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“Courtship of convenience,” Andrew corrects.

“Is that a trope?” Merry inquires.

“It’s crap, is what it is,” Sorrow summarizes, her pupils hardening into stones, and the jaded tilt of her lips ascending farther up her face.

Envy rises and straightens his ensemble, which is now dry. All the same, why the Fates does it take so much effort to maneuver his features into the right places, to toss an indifferent look Sorrow’s way? It’s irregular, when he’s spent his existence perfecting whatever expression benefitted him.

This skill is supposed to come naturally, instinctively, like it has in the past. He’s rarely had to work at it before. In what universe is it suddenly a challenge?

And why with her?

Again, that unbidden memory surges to the forefront. A target range and countless faces watching Envy flat on his back, while a shadow leans over him to speak under its breath. He recalls how the words ground into his cranium and mottled his cheeks with humiliation.

An ugly god is easy to spot.

He thrusts those breadcrumbs from his mind. Sorrow’s opinion has never mattered. Not a bit. Growing up, her surliness had been a thorn in his side, as unattractive as her wardrobe. That’s all.

Later—much later—only the decibel of her moans had held any magnitude with him. Naturally, they’d had their fun. Absolutely, he’d amused himself by flirting and holding her hand.

Inevitably, he’d come to his senses. The grousing goddess had been nothing but a conquest, the triumph for which he’d repeatedly credited himself. Not that he’d doubted his prowess, but he deserves the gaudiest, most ostentatious trophy for bedding her.

Actually, never mind the trophy. He’s earned a crown trimmed in diamonds for splitting her thighs as wide as he had.

As for Sorrow’s judgements, viewpoints, assessments, reactions, impressions, assumptions, lamentations, presumptions, and whatever the fuck else he’s forgetting to include, it’s all still immaterial.

Isn’t it? Why should any of the nonsense that drips from her mouth with the slow regularity of a leaky faucet bother him?

To the pond, he’d pursued her. It had been his turn to keep watch while his friends slept. When he’d noted Sorrow’s absence, he had gone hunting for a glimpse of that purple hair, the splashes of water guiding him.

What he had said about going there, intending to self-medicate his stress with a dose of masturbatory bliss had been a lie. He’d heard her leave around the same time he’d noted a shift in the wind and subtle cracks in the brambles.

Already, Envy had sensed that strangers were near. He should have woken his comrades. He shouldn’t have prowled the woods for her.

Had he been worried? Surely not. Sorrow can take care of herself, so that’s not why he went after her. He’d wanted to chide her for being careless—and maybe spy a little. Just a little, to see what she does when she’s by herself.

He’d expected howling at the moon or something cliché like that.

He hadn’t expected to find her swimming buck naked.

Sorrow, swimming? Enjoying herself? Since when?

The second phenomenon that Envy had endured was a demotion of sorts. For the first time in his life, he’d acted like a meddler, weaseling into a female’s personal space without being invited. He’s unaccustomed to intruding on his conquests. His lovers have only ever fluttered to him like pixies in heat. All he’s ever had to do was stand by and wait, perhaps crook his mouth into a smile.

He has never been unwelcome. He has never been so thoroughly unwanted.

Where the fuck are they going anyway?

The cliffs have spread out. The river suctions on to the boat, the pole jiggling and spurting white flame. The gleaming motes writhe, indicating a rushing current.

Ahead, the summit is closer than before. Water expands like a gasping lung, hurling a wet sheet at them. It lands with a great splatter and douses the band anew.

In unison, they twist and gape at the chaos about to greet them.

The stars glitter as if disappointed in Envy, because not only should he behave better, but while his friends slept, he should have paid attention.

He should have remembered: Rivers have rapids.

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