Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked Book 2)

Wrath’s fingers were still buried between my legs as he leaned us up against the door of his chamber, his breathing coming hard and fast. He’d missed the bedroom. With good reason. My hand remained wrapped around his impressive length. I kept caressing his silky-smooth skin, marveling at the way each stroke had him coming further undone.

It felt a little wrong to feel prideful at the moment, but I certainly adored the fact I was the reason the tight leash he kept on himself had finally snapped.

There was no other reason I could imagine he’d transport us into the public corridor connecting our suites. At least the gate closing off this wing was still down, and no one could travel near enough to see us. Nor would they glimpse much of me with Wrath’s massive body covering mine. Not that it mattered if they could see me.

I was too lost to the waves of pleasure building and cresting inside me to care where we were, or who was around. I wanted him right here. To hell with the whole Seven Circles. I was not married to Pride yet. Aside from his brief possession of Antonio, I’d never even met him. I doubted the devil would mind my taking a lover before our wicked vows were exchanged.

Ours was certainly not a love match. And if Pride did care, he certainly didn’t show it. There was still no letter, no invitation, nor acknowledgment of my arrival. The Prince of Pride was content in his castle alone, and, at the moment, that was more than all right with me.

Wrath kept kissing me, kept pumping those fingers while rocking against my unwavering grip on him, and I wanted nothing more than to bring this mighty creature to his knees with unrelenting ecstasy. This untethered, wild part of him was almost as intoxicating as his touch.

I’d never experienced something like this, so powerful and right. He was right. And I knew, with unending certainty, we were on the precipice of discovering how good we were together. Maybe we were always meant to end up here, lost in each other’s passion.

The sound of his pleasure mingling with mine was creating its own spell, and I was so close to shattering, so close to that power that was building and breaking and…

Pain erupted in violent torrents, stealing my breath. Ever in tune with my emotional shifts, Wrath stopped instantly, the euphoric spell broken. “Are you all right?”

“No.” I’d never hated a word more. “There’s a horrible p-pain.”

“Where?” His voice was rough, thick.

“My heart.” I let go of him and winced. “Blood and bones. It’s bad.”

“Come. I’ll send for a healer at—”

“I think it’s from the Horn of Hades.”

Wrath had been reaching for the handle to his room but dropped his hand. His attention shot to the amulet I still wore and he cursed the goddesses impressively.

Everything disintegrated into smoke and glittering black light. I hadn’t seen him move, but one moment we were naked outside his bedchamber on the verge of mutual release, and the next we stood, partially dressed, before a scarred wooden door in a tower.

Medieval-looking torches burned brightly on either side of it. I was almost as shocked by our location as I was about the ebony nightgown I now wore. The one that still did little to hide my form. Wrath had on black trousers and nothing else. Except maybe a slight look of concern.

“Where are we?” I reached up to unhook the cornicello. The pain was intensifying.

“Don’t remove that.” It was as if the last few minutes of passion hadn’t existed. Wrath was all granite edges and fury again. Except it wasn’t directed toward me. He brought his fist to the wood and pounded hard enough to rattle the iron hinges, his voice pure steel. “Matron!”

The next wave of pain made my knees buckle, but I refused to let it pull me under. Even without looking at me, the demon prince missed nothing. His next knock shook a stone loose. I laid a hand on his arm and gently squeezed. “Wrath.”

“If you do not open this door, I vow on my blood—”

“You’re about to bring the whole tower down with that nonsense, boy.” The door swung open, revealing an older woman with long silver and lavender hair. She wore a deep purple robe with a ropelike belt that reminded me of images of priestesses I’d seen in paintings and books.

Her dark gaze turned to me, assessing.

“Daughter of the Moon, welcome. I am Celestia, the Matron of Curses and Poisons. And I’ve been expecting you.” She stood back and pulled the door wider in welcome. “Come in before his majesty breaks the realm.”

“Next time answer your door faster.”

Wrath stalked into the chamber first, alert and ready for battle. Aside from tinctures, antidotes, and poisons, I wasn’t sure what enemy he expected to find here, but I was in too much pain to worry. I followed him inside and paused. The circular room was composed of dark wood, cool stone, and shelves that climbed all the way up the tower. A ladder leaned against one section as if the matron had been cataloging items on the highest shelves when interrupted. An eclectic mixture of scents wafted around, mingling into something enjoyable.

I could scarcely take a deep breath and the scent, appealing as it was, was beginning to turn my stomach. Sweat beaded my brow as I forced air in and out through clenched teeth. To avoid focusing on the growing nausea, I let my gaze drift around the space.

On a long table near a lone arched window were several vials of strange liquids: some smoking, some bubbling, others tapping against the thin glass as if testing an escape route. Sentient liquid was something new to me and more than a little unnerving.

One shelf had full-grown plants and seedlings and dried petals and herbs. There were poultices and charms, cauldrons, carved figurines of creatures like chimeras and winged deities and gods. Stones, both rough and smooth, and—if the dark sap was any indication—poison-tipped blades and needles glinting in the flickering firelight.

Fat candles dripped wax onto a wooden mantel above a generous fireplace near the center of the room, and incense sticks burned in neat plumes.

It seemed as if the Matron of Curses and Poisons was stocked for any devious pursuit.

I swallowed hard as the next wave of pain lashed through me. It felt as if my body was suddenly in the midst of a brutal war with itself. Whatever was causing the pain was winning.

With a strong hand on my back, Wrath guided me to a little wooden stool and turned on the matron. “Do something. Now.”

She clucked her tongue as she slowly crossed the room. “Demands and threats belong to the scared and weak. Neither trait suits you, so hush.”

“Don’t test me.”

Celestia went to a container filled with scissors and shears. Some had gold or silver handles, others were made of gleaming gemstones or dull bones from mortals or creatures from the underworld. I didn’t look too closely.

Wrath, however, loomed over her supplies. “Move faster.”

“I don’t interfere in your work, boy, don’t intrude on mine. Now stop hovering and sit, or get out and work that anger off elsewhere.” Her cold gaze turned to his. “Do it for her sake, not mine.”

Wrath didn’t leave, or sit, or comment further, but he did give the matron space to work. I decided I liked this fearless woman and wondered who she was to Wrath. Surely she had to know he’d just cut out a tongue. At the moment, the demon prince was especially ferocious, and she paid him no mind. I doubted very many were brave enough to turn their back on him, especially while his power was striking around like an angry viper the way it currently was.

I wasn’t complaining, though. In his own boorish way, he was watching out for me.

She picked up a pair of slim gold scissors with handles shaped like bird wings, then took a pitcher full of sparkling cerulean liquid, a vial of dried herbs, and chose another jar filled with petals in shades of frosty blue and silver. She brought everything over to her worktable, pulled a wooden bowl from a cabinet followed by a mortar and pestle.

After looking everything over one last time, she turned those ancient eyes on me. “I must take a lock of your hair for the tincture.”

“No.” Panic overtook me, and the word was out of my mouth before I realized I’d given a fear away to a stranger. Nonna’s warnings rang in my ears. We were always told to burn our hair and nail clippings, rather than allow anyone an opportunity to use the dark arts on us. “Is it necessary? The pain is already ebbing. I think his highness might have overreacted.”

Her gaze softened. “You have nothing to fear from me, child. You will drink the tincture in its entirety. Then we’ll burn the bowl. Nothing will remain for those who wish you harm.”

I felt Wrath’s attention on me like two hot pokers at the base of my neck but refused to look to him. This was my decision and mine alone. I took a deep breath and nodded. “All right.”

Celestia clipped a small portion of my hair, sprinkled it over one part herbs and two part petals. She mashed everything together with the mortar and pestle until it formed a powder.

Once the consistency was to her liking, she whispered a charm in a tongue I didn’t know, then added a few splashes of the sparkling blue liquid to the mixture.

She poured everything into a silver chalice etched with runes and stirred vigorously. “It won’t be the most pleasant drink, but the Tears of Saylonia will help with the taste.”

“Tears of Saylonia?”

“Some say she’s the goddess of grief and sorrow. But there’s more to her than that. The tears are gathered at a temple in the Shifting Isles.”

“Where are they located? Here?”

She slid her attention to the prince as she stirred the drink in the opposite direction, the contents splashing from the sudden shift. “It’s almost ready.”

Wrath watched every step the matron made toward me with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. As if one wrong movement would signal the fight he’d been primed for.

I ignored his odd behavior and returned my attention to the approaching woman. “I’ve worn the amulet for decades, and I’ve never experienced pain like that before.”

“You visited the Crescent Shallows, did you not?”

“Yes.” My hair was damp and there was little use in lying. “How could you tell?”

“A good guess. Certain magic cannot enter those waters without grave consequences. Some say the water there once belonged to the goddesses and burns away that which doesn’t belong. Others believe the Feared seek to reclaim what was taken from them. And they do not care how they succeed in restoring their power, only that they do. Vengeance is a brutal pursuit.”

“The Feared?” I searched my memory for any stories or legends from childhood, but the name was unfamiliar. “Is that what you call the goddesses, or the demon princes?”

“Enough.” Wrath’s voice was quiet, but his tone brooked no room for argument. “Some would be wise to keep superstitions and old folktales to themselves.” He folded his arms against his chest, his expression hard. “Is her tincture finished?”

I glanced down at the devil’s horn charm. Wrath had told me to leave it on. I gave him an accusing look. “You neglected to tell me about any of the dangers. Now you’re concerned?”

Celestia narrowed her eyes, but didn’t speak for another few moments as she continued stirring the tincture. “If he knew the effect it would have on you, I doubt he would have taken you there. It’s his other secret you need to inquire about. He is fully aware of how that one affects you both. And yet he hasn’t uttered a single word. I wonder why that is? Perhaps we’ve finally found your Achilles’ heel, your majesty.”

Wrath went preternaturally still. The temperature in the room plummeted enough for me to see my breath. Jars rattled as the shelves shook from the force of the power he was holding back, the temper he was battling. The matron had clearly struck her intended target.

Intrigued even more by his response, I studied him closely. He was almost unrecognizable. There was no outward shift in his cold features, but I sensed the immense wave of magic he drew in like the tide.

“Careful,” he warned. “You’re treading on dangerous ground.”

“Bah.” She waved her hand at him, completely unconcerned with the growing hum of anger in the air. She handed me the chalice and motioned for me to drink.

I raked my attention over Wrath, and whatever had ignited his namesake sin vanished when he met my worried stare. The temperature returned to normal. He nodded at the cup. “It’s all right. Drink.”

I brought the concoction to my lips and halted. The smell was not even remotely pleasant. I steeled myself before the pain returned and downed it all in one gulp, ignoring the saccharine yet bitter herb taste. My symptoms vanished.

“You’re all set, child.”

I gave her the chalice back and watched as she tossed the wooden bowl into the flames. It burned to ash within mere seconds. “Should I take off the amulet now?”

She looked to Wrath, one silver brow raised. I didn’t swing around in time to see his reaction, but the matron pursed her lips. Her focus darted to my neck before she met my eyes again. “No. The charm won’t trouble you anymore.”

“Watch yourself, Celestia.”

“Go swing a sword or toss a fist at another chunk of rock and begone. Did you not think I heard about your grand show of temper? Domitius and Makaden are fools. But only a larger fool would act as you did. Some might think new sins are stirring. You ought to be mindful, your highness. Others are watching. And they take particular interest in your court.”

“Mind what you say.” His fury whipped around like the gusting winds of a storm. She smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of loving expression a grandmother would give to her grandchild. It was edged in steel. Wrath’s expression was worse. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Then consider it a suggestion. Regardless, it’s irresponsible to not tell her.”

“Yes, I should very much like to know what you’re both talking about.” Now that my pain was gone, I was getting annoyed. I knew Wrath was still keeping secrets. Secrets that even Celestia felt I had the right to know. And after what just happened between us in the shallows, I wouldn’t tolerate them anymore. I gave Wrath a pointed look. “Someone needs to answer my question. Now.”

Celestia glanced between us. “This is a conversation best carried out between you two. Alone.” This time her grin was pure trouble. “Though you may want to take her to the Temple of Fury, far from where you can be overheard. I have a feeling you two will wake the entire castle.”

With that she ushered us out of her chamber of tinctures and slammed the old oak door at our backs. I stared at the prince. One way or another, he would tell me the truth. I couldn’t fathom how Celestia knew his secret when I didn’t, and my annoyance was giving way to anger. And that emotion was not brought on by this House of Sin.

How many others in his court were privy to the information he kept from me, that pertained to me? It was unacceptable that I was the only one kept in the dark.

“I want the truth. No more lies. You owe me that much.”

He seemed to be very much on the verge of finding a weapon to swing. Though his frustration didn’t appear to be directed at me or even the matron.

Perhaps he was angry with himself. Whatever game or scheme he’d been planning was clearly over. And hadn’t played out the way he’d hoped it would.

“Fuck.” Wrath shoved a hand through his hair and paced away from me. “I thought we’d have more time. But after tonight, it obviously can no longer wait.”

Wrath brought us to his personal library and magicked the room to contain our voices within it. I stood before the giant fireplace, warming my hands. Between the cool temperature in the castle, the exhaustion that swept in following the pain, my thin nightgown, and the dampness of my hair, I was chilled to the core.

Fear was also playing a role with my shudders. Was it possible something happened to my family? If they were harmed—or worse—I wasn’t sure Wrath would tell me.

He knew they were my weakness as much as my strength and I’d bargain my way back to my world and break the contract with Pride. That would certainly complicate his mission and be motive enough for his not being forthright with me.

Wrath’s tense mood wasn’t helping to soothe me, either. It invaded my senses until my own nerves were yanked taut enough to snap.

He paced the room like a large animal trapped in a cage. Prior to our passionate embrace in the lagoon, and then in the corridor outside his bedchamber, I’d never seen him anything but calm; even while furious he was never so… on edge. It was disconcerting, seeing him like this. His snapping at the matron was unusual, too. On occasion he could be gruff, arrogant, or brimming with masculine smugness, but he was never rude.

“Will you sit down?” I rubbed at my arms. “You’re making me nervous.”

He prowled over to his desk and poured two fingers of lavender liquid into his glass. He tossed it back before swiftly refilling it and offered the second drink to me. I shook my head.

Waiting was unbearable. And my stomach was already tied up in several intricate knots. I wanted to know what he had to say, and why whatever it was was affecting him this strongly. Even when he attacked Makaden earlier there had been no regret or worry on his part. Only cold efficiency. He’d carried out a sentence and was impartial to its brutality.

“Is the suspense truly necessary?” My voice was surprisingly calm. It was a complete contradiction to the frantic pounding of my heart. “Whatever you have to say can’t be that bad.”

I hoped.

He finally stopped moving long enough to look me in the eye. His expression was impossible to read. A cool, unnerving calm had settled over him. Trepidation slid down my spine. His demeanor reminded me of when a midwife delivered fatal news.

“Earlier this evening, you asked why I Marked you. I’m not sure you fully understand what it does. Why it is something given so rarely.”

I stared at him, momentarily taken off guard by his sudden shift in topic and how the summoning Mark played a role in this. At least I understood how Celestia had known about this secret; her attention had briefly shifted to my neck. I’d mistakenly thought she was looking at my devil’s horn charm.

“Well?” he prodded, drawing my attention back to him. “What do you know of it?”

“Nonna said it allows someone to summon a prince of Hell without an object that belongs to them. That it’s a great honor not many are given. And that, as long as he draws breath, the demon prince must always answer the summoning. Except, of course, when I tried to summon you and you didn’t show.” My tone turned frosty. “I thought you were dead.”

He stepped back, his focus quickly roving over me in quiet calculation.

“After being injured with Envy’s House dagger, I hadn’t healed enough to travel between realms. I didn’t realize you were upset by my absence.” I gave him a dirty look that seemed to bring out a mischievous tilt of his mouth. The look faded almost instantly. “Do you know why it’s given so rarely?”

“Because princes are ornery bastards and don’t like being summoned at will?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips again before he banished it. “Because it is a magical bond that can never be broken.”

“Impossible. All magic can be undone.”

“Not this bond. Not even in death.”

“But you are immortal.”

“Imagine then, how long that bond lasts.”

We stared at each other as the weight of that truth settled between us. I was struggling to absorb the information, the implications of it. Wrath didn’t speak, his expression turning grim as I sorted through the shock. If the bond lasted even after death, I couldn’t fathom how that worked. Our souls would forever be linked. Except I’d sold mine, and had no clue what that meant for the bond. Or for him.

“Emilia.” His voice was quiet, but held a commanding edge. “Say something.”

“You said to avoid speaking in absolutes. They have a tendency to never stick, remember?”

“Do you recall anything I said the night you were attacked by the Viperidae?”

Wrath moved nearer, watching me carefully with each of his measured steps. I imagined he sensed how close I was to bolting and was doing his best to not make any sudden movements and spook me. His attention strayed to his Mark.

Unconsciously, I reached up to touch the place on my neck where the nearly invisible symbol marred my skin. I’d been in too much pain to absorb anything he’d said that night, and then we were in the bath together and the nightmares had begun soon after.

And before I awoke he’d said…

“I told you to live long enough to hate me. And I meant it.” He reached out and traced the side of my throat, his touch featherlight. “That was the night I Marked you. But that’s not all.”

Panic fluttered inside my rib cage like a trapped bird.

I had a terrible feeling I knew where this was going and I wanted no part in it. I swore my betrothal tattoo started tingling, reminding me it was there. As if I’d forgotten.

I forced my feet to stay firmly planted on the ground, though a large part of me wanted to take flight and race up to my rooms, lock the door, and never emerge.

“Stop.” I turned and started walking away. The new fear was growing. I didn’t want to hear any more of his confession. “Take me back to my chamber.”

“Not until you know the whole truth.”

Wrath now stood before me, his gaze fused to mine. I really despised his supernatural speed. He didn’t reach for me again, didn’t bar my path or crowd me into a corner, but his expression was laced with the promise of staying close to me until I was ready to hear his full confession. I knew he’d wait for an eternity if he had to, he’d wait until the sun burned out and the last star faded from the heavens. And I didn’t have that sort of time to waste.

I finally nodded, granting him permission to continue. To uproot my world once more.

“The magic I used that you’d mistaken for a rebirth spell? It was the Mark. It tethered us, flesh to flesh, in a way that allowed my powers to heal you. You only walked away from that attack because I took the venom into my body through that magical bond.”

His immortal body. A body that would not be cut down or ended by poison or venom or anything else that would have killed me. I swallowed hard. Wrath bonded himself to a sworn enemy just so I would live. The gravity of what he’d done. What he’d sacrificed to save me the night I’d gone after my sister’s amulet, fought the snakelike Viperidae demon, and had almost died, crashed into me. No wonder he’d been furious I’d been so cavalier about it.

His price had been steeper than I’d ever imagined. But then again, so was mine.

“The Mark was more than a way to summon me, or save you. Because of another magical bond we share, it was also part acceptance. I believe you understand where this story is headed, but would you like me to continue?”

My heart was now beating very fast at his choice of words. Acceptance. We weren’t talking about his summoning Mark and the magic he used to take the venom anymore. We were talking about my fear, the one that kept growing even now. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “I broke the spell after that.”

“You don’t sound certain. Yet the truth has always been there for you to see.”

I looked down at the traitorous ink on his bare arm; the magical tattoos that hadn’t disappeared. I’d suspected my spell reversal hadn’t worked but had pushed those worries aside. He was correct. I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge what it meant. I still didn’t.

“May I?” Wrath reached for my hand but stopped short of touching me. I nodded and he gently took my arm and rolled up the sleeve of my nightdress. He held his forearm to mine, waiting until the truth stopped fluttering around like a frightened bird and settled into me.

There was no denying they matched perfectly. And I knew why.

I dragged my attention from our tattoos up to his face. His beautiful, cold, royal face. The face that belonged to a fallen god. And my destroyer. Anticipation prickled my skin.

“You seek the truth? Allow me to give it freely. Pride has not summoned you to his court, nor will he ever attempt to. At least not for the reason you believe.”

“Because…”

I knew, oh goddess, I knew. Still, I needed him to say the words.

“You are not his intended, Emilia.” The world beneath me tilted. Wrath’s gaze was steady enough to keep both my knees and the realm from quaking. “You are mine.”