Sheer Cupidity: A Standalone Cupidity Romance (Heart Hassle Book 5)

LEX

Update: Trying to find one of the most notorious fae in all the realm is very, very hard.

Belren and I spend the next five days traveling from place to place, searching for information. It’s a bit like leapfrog. We hop over the islands one by one in a seemingly never-ending procession. But each island we’ve been to so far has gone the same way. We go to the biggest city, I stay corporeal while Belren trails me, and I ask around for information about the place that Emelle mentioned.

The problem is, nobody seems to have ever heard of Havershore or Hackenshire. I really wish I’d taken the time to ask her more about it, to see where she’d heard the rumor exactly. For all I know, it doesn’t even exist.

Although, it very well could. Afterall, the fae realm is big. Huge. There are so many islands speckled around the skies that I’m not even sure where this realm ends or begins—I have no idea just how far it stretches. I’d love to research it. I myself have been to precisely two hundred and fourteen islands, and even I have never come close to visiting them all.

“This place looks promising,” Belren says beside me, boots sinking through the sandy street as he looks around the city.

I don’t reply, because we’re on the beaches of some green-tinged shore that’s teeming with fae of all types and sizes. I’ve learned to be careful in crowds, since it’s not going to do me any favors if people think I’m talking to myself. The thick crowd makes it so I have to zigzag as I walk, sand filling my silk slippers as I go.

Clusters of booths are set up all along the beach, and intense haggling is getting tossed back and forth between merchants and buyers. Fae shout at me, trying to sell their wares or asking what kind of fae I am because of my feathered wings, but I just keep a polite yet distant smile on my face and keep walking.

“You hate this, don’t you?” Belren muses.

I cut him a quick glance before looking forward again. I have no idea how he’s picked up on my discomfort. I mentally check myself, but my smile is still in place. He’s right, though, I do hate this. The only time I like being surrounded by this many people is when I’m in the Veil and they can’t see me. People are loud and messy and rude and emotional. To be honest, it’s all a bit overwhelming.

Belren on the other hand seems to enjoy it, head swivelling on a pin like he doesn’t want to miss a thing. His eyes practically glint with rapt attention. Any time we’re around so much liveliness, it’s as if he wants to soak it up like a sponge. Not that I blame him. It’s the curse of the living to take life for granted. It’s the curse of the dead to grieve for it.

“How about that place?”

I follow the direction Belren is pointing, where the beach market ends and the city’s buildings begin. Just ahead, there’s a tavern smooshed between two shops, its telltale sign of two toasting cups hanging from its weathered eave.

Thank goodness.

Nodding, I veer slightly and make my way up the short incline. My feet escape the deep sand as I step onto the hard packed dirt road instead, lifting my skirt so I don’t get it dirty. This one, at least, isn’t red. Belren was right about the fire sprite outfit. It definitely didn’t help me to blend in. Which was why I bought new clothes at the next island over, going for this simple cream dress with no revealing, skintight panels.

I let out a little breath, silently grateful to leave the boisterous market behind. Some of the tension leaves my shoulders as we approach the buildings made of driftwood, their roofs lined with pretty shells.

Once inside, my eyes adjust to the darker lighting as the scent of soggy wood and stale alcohol fills my nose. Several people watch me while I make my way toward the back of the room where I nab an empty table. We must have missed the lunch rush, because it’s relatively quiet in here, though there’s a fae male in the corner playing a tiny instrument that resembles a door harp, with small wooden balls that he lets tap against the chord strings as he sings in a language I don’t recognize.

The moment I’m seated, an orange-skinned server bustles over, her apron cinched so tight it’s like a second corset. She doesn’t even blink at the bow and quiver strapped to my back, but my wings give her pause. It’s why I’m careful to keep my non-pointed ears hidden. “Happy midday. You just missed our luncheon, but I can get ya a bowl of stew and a pint if that’s amenable?” she asks, and I’m sure her smile is friendly, but the row of razor sharp teeth is a bit disconcerting.

“Yes please on the stew, and just some water.”

She nods with another flash of her sharp teeth and then leaves to disappear through a door behind the bar.

“Still not loosening up, I see,” Belren notes as he frowns down at the empty chair next to me.

I look around to make sure no one is watching me before I ask quietly, “What do you mean?”

“The pint you turned down—you always drink water. It’s so—”

“Boring,” I finish, rolling my eyes at the table. “Yes, I know. You’ve told me,” I mutter.

“You’re not boring, just some of your choices are,” he corrects, as if that’s any better. “Like drinking water instead of getting nice and sloshed.”

Nice and sloshed? Well, that sounds horribly irresponsible. Irritated, I flick my gaze toward the chair with my brow cocked at him in silent challenge.

Getting the hint, he starts to lower himself tentatively, like he’s getting ready to do some squats rather than just sit down. He grimaces when he goes straight through the seat, and I have to hold back my smile by pinning my lips together.

He starts swearing like a sailor when he still can’t manage to sit, cursing not only the chair, but the wood from the tree it came from too. I’m lucky that the female fae comes back and plops my stew and water in front of me so I can pretend I’m not a second away from laughing outright at him.

“Having trouble?” I murmur into my spoon, trying to keep my mouth from twitching.

“Fucking ghost body,” he grumbles.

Finally, after a few more tries, he manages to sit poised on the chair instead of falling through, and he grins in victory. “Ha. There we go.”

His triumph is fully celebrated as he lounges back like a lion poised over its kill. But despite the fact that I’m trying to hide it, he must notice my lips are turned up, because he says, “Something funny, Pinky?”

I sip some broth before looking up at him and shake my head with innocence.

He doesn’t buy it. “You know, it’s not nice to laugh at a ghost’s impairment. We can’t help our immaterial status.”

This time, I snort into my cup.

He lets out a huff and tries to cross his arms, but he hasn’t practiced that enough to pull it off. “How’s the stew?”

I swallow another spoonful. “Delicious.”

Another huff. “I think I miss food.”

He says this every time I eat.

With a discreet nod in understanding, I bring the spoon up and drink down more of the warm broth. I lick my lips, soaking up the saltiness with the tip of my tongue. I can empathize with him on the food part, at least. There was a long time as a cupid where I was really nothing more than a glorified ghost with Love Arrows. That’s why I always relish every meal I get to eat, even something as simple as midday stew.

As I continue to eat, I realize that Belren has gone quiet. I glance up to see that he’s watching me with rapt interest, gaze locked on my lips. I pause before taking my next bite, and my eyes flick around the room before settling on him again.

Maybe some of it dripped down my chin?

“What?” I whisper just as I wipe at my face—nothing.

He blinks, like being snapped out of a trance. “Nothing,” he quickly says.

I finish the rest of my stew in silence, listening to the musician’s quiet song that drowns out most of the noise filtering in from the street. Though every time I take a bite, my senses prickle, and I know Belren is watching me.

He’s been doing that lately. A lot.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m piquing some part of his broken memory. Like I’m a hint of déjà vu and he’s not quite sure how to place the feeling. If that’s the case, I can’t encourage it.

I’m honestly shocked that this plan of his has worked. Every time we travel to yet another island, getting further away from his deathplace, it’s a miracle he doesn’t get pulled away, no matter how careful I am with his muck.

“Are you going to go chat with the locals?”

I get pulled from my thoughts at his question, and I can’t help the sigh that escapes. He catches it, even though I do it under my breath. “Problem?”

I shake my head and put down the spoon in my empty bowl and glance around. There are only three other occupied tables, plus one person sitting at the bar, nursing a cup.

“This island seems more worldly, don’t you think?” Belren notes. “There are a lot of different types of fae here, which means they’ve traveled from elsewhere. Plus, this island is bigger—big enough to have its own sea. Surely someone knows something about this Soora you’re searching for.”

He’s right. Out of all the islands we’ve visited so far, this one has the most potential for answers.

The problem is…I’m stalling.

I know that I need to keep Belren’s attention, but I’m worried that if we somehow do find Soora, he’ll have nothing else to ground him afterward. Nothing else to keep him focused. If Emelle hasn’t figured out a solution before that…what will happen to him then?

I’m terrified to find out.

“How about them?” Belren asks, pointing toward the trio of females sitting together near the front window.

They seem very…talkative. And animated. No doubt they probably have the most gossip, but chatty females make me nervous. They seem like the type of people who could talk for hours. The kind that you run into at the supermarket and they catch you up on their life for forty-five minutes when all you want is to buy your ice cream and go home to eat it in peace.

Better steer clear.

I shake my head at Belren and instead choose the lone male sitting at the bar. “Him? Really?” Belren says behind me with a groan.

I get up and walk over, holding my wings tight against my back and making sure my pulled-back hair is still covering my ears until I awkwardly take a seat next to him. Since there are at least ten other open stools, he jerks his head in my direction—probably to tell me off for sitting so close—but stops himself when he sees me.

“Well, hello,” he drawls, tipping his non-existent hat. He has deep blue skin that looks a bit like fish scales on his knuckles, and thick hair roped down his back. But what’s distracting is the third eye sitting just in the center of his forehead. It doesn’t blink as often as the others. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Not at all anticipating the offer, and fully sidetracked with staring at the third eye, I get caught by surprise. “Oh. Well…I’d love a chamomile tea with honey.”

A frown pulls a crooked line between his brows.

The female server who brought my stew looks up from behind the bar where she’s busily wiping down the counter. “We don’t have that.”

A snort directly behind me makes my shoulders stiffen when I realize Belren is right at my back. “They don’t have tea here, Pinky.”

True to the nickname, I can feel my cheeks going as pink as my hair.

“Go on. Butter him up with some small talk,” Belren coaches.

Clearing my throat, I turn back to the male and offer him a smile. Small talk, small talk, small talk…

“So…how is it having a third eye?”

The male blinks at me—all three lids.

Belren practically cackles with laughter, making my face go fiery.

“I mean…as far as ocular perception goes, it must be quite helpful.”

Another triple blink.

Small talk is not one of my greatest skills. Blowing out a breath, I give up since it’s clear I’m not buttering him up for anything other than the desire to get away.

“Have you ever heard of Havershore or Hackenshire by chance?”

He takes a couple beats to answer and then gives me a gruff, “No.”

Then he slides off his stool and leaves without so much as a backward glance.

Belren half groans and half chuckles. “Gods, you’re awful at this.”

“I guess he was touchy about the eye thing.”

The female server behind the bar snickers. “Ya think?”

“I didn’t mean to offend him.”

“Nah, offend some more blokes. It tickles me,” she laughs, making me smile right along with her.

“You wouldn’t happen to have heard of those islands, have you?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Why you looking?”

I hesitate a moment, quickly glancing at Belren, who gives a shrug.

“Well…” I lean in closer. “I actually heard that someone was hiding out there.”

I have her full attention now, and she leans in toward me from the other side of the bar, slapping away a strand of orange hair that fell out of her bonnet, cleavage nearly spilling out onto the bartop.

“Who?” she asks, citrus eyes gleaming with interest.

“Oooh, you’ve got her now,” Belren says with a chuckle.

“Soora,” I answer quietly. “The ex-princess.”

The female rears back, first in surprise and then with disgust. She turns her head and spits on the floor. “That high fae traitor!” she hisses, sharp maw snapping. “I’d gut her with my teeth if I ever saw her, I would.”

This is pretty much the same reaction I’ve gotten from everyone else. Sometimes it’s them spitting, sometimes it’s them cursing her name, but the sentiment is the same. Soora certainly won’t be winning any realm-wide popularity contests anytime soon.

“She sided with that bloody king and prince in the end—those rotters thinkin’ they’re so much better than lesser fae. Turned her back on the rebellion, all so she could save her own skin.” She spits again just for good measure.

“No one likes a turncoat.”

She gives me a look, lips curling down. “What the blazes is you talkin’ about coats for?”

“Nothing, never mind,” I quickly say. “So you’re sure you haven’t heard of those islands?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

Belren slumps in disappointment, but I can’t say that I’m surprised about her answer. “Well, thank you for entertaining my curiosity,” I tell her with a smile. I get up off the stool and pull out some coins from my pouch and set them on the bar in front of her. “And thank you again for the stew.”

Just as I turn to leave, her hand shoots out and grabs hold of my arm. I jolt to a stop and turn back to her, Belren leaping to my side as if he can do something.

But the female just flashes me a smug, sharp smile. “Now, I said I’ve never heard about those islands. I didn’t say that I don’t know someone who can help you find that traitor bitch princess.”