Which was much worse. A hot temper eventually burned out, but the ice that coated the prince’s features was glacial. Centuries would pass and his anger would remain fresh.
We exited through a hidden panel at the top of the stairs and a slight tingling sensation passed over me. Anir didn’t speak again until we stood outside the door to my suite.
Even there his sharp gaze swept around the empty corridor as if he expected trouble to materialize. I did not share his concern. My private rooms were near the end of this wing and there was only one other set of doors here. Regardless if Makaden had allies, furious demons driven wild with the sin of their chosen House, Wrath would eliminate them with nary a thought.
If my anger was an aphrodisiac to him, his court’s anger likely nourished and fed his power in droves. Wrath thrived on fury in every sense of the word.
I glanced down the opposite end of the corridor; an ornate iron gate had dropped from the ceiling, locking out anyone who tried to enter this section. My jaw ached from how hard I now clenched it. Being caged in didn’t thrill me, but at least there was another exit in the secret panel if I wanted to leave. One that was magically warded, if the tingling sensation was any indication. Wrath had used the same magic back in my realm to protect me from his brothers.
The fact that he’d taken precautions in his own royal House wasn’t comforting, but I trusted that no one would slip past his wards.
“Makaden had that coming for decades.”
I pulled my attention to Anir. “I imagine he did.”
“Then why…” His voice trailed off as he really looked me over. “You’re angry.”
Wrong. I was furious. It was a wonder steam wasn’t billowing out of my ears.
If I could not handle repugnant creatures like Lord Makaden on my own, I would never gain the respect of this court or any other.
Wrath ought to count his demonic blessings he wasn’t the one standing here with me now. I’d take his precious blade to his throat, tear the clothes from my person and bathe in his warm blood as I slit him ear to ear.
The unexpected pleasure I felt, thinking such a dark, wicked thing yanked me back to my senses. While the flames of my fury banked, the embers of rage remained. I was not nearly as horrified as I should have been by my almost literal bloodlust.
Anir’s mouth twisted up on one side. He must have read the promise of murder flashing in my eyes and found it amusing. He was wise enough not to laugh.
“His private chambers are at the end of this hall. Give him ten minutes, I’m sure he’ll be there by then.”
I was too angry to show my surprise. Of course Wrath placed me close to him. He was keeping a careful watch on his brother’s fiancée. Ever the dutiful soldier. Except for when he’d kissed me before dinner. I doubted that was part of his orders. Though, knowing him, maybe it was another twisted scheme he’d dreamed up to keep me preoccupied and not causing trouble.
I spun on my heel and slammed the door to my suite behind me.
I passed the time by removing Makaden’s blood and gore from my body. I sat at the vanity in my bathing chamber, dipping a linen towel into the crystal washbasin, turning the water there a pinkish red. I dabbed at the remaining dampness while staring at the silent woman in the mirror. I couldn’t find any hint of the girl I’d been before my sister’s murder.
That Emilia had perished in the room with my twin, had had her heart ripped from her, too, and it didn’t appear as if she’d ever return. No matter how hard I fought, who I deceived, or how much of my soul I bargained away, nothing would ever bring my sister back. Even if I succeeded in destroying those who’d hurt Vittoria, I could see no way of ever happily returning to that simple, quiet life. The one where I was most content with my books and recipes.
This new reality felt strange, but fitting. It was a life where I didn’t cringe at violence, only seethed that the punishment that had been dealt was taken from my eager hands. I wondered at death, at the ones we lost and how their loss stole something vital from us in return.
A tear slid down my cheek as I set aside the bloodstained towel.
“Enough,” I said, quietly, forcefully to myself as I stood. I planted my hands on the vanity top and leaned in, glaring at my reflection. “Enough.”
There was no longer any room for sadness or grief in my world. In my heart.
I focused intently on that anger, that spark in my core close to my magic’s source. It was as if a lava pit were bubbling inside me, ready to erupt. I’d never felt my power so strongly and realized it wouldn’t take much to harness it. All I had to do was reach in and grab it.
I concentrated on my magic, imagined pulling it from wherever it originated and turning it into a handful of flame. Instead of fighting myself and forcing it to come, I let go.
Of my thoughts, of my fears. Of my worries.
I released everything except my wrath. That I held on to as if it were the most vital essence in my universe. Because it was the most vital thing in this circle of Hell. If the Prince of Wrath’s anger was a glacier, mine was a raging inferno. And it would not burn out quickly.
I inhaled and exhaled, picturing myself breathing new life into the fire. If I could master my anger, focus on it without emotion, it might burn so powerfully and for so long it could even melt Wrath’s impenetrable ice.
I held my palm out and whispered, “Fiat lux.”
Let there be light.
Blasphemous to some mortals, perhaps. But not to a witch currently residing in the underworld and betrothed to the devil. A tiny ball of rose-gold flames hovered above my palm. It crackled like real fire, but did not burn me. I waited for the pain to begin, for my flesh to bubble and welt. Or char. For Wrath’s ring to melt off my finger.
The fire only burned brighter, pulsed softly as if saying hello.
I stared, unfeeling as it shifted into a flaming flower. For a fraction of a second, I considered throwing it against the wall and watching my room—and all of its fine furnishings—incinerate. Tiny buds of embers catching and blooming into a garden of ash and flame.
I slowly closed my fingers around the burning flower, extinguishing it the way I should have extinguished the light in Makaden’s eyes. I was still too angry to rejoice in what I’d just done. The magic I did not know I could summon. Later, there would be time to celebrate.
Now, I had other things to do. Like confront the demonic master of this house.
That same fury set my feet in motion exactly ten minutes from the time Anir had left. It propelled me out of my room, down the corridor, and made it easy to barge into Wrath’s personal suite as if it were my own.
The door slammed against the wall, setting the candles flickering wildly on the mantel. Wrath was neither startled nor disturbed. He stood with his back to me, undressing. As if he knew I’d come to him, furious instead of scared.
I crossed my arms. “Well?”
The demon prince studiously ignored me. He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it over an armchair. His trousers sat low on his hips, and with the fire blazing in the hearth, I had a very good view of the lines of ink that curved over each finely carved muscle on his back.
Without speaking or looking at me, he moved deeper into his personal space. I trailed behind, too mad to focus on any details of his rooms aside from the deep merlot walls and black furniture and fabric. It was dark and sensual. Like other parts of the castle where the prince spent most of his time.
“Look at me.” My voice was low, soft. It sounded like a caress, though that was intentional. The softness was meant to distract from the underlying steel in the command.
Wrath turned with intention. There was something seductive in the way he moved; powerful and strong, yet fluid in all the ways he’d require for battle. Everything about his movements indicated he was a predator. But I was not afraid. Not even after his violent display. Wrath would never harm me. And I was almost certain it had little to do with duty.
Looking at him now, with the promise of unending punishm
ent and not an ounce of regret in his glare, I understood what he did, why he did it, even if he didn’t yet.
He stood before a large bed, the silky sheets like an undisturbed lake behind him. An ebony fur throw covered the bottom portion. I thought about disrobing and tossing myself onto it, causing another ripple in the smooth perfection of his world. For a split second, I almost imagined I’d done that before. I cut that thought off before any sinful magic could take hold.
Wrath’s expression turned unreadable. “It’s late. You should leave.”
“We need to discuss what just happened.”
“I issued an order, Makaden ignored it. Twice. The consequences were made clear.”
I narrowed my eyes; his answer was a little too stiff and practiced. I stalked closer. “Is that all? You attacked him because of your order?”
“He chose to insinuate you should taste his cock. In front of my court.” His shoulders moved with the effort he was exerting to control his breaths, to remain calm. He shouldn’t have bothered. There was no quieting the storm currently raging in his eyes. “If I let his disobedience slide, I will be seen as weak.”
“That was my fight. If you interfere whenever someone says something unflattering, no one will ever respect or fear me. I will not appear weak for you to maintain strength.” I moved until I stood directly before him, the heat of our combined anger prickling my skin. I wonder if he felt that, too. And if it soothed him. “Was this a male pride issue? I highly doubt your hold on your court is so tenuous that one obnoxious noble could diminish your rule.”
“You know pride is not my sin.”
It was not the first time I’d wondered if that was the full truth, but I let it go.
“I want my own blade. Perhaps if I’m armed and can disembowel someone myself, you won’t act so overbearing in front of your subjects again. Because if you do”—I allowed just enough sweetness into my tone, making his eyes narrow with suspicion—“next time I will stick my dinner knife in you. Consider that a vow from your future queen.”
Wrath crossed his arms and stared me down. His eyes flickered with some emotion I couldn’t quite place; he was no doubt calculating a hundred reasons why arming me was a bad idea. Especially after my last declaration. I waited for the argument he seemed eager to give.
“I’ll see to it you have a blade of your own. And lessons.”
“I don’t require—”
“That is my offer. It will do no good to arm you only to have you injure yourself in a fight because you can’t wield it properly. Do we have a bargain?”
“Only one reasonable demand… and you’re agreeing with me? That easily?”
“It appears I am.”
I looked him over. “You already considered arming me.”
“I am the general of war; of course I considered it. We’ll discuss other training options in the morning. If we’re going to practice physical lessons, we’ll add blocking magical influence, too. Do you accept the terms of our bargain?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Go back to your rooms. I’m tired.”
I let his poor attitude go without comment. He was still tense, his own anger not quite leashed. I considered leaving him to his own foul company, but instead I gave him a teasing half-smile. “I imagine so. Maiming is exhausting business.”
He almost returned my grin, but it never quite reached his lips. “Good night, Emilia.”
“Good night, my jealous, mighty tongue-slayer.”
“You say such horrible things.”
But the gleam of intrigue indicated he didn’t mind. Quite the contrary. I waited for him to turn and walk away, but he seemed rooted in place. Indecision scrawled across his features.
Belatedly, I realized I hadn’t taken myself from the room, either.
I held still as he angled my face up, his long fingers stroking the side of my neck in the lightest caress. I should have been thinking of the dagger he’d just held, of the blood that had stained his hands moments ago. Of the ruthless way he’d acted. These hands could remove a tongue without much effort, but they were also capable of tenderness. Of protection.
And, undoubtedly, pleasure.
I wet my lips, recalling our earlier kiss. “I only spoke the truth.”
Wrath stared into my eyes before tearing his gaze away with obvious effort. He did not deny being jealous. Nor did he appear surprised by the emotion. I wondered if he’d already identified it and was unsure what to do with the knowledge. Not that much could be done if either of us entertained the thought. I was promised to his brother. And his duty to that mission would always come first. What happened earlier between us would not happen again.
His hand fell away, my skin instantly missing his heat, while my mind reeled with confusion over my conflicted feelings.
“I’ll see that you have your blade and first lesson tomorrow. Good night.”
This time, there was no hesitation on his part. He disappeared through a doorway covered with sheer panels, and, feeling dismissed, I finally turned and headed out the way I’d come. I paused just inside the entrance to the antechamber, my feet unwilling to carry me from the room. I knew I should leave; I’d gotten what I’d come for, but something held me back.
I drifted into the bedroom, closer to those billowing panels, and peered through them.
Wrath had escaped onto a balcony. He stood with his back to me, staring out toward the snow-covered hills and mountains jutting up in the distance, a bottle of wine perched beside him on the railing. The temperature never seemed to affect him. It certainly hadn’t prevented him from sleeping outdoors during the storm. Perhaps it was another perk of immortality.
Or maybe I’d gotten it slightly wrong earlier, maybe he wasn’t always cold fury. Maybe he possessed fire, too. And his ability to withstand the cold was simply the heat of his constant wrath, simmering, blazing, warming him more than the icy elements could hope to infiltrate.
My attention drifted to his drink again. Frost crept up the side of the glass, creating little spiderwebs of ice. The liquid inside the bottle was unlike anything I’d ever seen at home; similar to merlot or chianti, but not a deep red. It was a purple so dark it almost appeared black, but that wasn’t the most unusual or beautiful part. Silver specks floated like glittery bubbles all throughout it. Wrath topped off his glass and swirled it, setting the silver glinting into a frenzy.
It looked like he’d created his own shimmering galaxy. He set the glass on the railing beside him and inclined his head. “If you’re going to continue lurking in my bedchamber, you might as well drink this. It’ll help you sleep.”
I thought about returning to my room, but curiosity got the better of me. I moved across the balcony and examined the glass without touching it. “It won’t make me jump over the railing and dive into the snow, will it?”
Instead of answering, Wrath swiped the glass away and drank deeply. He handed it back and looked at me. Challenge lit his dark gaze.
I briefly fantasized about shoving him over the railing into the snowbank below, but I imagined he’d bring me with him and something about our bodies falling together made my heart race. Not because I feared the fall or getting hurt; I knew Wrath would maneuver us so he’d hit the ground. It was where I’d land that caused the uptick in my pulse.
I settled on sipping the starlike liquid. It was… delicious.
“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”
“I love it.”
“I thought you might.” His voice turned quiet, contemplative. As if he hadn’t meant to speak aloud or admit that. I wished I possessed a tiny bit of his ability to sense emotions. I was curious to know what he was feeling, why he sounded resigned.
I took another small sip and focused on the flavors. Something spicy, like fresh ginger. A bit of citrus, similar to lime. And there was a deep richness that blended the two perfectly. Not rum, but something close. I finished the rest of my glass and contemplated pouring more.
Wrath grinned. “D
emonberry wine is one of the two finer offerings of this realm.”
I picked up the bottle and shook it a little. The liquid glimmered like stardust. It was one of the most magnificent things I’d ever seen. “What makes it look like the night sky?”
“Those are demonberry seeds. They’re small enough to look like bubbles. Or stars.”
I topped off my glass and leaned against the railing. I was a little chilly, but I was far from cold. Maybe it was the wine heating me from the inside. From here I could clearly see the fiery lake that separated this stretch of territory from the ornate castle in the far distance. A bridge connected the two swaths of land, dark waters churning like a bubbling cauldron below.
For a second, I considered telling Wrath about the magic I summoned. I nodded toward the castle instead. “Which royal House is that?”
Wrath followed my gaze. “Pride’s.”
I took another sip of my drink. Demonberries fizzled on my tongue. It was suddenly so quiet I could hear the slight crackle as the bubbles popped in the glass. “Have you heard from him yet?”
“No.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“He does.”
I sighed. I sincerely hoped Pride would get over his namesake sin soon enough and send his cursed invitation. I wanted to solve the full truth of my sister’s murder and return to my family before I was old and gray. Or before they were old and gray. I’d likely not age much while here. That thought pierced the armor I’d erected around my heart, so I pushed it away.
We stood in companionable silence, each lost to our own thoughts while sipping our drinks. Wrath moved a little, his arm nearly touching mine, and I thought about how comfortable this was. Being here. With him. My enemy. Well, not quite.
The lines of who we were and how I felt about us were blurring. I had no idea if it was simply because he was familiar, and I was desperate to clutch at anything even remotely comfortable while here. Or if the sins and illusions were doing their hardest to confuse the matter. When we kissed earlier he’d felt nothing like an adversary.
As much as I wanted to receive Pride’s invitation, I’d grown somewhat fond of spending time with Wrath. I even looked forward to verbally sparring with him. Seeing his nostrils flare with frustration was becoming oddly endearing. The thought should have disturbed me, especially after the incident at dinner. But it didn’t.
Kingdom of the Cursed Page 12
