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But hey, she didn’t loose the arrow harsh enough to shatter his bones. Only his most precious commodity: his ego.

On the flip side, she’ll take the punishment, the days in confinement. She’s done being his target.

Sorrow stalks across the grass, her boots kicking flowers out of the way. Kneeling before his shocked face, she announces for the congregation to hear, “You’re right. There’s a good reason you get so much attention. An ugly god is easy to spot.”

And then she marches off the range.

***

Envy

He lays there, aghast.

He lays there, his nuts thoroughly shorn.

An ugly god is easy to spot.

A tide of crimson crawls up his throat, a recognizable visceral response that he has seen in others but never felt in himself. He senses the color trek across his complexion, but he’s unable to squelch it in time.

Mortification. That’s what this is.

He’s the God of Envy. He’s the object of lust by countless gods and goddesses. Unparalleled charm. Abs to match his abs. A smile that deserves its own constellation. Never a cause to be covetous or jealous of anyone.

He’s a paragon of seduction, charm, and confidence.

And he has never been so thoroughly, wholeheartedly embarrassed.

An ugly god is easy to spot.

Even Love, who’d shoved him down a cliff when he tried to steal a kiss, who’d hankered to claw his face off when he teased her, has acknowledged his attributes. He grates on Love’s nerves, but he doesn’t repel her, and her gaze doesn’t peel him layer for layer like an onion.

Sorrow is the exception to every rule. To her, he’s utterly ordinary.

It’s a bizarre event, to desire the appraisal and approval of someone who denies him at each turn. It’s the lacerating fibers of burlap. It’s the pungent, stinging whiff of pepper. It’s the suffusion of blood to the jugular, reminiscent of a river rapid—swift, stifling, and savage.

That. Immortal. Bitch.

What the Fates had she demeaned Envy for? He’d been trying to help her by making a tactical suggestion about the wind.

Then again, what had he expected? Of course that harpy would be dubious of his assistance. But still…

An ugly god is easy to spot.

Perhaps he should care a little less about her opinion. Or a lot less. He’ll show her what dismissal feels like. From this day forth, she’s beneath his notice outside of their class.

Envy blinks at his surroundings. The crowd glances away, either out of sympathy or awkwardness.

Several leagues off, he locates Siren. She’s curvaceous, with luminous copper hair and bangles that vibrate at her wrists. Thank Fates, she hadn’t witnessed this humiliation. Currently, she’s conversing with Wonder’s mentor, Harmony.

Envy picks himself up and moves to join the females. For the rest of the proceedings, he invents flippant comments about the incident to anyone who remarks on it.

Later, as attendants gather in the refreshment tent, he halts when his boot bumps into an item. A bar of light catches his attention. Kneeling, he swipes the high grass and blossoms aside.

An ice arrow rests in the soil.

In retrospect, Sorrow had trudged off in such a fit, snatching her quiver in a hurry, its contents rattling against her tailbone. She must have neglected to notice one of her arrows falling.

Envy should catch up to her, then flick it at her chest without a backward glance, thus illustrating her negligence. He should embarrass her back.