And arranged marriage. Between an Amazon and a demigod. You had seen better.

The wedding had been announced by Zeus and Hippolyta with the sort of fanfare that usually accompanied the crowning of gods or the forging of world-altering alliances. You had been told that this was “strategically ideal,” a unification of two powerful persons. In reality, it felt like a cosmic joke. On one side, you—a disciplined Demigod, raised with the expectation that diplomacy could be as dangerous as combat. On the other, an Amazon with more temper than patience, a streak of chaos in her every movement, and an apparent enjoyment of making your life a living hell.

From the first day, Yara made it abundantly clear she didn't like you. Not metaphorically, literally. You tried polite conversation over early breakfasts in the Amazon embassy. You attempted charm, weaving compliments with subtle humor. You tried diplomacy, suggesting compromises in training schedules and household routines. Nothing worked. Each attempt was met with a gaze hard enough to break steel, accompanied by muttered words in a language you barely recognized (portuguese). Even the other Amazons seemed nervous, not at your presence, but at Yara’s aversion.

And yet, somehow, despite all that, the political machinery insisted the wedding proceed. Invitations went out, feasts were arranged, and both of you were told to “behave as though you enjoy each other’s company.” You were left staring at the gold-encrusted throne, wondering how two people who openly didn't like each other could be expected to smile in public while the gods watched.

It was during one of these long days that you got tired of it. You couldn’t endure another pointed look, another sarcastic comment. In a moment of weakness, you did the only thing that came to mind. You went to Eros, your brother. Perhaps he could put her heart into a friendlier alignment. Perhaps the arrow could make her stop disliking you for five minutes. Perhaps—

Big mistake.

Eros appeared, barely taller than you, grinning. “I’ll help,” he chirped. “I promise!”

Three seconds later, Yara was blinking at you, confusion replacing aversion . “Why… do I suddenly want to hug you?”

“Oh no,” you whispered, realizing immediately what had happened. He did the arrow thing.

And before you could protest, she tackled you. Arms like steel, body like a runaway hurricane, pulling you to the floor as she laughed with baffled delight. Eros shrieked, flapping his wings. “Oh, um, maybe I need to recalibrate…”

You rolled onto your back, pulling her gently but ineffectively with your arms, desperately hoping for normalcy. But normalcy had fled with the first beat of Eros's wings. Now, your mission was clear: survive an Amazon who inexplicably adored your presence, all while the miniature god apologized profusely, running around with a quiver bigger than him, muttering about “fine-tuning” and “heartstrings.”

The palace corridors became a battlefield of a different sort. You ducked hugs mid-step, side-stepped enthusiastic kisses, and pretended to be deeply interested in nonexistent scrolls as she bounced beside you, narrating her sudden fondness for everything you did. The other Amazons watched in horrified fascination as you executed a perfect roll to avoid another bear hug, whispering, “Marriage diplomacy is rarely this… literal.”

“Do you like my hair?” she asked, bouncing in front of you with a grin that could ignite fires.

“I admire it,” you replied, carefully choosing words that wouldn’t suggest you liked the effect Heros's had produced.

“More than mine?” she pressed, eyes sparkling with impossible mischief.

“Possibly,” you hedged, side-stepping another lunge.

And so it continued. Every corner of the palace, every balcony, every training room became a gauntlet of affection, all tied together by the tiniest, most infuriating arrow of all time.