Crimes of Cupidity (Heart Hassle Book 3)
Crimes of Cupidity: Chapter 22

I land in a dusty makeshift town square. There are white wooden cabins all over the place, in haphazard rows and all of them in utilitarian sizes. I go visible behind one of the buildings, and then walk out, searching everybody I pass for a familiar face.

There are various fae everywhere. High fae, water fae, and tons of fae I don’t even know the names of. When I spot a few genfins with their furry wings and animalistic movements, my excitement ratchets up.

Aside from the cabins, there is a huge training yard where rebels are going at each other, practicing battle with both weapons and magic. There’s also a stable, an infirmary, and an outdoor mess hall of sorts, where tables and benches are set up for the fae to eat, all around a roaring bonfire at the center.

I spin around in a circle, trying to take in as many fae faces as I can, but the crowd is actually quite thick, and it’s difficult to see over everyone. I get a lot of looks from the rebels, most of them eyeing my red wings on display. I hear the word, “cupid” being whispered over and over again. It seems the princess was right. I am a bit of a celebrity among the resistance.

I fluff my wings up behind me and smile sweetly at the gawkers. Then I remember that rebels, especially awesome spy rebels are supposed to look badass, so I trade my smile for a tough, I’ll-kick-your-ass look instead. I don’t think it’s coming across right though, because most of them just start frowning at me. Maybe it’s the princess dress I’m wearing? Oh well. My cheeks hurt holding my face like that, anyway. I drop the rebel-expression and let my wings drag slightly behind me because, dammit, they’re heavy.

I go over to the wooden fence that surrounds the eating area and climb up on the first rung so that I can have a better vantage point. I have to concentrate to look around and hold on at the same time, because I definitely don’t want to face-plant in the dirt and embarrass myself.

I’m busy searching the training yard when I feel an hand on my arm.

“What are you doing?”

I look down and see a speckled-skinned fae looking up at me. He has metal prongs coming out of his eyebrows that look wicked sharp.

“Umm, hi?” I say.

“What are you doing up there?” he looks me up and down. “You don’t look like a soldier.”

I hop down and put my hands on my hips, disappointed that the one rebel fae who decided to approach me doesn’t recognize me. “First of all, I could totally be a soldier. It doesn’t matter what I look like,” I tell him snippily.

He looks dubious. “So you are a soldier?”

“Well no, but that’s not the point,” I tell him.

He glances around, like he’s looking for the punchline to a joke. I don’t think he finds it. “Who are you?”

“I happen to be a spy,” I say defensively. “Like, a really good one. I rescued the princess and everything. Plus, I’m the cupid,” I tell him, stressing the importance of that fact.

He looks at me blankly. “Ohhhkay… Well, if you’re looking for the copulation room, it’s that way,” he says, pointing over his shoulder.

I blink. “A…copulation room?”

“Yeah. You know. Fucking.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Why do you have a room for that? Why don’t you guys just use your cabins?”

He throws his hands up in exasperation. “Because the beds are too small, obviously.”

“Geez, okay. I didn’t know.”

I start walking with him toward the copulation room when I catch myself. “Wait a minute, I don’t need to go to the copulation room!”

“Then why did you say you did?”

I tap my foot. “I didn’t! I was—”

A booming voice yells down the path, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

“EMELLE!”

I nearly clobber spiky brows when my arms and wings flail around. I’m pretty sure I accidentally hit in him the happy sack, too, based on the pained grunt he lets out.

But I can’t apologize to him, because I’m too busy staring wide-eyed at the seriously pissed off looking genfin who yelled my name and is currently staring me down across the path.

Evert.

Evert, who just called me Emelle. Not Scratch.

That can’t be good.

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