds of Cupidity (Heart Hassle Book 2)

This is it. The third and final part of the culling. Only six contestants left, and half of them are mine. Ish.

Okot keeps hold of my hand in the crook of his arm as we wait in line to enter the amphitheater.

When we get to the front of the line and veer off to our normal seats, Chaucel appears in front of us. If his haughty expression and general proximity weren’t enough to set me on edge, his next words sure would be.

“Prince Elphar has invited you to sit in the royal box today.”

Fuckity fuck fuck.

I plaster on an automatic smile. “How exciting.”

Chaucel turns on his heel, not even checking to make sure that we follow. Okot and I share a look before we grudgingly trail after him.

I wring my hands together as we walk, nervous as hell. I’m really regretting that whole feeding-the-contestants thing right about now.

Getting a personal invitation to sit with the prince? Yeah, that’s not good.

Who knows what his intentions are. He plays with everyone, and I have no desire to be on his game board.

Chaucel leads us up another three level of stairs. Rather than our usual mid-level, conservative seats, we go to the top floor, right at the center. Prince Elphar and Princess Soora are already here, as is King Beluar, but he’s snoring in his throne.

As usual, he’s wearing his long nightdress-looking thing, and I can see his knobby knees poking out from under the fabric. Princess Soora barely spares me a glance, but she nods to Okot as befitting of her personal guard. The prince is in the back of the royal box, standing around the drink table with his posse.

When he notices us enter, he motions a goblet-clad hand in our direction. “Ah, thank you, Chaucel.”

Chaucel bows his head and retreats but not before casting an assessing eye over me. How long before he or the prince realizes I’m the one they’ve been searching for? My disguise suddenly feels flimsy at best.

It’s only Okot’s hand at the small of my back that keeps me moving forward. He drops into a bow at the waist, and I stumble yet again with my curtsy. I see one of the servants actually cringe at my very awkward movement.

There are half a dozen high fae men surrounding the prince, and they all eye me curiously. “This is the halfling?” an orange fae male asks.

“Mmm,” the prince hums, watching me. “Come, drink and celebrate,” he says to us.

I walk forward, totally aware that I’m in the lion’s den. His crown halos his head like a mane, and his predatory blue eyes watch my every movement. At least I have a bull at my back.

Okot takes two of the offered cups of wine from the servant and passes one to me. “Thank you for the invitation into your box,” he says.

Prince Elphar nods his head and claps Okot on the back. “My wife tells me you once served under Hule’s regiment?”

“I did,” Okot replies. “He was a good commander.”

“Indeed. Allow me to introduce you to his son,” Prince Elphar says, pulling Okot away. “I’m sure the two of you will enjoy speaking.”

With us successfully split apart, Prince Elphar comes back to my side and motions for me to sit beside him. I shoot a nervous glance at Okot, but he’s distracted with conversation.

When the prince sits next to me, he raises his cup to mine with a clink.

“What are we celebrating?” I ask.

“The final part of the culling, of course. Are you not excited?”

Not even a little. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He smiles, revealing his perfect line of teeth. His large, icy eyes look me up and down, and even though he’s not touching me, I feel completely skeeved out. “Come now, we both know you’ll be rooting for the underdog, as much as you may try to hide it.”

I try to play off my nervousness with a shrug and a sip. He watches my mouth when I lick the residual wine left on my lips. “Doesn’t everyone like to root for the dark horse?”

He leans leisurely against the arm of his throne. “I prefer betting on the sure winner.”

“And which of them is the sure winner?”

His lips turn up into an arrogant smirk. “Who said any of the contestants win?”

I wipe my sweaty palm on my lap. “What do you mean?”

Is he saying that he’s made sure none of them will survive this? My stomach churns with anxiety, but he doesn’t answer me. Instead, he takes a sip of his drink, glancing down at the arena full of spectators. I shoot a look over my shoulder to check on Okot, but he’s nowhere in sight.

Dread ties itself to the bottom of my stomach. Where did he go?

The prince hands off his cup to a servant and gets to his feet. Passing a hand over his throat, I can see magic crackle out of his palm. When his voice rings out, the entire amphitheater easily hears him. “Welcome,” he says, lifting a hand to the crowd to quiet them. “We have six contestants left. For all the fae who have failed thus far, the gods have passed their judgment and found them lacking. After today, we shall see whom the gods have deemed worthy of returning to our great society. Let the culling trials begin.”

The gong sounds, making me jump in my seat. I’m pretty sure I peed a little. The portal opens and the contestants walk out onto the empty dirt floor of the arena.

When all six are gathered and the portal disappears, nothing happens. The contestants look around warily, waiting for the competition to start. The fae in the stands begin to whisper and crane their necks, the excitement of anticipation building higher and higher.

I feel my heart beating inside my head, because I know. I just know that something is going on. The great, terrible something. The something that I’ve been holding my breath for, ever since the prince blasted me into my physical body.

When I turn my head to look at the prince, he’s already staring right back at me. He digs his manicured hand into his pocket and pulls out some playing dice.

He plucks one from his palm and holds it out, ignoring the growing tension in the waiting arena. “Take it,” he says.

I look down at the die in his palm. I don’t want to take it. I’d rather pick up a piece of burning coal. But I do anyway, because it’s not like I really have a choice. It’s made of beautiful white-polished wood. Perfectly cubed, smoothed, and balanced. I turn it around in my fingers, feeling the edges as I study the sides. My heart continues to pound in my head.

“I have always been quite fond of games,” Prince Elphar says conversationally. “How about you?”

I watch as he brings his hand to my arm and with one finger, starts stroking it slowly. Calculatingly.

I clear my throat. “I’ve never played one.”

He cocks his head. “A truth, I think. One of the first you’ve spoken to me.”

I feel the blood drain from my face.

I don’t say anything. I can’t. His finger keeps caressing my arm.

He nods at my hand. “It’s a poetic game piece, don’t you think? Two or more are called dice. But just one, and it’s a die.”

I keep twisting it around in my fingers, feeling the engravings like the blind feel brail. I look around at the fae spectating, seeing their confused faces and raised monoculars, half of them staring at the stalled contestants while the other half watch the prince.

“I don’t understand.”

“You said you haven’t played a game, so you’ll play one now. Roll the die.”

I don’t want to. I know I don’t want to. “Where’s Okot?”

“He’s safe. For now.”

I recognize the threat for what it is. “What do these symbols mean?”

“You’ll find out when you roll the die.”

He always looks so perfect and handsome, but up this close, I can see the feral hate burning in his eyes. Mixed with his glittering excitement, the combination is terrifying.

“Which contestant are you here for?” he asks.

My heart pounds behind my eyes so hard that my vision blurs a little. I feel my head shaking. “I—I’m not…”

He tsks and leans in closer, his touch on my arm like a snake wrapping around my limb. “A lie. Another one to add to the stack. I’ll ask again. Which. One.”

I swallow my fear down, refusing to give in. “None, Your Highness.”

His touch on my arm goes from a stroke to a sharp pinch as his fingers dig into my skin. It’s the snake squeezing me into submission. “Hmm. A loyal liar. What an enigma you are. But no matter. I don’t want this to be easy. Like I said, I enjoy the game,” he whispers into my ear like a hiss. “And so I will find out your secrets the fun way.”

My fear leaks out of my eye, leaving a damning trail of moisture down my cheek. He smiles and closes my fingers around the game piece in my sweaty palm.

“The game has begun. The pawns and the spectators are waiting for the first move. Your move. Because, with that die, you are the one culpable for whatever it is the contestants will face. The roll is yours to cast, Emelle. So unless you want me to kill them all right now and end the game prematurely, which would be no fun at all, cast it now.”

Behind him, I can see Princess Soora’s purple face has paled. Even the rest of the noble fae in the box have backed away, cautiously watching the exchange. The king is still sleeping.

With my eyes closed, I tip my hand and let the die fall.