The Heart of Love

CHAPTER ONE

Two Thousand Years Ago

Olympus, Greece

Eros

Mother's in a mood, I think sourly, unsurprised to see her storming about my rooms in Olympus, muttering to herself furiously as she paced back and forth. Rolling my eyes, I stride past her, dodging her nimbly, pouring a goblet full of wine for her, handing it to her on the next pass.

Pouring my own, I lounge in one of the vacant chairs, waiting for my mother to finally fess up to what brought her to my rooms today. She often appears to rant about some new slight -whether real or imagined - I've gotten used to it over the years.

She freezes mid step, turning her gaze on me in that calculating way, one I immediately recognize. She's plotting and it involves me.

"No, no, no." I respond, "Whatever it is, mother, you can figure it out for yourself."

"Eros." She trills, dragging my name out, pouting her lower lip at me, her bright, blue eyes - identical to mine - going wide as she tries to pull me into whatever scheme she's hatched.

"That face may work on the rest of the pantheon, but you know I've been immune to it for centuries." I chuckle, sipping idly at my drink. She's pulled me into to many of them in the past, and they always end terribly. Let's see off the top of my head: we have Paris and Helen, Medea and Jason, do I need to go on? And those are only the mortal couples I've been a part of. The god ones? Shudder.

My mother lays her glass down, surprising me when she goes to her knees next to me, placing a hand on my knee. "My darling son, my golden angel, my sweet love, please?"

Something must have really upset her for her to actually beg for my help like this, still I resist. "Mother..."

"Eros, please." Her eyes shining with her sincerity.

Throwing my free hand in the air, "Fine. But this is the last time, mother. I'm serious."

I'm pretty sure I've said this exact sentence last time, in fact I'm pretty sure I've said it every time she shows up with one of these requests. But what can I say? She's my mother.

She claps her hands delightedly, coming back to a stand, finding her glass and draining it.

"I swear, this is the last time." Something she's also said every time. She tucks a golden lock behind her ear as she begins, "There's a mortal, they are worshipping her instead of me. They think she is more beautiful than me."

Which wasn't possible. My mother is the goddess of love and beauty, yet mortals were simply quick to forget her appearance when she was only portrayed through cold statutes. This happens every couple of years when a young woman foolishly challenges my mother, you would think mortals would have learned not to do so after all the examples we've made. Ever heard of Marysas? Cautionary tale to what my mother will do.

Sipping my drink, I pout when I realize it's empty, I glance at the amphora across the room, it's so far. My mother takes the silent cue, filling my cup. "So? Wait for her to be married off to some hideous old man, and they'll forget about her, problem solved."

It's what has happened every time before, mortals have a short memory, and once the girl is married, men tend to move on. A lot of the mystery of women tends to disappear once you know they're getting screwed by someone who is decidedly not them.

"You think I didn't think of that already? She refuses to marry!" My mother snaps, gesturing wildly, spilling some of her drink when she does.

I choke on my drink in surprise, "What?"