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

Envy pushed open the ornate doors with exaggerated showmanship and stepped back, suddenly the gentleman, and allowed me to cross the threshold into his curiosities chamber first.

Dubious about his true intentions, I hesitated for a moment. I doubted he’d led me into a vampire nest, though anything was possible when it came to him.

Remembering the dagger at my thigh, I walked in and halted at the sight.

It wasn’t vampires waiting, but tall, shadowy giants, standing in place. The chamber was eerily close to a mental image I’d had when I’d first met Envy in the mortal world. Back then, I’d pictured humans posed and frozen on a macabre checkerboard. The floor we stood on now was not part of a game; it was simply made of black and white marble tiles. And the frozen beings were works of art, not mortals trapped by a sadistic prince of Hell.

Sculptures stood in silent welcome, some cast in bronze, others carved from marble. They were haunting, beautiful, so lifelike I had to reach out to be sure they were not made of flesh. I’d never been to a museum, but I’d seen illustrations in books and could not believe the size of his curiosities collection.

“Are you stunned into silence, or is the wine sloshing around your insides?”

I blinked, realizing I still stood rooted in place. “I had a strange sense of déjà vu.”

Envy’s attention flicked over my features, but he only lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “Many mortal museums and collections are fashioned after it. It’s unsurprising that it’s familiar.”

“I’ve never been to a museum.”

Which was enough of the truth to satisfy the truth spell. But I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of how I’d seen the flash of it all those months ago. I’d never been to this realm, or this royal demon House. Perhaps I had a latent seer talent that was starting to emerge.

According to Nonna, it wasn’t uncommon for magic to continue developing throughout a witch’s lifetime. It would also make sense that my newfound use of Source unlocked other magic. Latent talent or not, it wasn’t important. I shook myself back into the now.

The room was cavernous, enough for our steps to echo as we quietly moved to the foot of the first sculpture. A man wearing a winged helmet, bandolier, and not a stitch of clothing stood with one hand extended, holding the severed head of Medusa. A sword was gripped tightly in his other hand. Something about it made me sad.

Envy strolled over to the scene, his expression softening. “Perseus and Medusa. There are similar pieces in the mortal land, but nothing as exquisite as this. The sculptor captured his downcast eyes, his refusal to be turned to stone and cursed.”

“It’s stunning craftsmanship, but horrid.”

“Not all stories end happily, Emilia.”

I knew that. My life had taken unexpected twists, most of which weren’t ideal or for the better. We all had bones, if not full skeletons of heartache, in our closets. It hit me suddenly. I subtly looked at the demon prince. Envy was deeply hurt. I wondered who or what had broken his heart so thoroughly. He caught my eye and gave me a hard look. Questions about his heartbreak would not be welcome. For some reason, I allowed the opportunity to interrogate him while he was compelled to answer truthfully slide. Not all secrets were meant to be shared.

We moved in silence to the next statue. This one was magnificent. My favorite by far. An angel—with a powerful body sculpted from war—arched back, his wings extended, arms tossed behind his head, as if he’d been shoved from a great height and was cursing the one who’d taken him down. The feathers were so detailed, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching over and stroking one finger along them.

“The Fallen.” Envy’s tone was quiet, reverent. “Another fine piece.”

I studied the great warrior angel. His body was similar to Wrath’s. I wouldn’t be surprised if the artist had been inspired by him. “Is it meant to symbolize Wrath or Lucifer?”

“It’s my interpretation of my cursed brother.” Envy’s lips twisted into a grin. “Right before the devil lost his precious wings. And we all followed suit shortly after.”

“Why would you have such a moment memorialized?”

“To always remember.” His voice was suddenly as hard as the marble statue. He shook his head, his expression once again indifferent, as if he’d replaced a mask that had accidentally slipped. “Come. There’s another room filled with objects you might find more interesting.”

We were halfway through the next chamber, decorated with paintings and sketches and mirrors in various ornate frames, when I noticed the bookstands.

I drifted over, drawn to one in particular. A strange, familiar humming started in my center. I knew that feeling. Recognized it. Though it was not quite as I recalled. There were no whispers or fevered voices rising and falling in a cacophony of sounds. Only that subtle hum. I’d experienced it in the monastery the night I’d found my twin. And then again when I’d confronted Antonio. Back then I hadn’t known what it was or what it wanted.

I paused at the open grimoire. A glass case enclosed it, but I knew, without seeing its cover, what it was. It was the first book of spells. La Prima’s personal spell book.

“How did you get this?” My voice was too loud in the smaller room. “It was with me the night I—”

“The night you nearly killed the human sycophant?”

I spun on my heel, glaring. “It disappeared that night. I thought… an Umbra demon.” I inhaled deeply. “You sent one to spy on me, didn’t you?”

“Spy is a nasty word. Not to mention, it was watching the monastery. You happened along. Wrong place, wrong time.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled over to the next stand. Another open book. “What you call the first book of spells is not a complete manuscript. It’s one third of a grander, more elaborate text.” He nodded at the book. “The Mother and the Crone are in my possession; the Maiden has gone missing. Goddesses are tricky beings with even trickier magic. And to cross one…” He whistled. “That’s inadvisable.”

“The first book of spells belonged to the First Witch, not the goddesses.”

“My dear, I don’t know what the witches who raised you claimed, or why, but these books were written by the goddesses. Your so-called First Witch stole the book of the dead, the Crone’s book of underworld magic. I can tell you the Crone was not amused.”

He spoke as if he knew the goddesses. “Where is the Crone now? Perhaps I should speak with her myself.”

“By all means, if you find her, please send my regards.”

I blew out a frustrated breath. Something wasn’t quite right with this story. Envy not only had a book of spells that could enchant skulls, he’d practically used the phrase one had uttered verbatim. He had to be the mysterious sender, but for whatever reason, he wasn’t admitting to it.

“Are there spells on necromancy?”

“The Crone is the goddess of the underworld. Her spells reflect the moon, the night, and the dead. Amongst other things, like darker, more violent emotions.” He watched me closely. “Bloodwood Forest is a spectacular sight. It lies between my land and Greed’s. No demon house may claim it; therefore, you don’t need an invitation to travel there. The trick, however, is gaining passage through the territories that border it.”

I pulled my attention away from the book of spells. “Why are you telling me about it?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

If we were being friendly, I might as well push that to my advantage. “You mentioned something called the Temptation Key earlier. Is it part of your collection?”

“I’m afraid not. Though not from a lack of trying to acquire it on my part.” He started walking away but called over his shoulder, “Before you retire for the evening, you may want to read the plaque of this painting. I find it to be quite informative.”

“Where are you going?”

Envy did not answer.

Apparently our time together was over for tonight. I stared in the direction of the demon prince long after he’d left the room, mulling over all I’d learned. Envy was after the Triple Moon Mirror and the Temptation Key. Two objects I was now very interested in obtaining myself.

When I was sure he wasn’t returning, I strode over to the painting he’d pointed out. It was an unusual tree. Large with gnarled wood and ebony-and-silver-veined leaves. There was something about the painting that reminded me of the artist who’d captured the seasonal garden in my bedroom suite in House Wrath.

The shadows and care with which the artist had shown each piece of bark or falling leaf was remarkable; it looked as if I could reach into the painting and pull a leaf from the tree.

I ran my fingers over the silver plaque and read the inscription.

CURSE TREE FABLE

Deep in the heart of the Bloodwood Forest lies a tree planted by the Crone herself. It is said, among other favors, the tree will consider hexing a sworn enemy if the desire to curse them is true. To request the Crone’s Curse: Carve their true name in the tree, write your wish on a leaf plucked from its branches, then offer the tree a drop of blood. Take the leaf home and place it beneath your pillow. If it is gone when you arise, the Crone accepted your offer and has granted your wish. She is the mother of the underworld—beware of her blessing.

I reread the fable, unsure why Envy had pointed it out among the fifty or so other paintings lining the walls in this room. Nothing a prince of Hell did was by accident. I had a feeling I’d been unwittingly brought into one of his schemes, but I’d twist his deceit to my favor.

I tucked the knowledge away and slowly made my way through the rest of the gallery, pausing at a map of the Seven Circles. Each demon House sat upon a mountain peak, towering above their territory. I spied the gates of Hell, the Sin Corridor.

A place between House Lust and House Gluttony was marked VIOLENT WINDS. I wondered if that was the howling sound we’d heard in the Sin Corridor.

I continued to study the sketch, committing as much of it as I could to memory. To the southeast, Bloodwood Forest sat between House Greed and House Envy. The Black River carved through the western Houses of Sin, dividing Wrath’s castle from both Greed and Pride’s territories. It forked off into a smaller tributary that ran behind Greed’s castle, winded through the lower portion of House Pride, and up along Envy’s northern border. I followed the main portion of the river until it ended in the Lake of Fire. Across from the largest section of the lake was the devil’s castle; House Pride sat slightly northwest of House Envy.

Once I felt confident in my ability to recall most landmarks and the general lay of this realm, I left the map and wandered back through the gallery. A liveried member of Envy’s staff was waiting for me in the room with the sculptures.

“His highness sends his apologies, but he’s left the premises. He said you are welcome to stay as long as you desire, but he will be gone for quite some time.” The servant hesitated, cleared his throat, as if uncomfortable with delivering the rest of the message.

“Was there more?”

“His highness also said if you wish to make Prince Wrath jealous, you may sleep in his highness’s bed tonight. He suggests doing so in the nude. And… I quote, ‘think filthy thoughts regarding the most well-endowed prince in this realm,’ while tending to yourself. There is a life-sized painting of Prince Envy on the ceiling, should you require a stimulating visual.”

I mentally counted until the urge to hunt Envy passed. “I’d like to send word to House Wrath. Tell them I’ll be home tomorrow at first light.”

“Straight away, my lady.” He bowed. “Would you like an escort back to your chambers?”

“I believe I can find my way. I’d like to admire the statues once more.”

“Very well. I’ll send the missive to House Wrath now.”

I waited until he left before turning back to the gallery room. Annoyance at Envy quickly gave way to elation. I knew I’d have use of the mending kit.

And it had absolutely nothing to do with sewing tears in pretty dresses.

My heart thudded in time with the horses’ hoofs as the carriage rolled away from House Envy. Wrath didn’t show up to escort me home himself after all; he sent an emissary and a royal carriage. The emissary was only too pleased to point out it wasn’t the prince’s personal carriage or steeds. Just whatever he’d had in the stables.

As if that information was of great importance. I wasn’t sure how I felt about her sneer or the fact that the prince sent someone in his stead. The emissary sat primly on her side of the coach, pointedly avoiding eye contact and therefore any conversation with me.

I was at a loss regarding her obvious contempt.

I studied the demon from under lowered lashes, feigning sleep. Her deep red hair was coiled into intricate knots around the crown of her head, while the lower portion was a set of long, perfectly styled curls. A muscle in her jaw feathered, as if she was entirely aware of my scrutiny and was biting back a string of admonishments. Maybe her simmering anger was simply a marker of the House of Sin she belonged to and I was reading too much into it.

I shifted my attention to the window. For some reason, she’d pulled the drapery shut before we set off. I moved it back and she glared. “Keep it closed.”

I drew in a deep breath through my nose, centering my growing annoyance at her curt attitude. Arguing with her would serve no purpose. And I did not need one more enemy to watch out for. “What’s your name?”

“You need only address me by my title.”

Though I noticed she refused to call me by the title Wrath had demanded his court use. It didn’t bother me one bit. I was no noblewoman. “Very well, Emissary. Where is Wrath?”

Her cool gaze slid to mine. “His highness is occupied.”

There was no mistaking the edge in her tone, or the warning that more questions would not be tolerated. I laid my head against the plush carriage wall. We steadily moved down a mountain and I tensed to keep myself pressed against my seat and not slide forward. In what felt like eons, we finally began climbing again before eventually clamoring to a stop. Heedless of her ire, I drew the drapery aside and swallowed a gasp.

I’d never seen the front exterior of House Wrath. When I’d first arrived, it had been delirious in Wrath’s arms, and we’d entered through a mountain. His castle was massive, with a gate house, turrets, towers, and an enormous wall that spanned the entire perimeter. Pale stone with black tiled roofing. It was a magnificent study in contrasts.

Vines, frozen solid, clung to the walls.

We passed through the gates and rolled to a stop in a half-circular drive. The emissary waited for a footman to open the coach and then accepted his assistance out. She left without a backward glance, her duty to collect the wayward fiancée done.

I stared after her, wondering why she’d been so cold and if I’d done something to offend her. I knew I hadn’t. Aside from my surprise at seeing her instead of Wrath, I’d been friendly.

An uncomfortable suspicion slithered in about her relationship with Wrath, but I shoved it aside. I refused to let it matter.

The footman handed me down and I took my time walking up the stone stairs to the front door. To my right, tucked near the wall, was a garden hidden within a hedge. I made a mental note to visit it once the weather warmed.

If the weather ever warmed. As if on cue, snow began lightly falling, dusting the castle in a fine layer of shimmering flakes.

I hurried inside and brushed off my traveling cloak. Aside from the footman, who was seeing to my trunk, there were no servants waiting to tend to me, for which I was relieved.

I made it back to my bedroom suite without running into anyone. No servants cleaning the castle or its many rooms. No Fauna or Anir or Wrath. I was immensely grateful I didn’t see any of the other noble occupants, like the now tongueless Lord Makaden or overly talkative Lady Arcaline.

As the afternoon wore on, I grew restless, though. I was not used to having so much idle time. Back home I was always in the trattoria, or working on my craft in our home kitchen, or reading when I wasn’t falling into bed, bone tired from a hard day’s work. I was also rarely alone—my family was always there, laughing and talking and warm. Other nights I’d comb the beach with my sister and Claudia, sharing secrets and our hopes and dreams.

Until my twin was murdered. Then my world irrevocably changed.

Unable to bear the morbid twist of my thoughts, I marched down to Wrath’s suite and knocked. No answer. I considered testing to see if the door was locked but refrained. When I’d intruded on him after his violent outburst at dinner I’d had a valid excuse.

I trudged back to my room and decided to work on finding Source again. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the inner well of magic. A few seconds later, I tunneled down into my center, then crashed. It felt as if I’d collided with a brick wall.

I tried to muster up the energy to locate it again, but I was more exhausted than I’d thought. I’d spent the better part of last night awake in bed, fearful of Envy returning in a rage. And the previous night I’d barely slept because of Wrath’s confession. I imagined to harness Source I needed to be well rested. And I was anything but.

I pulled out the journal on House Pride I’d borrowed from Wrath’s library and slowly flipped through each page in hopes of something being written in a language I knew.

My efforts were wasted. There weren’t even drawings or illustrations for me to decipher. It was just page after page of small, handwritten notes in what might be demon script. My attention kept straying to my trunk, to the object I’d smuggled from Envy inside it.

I didn’t want to remove it from its hiding place just yet. I had a feeling someone might come looking for it soon enough. I couldn’t believe it had been so easy to snatch. Too easy, really. Part of me expected alarms to sound and Umbra demons and vampires to swarm in the moment I’d lifted the spell book from its case. Nothing happened. I’d simply walked to my room, sewn it into the inside of my trunk, and waited for a reckoning that never came.

I turned back to the here and now, flipping through the next few pages. I refocused on Pride’s House journal, the squiggly lines blurring together.

I woke up several hours later, my face pressed against the open journal.

It was not my kind of book, obviously. A romance novel would have kept me up into the wee hours of the morning, never quite turning the pages fast enough while also trying desperately to savor each tension-filled interaction between the hero and heroine.

I adored how they more often than not despised each other, and how that spark of disdain flamed into something else entirely.

Real life certainly wasn’t anything close to a romance novel, but there was still a small part of the old me left that hoped for a happy ending. There was no denying a spark existed between me and Wrath—along with plenty of disdain—but the likelihood of it turning into love was the true fantasy.

I combed my hair and went to check Wrath’s rooms again. The demon was still out. Or he wasn’t bothering to answer his door. I stood there, hand falling to my side. It was possible he was upset by my dismissal of him at Envy’s. But something about that didn’t feel right.

He’d been by my side for months in the human world, and then for nearly two weeks here. If he did have a lover, he might have stolen away to visit her. I doubted he would have expected me to return so quickly. I ought to rejoice in the solitude. I had no one looking over my shoulder, no lust-fueled urges toward completing a marriage bond. No distractions. And yet… and yet I didn’t want to think about why I was gripped with unease.

I called for dinner and ate in my rooms, thinking about Envy’s conversation and all I’d learned. Specifically, the truth spell used on wine and what it might mean for the rest of my mission. The magic worked on a prince of Hell. And while I hadn’t noticed anything different about our beverage, it didn’t mean a prince wouldn’t sense the otherness. Envy had known what was coming, so I couldn’t use him as any means of judging.

What I wanted was to test a theory. And I needed Wrath. If I could spell his wine without him knowing, I might find it to be a useful skill to employ at the Feast of the Wolf. All of the princes would be in attendance. I could whisper the spell over our toast and find out who was responsible for Vittoria’s death without anyone being the wiser.

If Wrath couldn’t sense the spell. That plan only worked if the test was successful.

I told myself that was the main reason I’d been pacing the corridor outside his rooms the next morning. Listening for any sign of his return. Surely it had nothing to do with missing him. Or growing suspicions of where he’d gone, and who he might be with. Which was nonsense that belonged to House Envy. Maybe those were simply residual jealous emotions left over from my visit to that House of Sin. If such things even occurred.

Two more days passed and still no word from the prince of the House. I had tried a few more times to summon the source of my magic but was met with that same resistance. There was no information on it in the grimoire, so I had to wait it out. Eventually I’d master dipping into that well. I spent my time in the library, searching for new fables. I was interested in learning more about the Curse Tree, especially the line that claimed it granted more than wishes.

I also searched for any books on the Temptation Key or the Triple Moon Mirror. Thus far my efforts were all in vain. Finally, when I thought I’d go mad, a knock sounded at my door.

“Hello, Lady Em.” Anir grinned. “I’m here to bring you on an adventure.”

“Lady Em?” I crinkled my nose. “No one has ever called me Em. I’m not sure I like it.”

“That’s because you never had a clandestine meeting. Come on. Put on a tunic and trousers, then meet me out here. We’re late.”

“Where are we going?”

He flashed another smile. This one made my stomach twist up with nerves. “You’ll see.”

Deciding whatever he’d planned had to be better than sitting alone in my room, or roaming the library and not finding anything useful, I quickly rushed into my bedchamber and changed into the clothes he’d suggested.

Once I tugged on some flat shoes, I followed him into the corridor. We went up one flight of stairs and stopped near the end of a long hallway.

“May I present…” Anir shoved the door open. “The weapons room.”

“Goddesses above.” I sucked in a sharp breath, though I shouldn’t have been surprised at the grandeur, given Wrath’s role as general of war. Here was the pearl of House Wrath. “It’s impressive.”

“I hear that a lot,” Anir teased. “Go in.”

I stepped over the threshold. My focus darted around the cavernous room that seemed to go on and on. Columns broke the space into smaller, interconnected chambers. If Envy’s gallery was the most telling part of his personality, here was Wrath’s soul laid bare.

Beautiful. Elegant. Deadly. Honed to brutal perfection and unapologetic about glorying in violence. I stood there, cataloging everything.

The glass ceiling allowed light to filter in and illuminate what would otherwise be a darkened space. The walls and floor were black marble with gold veining. In the main room we’d entered, there was an occult design—featuring the phases of the moon on one side, a smattering of stars on the other, and a serpent swallowing its tail in a circular shape—inlaid in gold on the floor. From what I could see, each corner of that section of the floor featured one of the four elements. Part of the design was covered by a large mat placed directly in the center.

Gold serpents coiled around the ebony marble columns, making them the most fantastical and gorgeous columns I’d ever seen.

Swords, daggers, shields, bows and arrows, and an assortment of knives gleamed in black and gold from their meticulously spaced positions on the walls.

I spun in place, taking in the splendor of it all. In the very back of the room there was a mosaic of a serpent. Unlike the ouroboros inlaid on the floor, this snake’s body coiled into an intricate knot. It reminded me of something, but I couldn’t place it.

Against the far wall was a bale of hay with a giant target painted on its center. A small table lay to the left with daggers lined up in a perfect row. I stared at them, my fingers itching to grip their hilts and toss them through the air.

“Our first lesson will be on your stance.” Anir moved to the center of the weapons room and pointed to the space on the mat in front of him. I stopped gawking and stood where he’d indicated. “Your feet should always be planted firmly on the ground, giving you steady leverage to lunge, strike, or dodge swiftly in any direction without losing balance.”

I shifted so I mirrored his position. His feet were slightly wider than his hips, with one a step forward and the other planted back. There was something almost familiar about the pose, but I’d never fought or had reason to have lessons such as this.

“You’ll want your weight distributed evenly. Make sure your knees follow the direction your feet are pointed.”

I wobbled a little, then adjusted myself. I’d barely glanced up when Anir rushed forward, forearm thrust out like a battering ram, and made contact with my solar plexus, sending me flying backward. My arms windmilled before I landed ungracefully on my rear.

I glared up at my teacher. “You, signore, are terrible.”

“I am. And you, signorina, just learned your first lesson,” he lobbed back at me. He held out a hand and helped me to my feet. “Never take your attention off your opponent.”

“I thought this lesson was on stance.”

“It is.” He winked. “Looking down doesn’t do you any favors with balance. If you have to glance down, use your eyes, not your entire upper body. Self-awareness is key.”

We repeated the routine with varying degrees of my being knocked on my bottom. Even with the padded mat on the floor, I’d be sore in the morning. With each strike, I grew a little more secure in my stance, wobbled less. Sweat beaded my brow as we sparred again and again.

It felt good, working my body, emptying my mind.

Sometime later, Anir called for a break and blotted at the perspiration on his neck and face with a length of linen. I was still ready to go but stepped back, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I felt alive, my muscles shaking but hungry for more use.

He bent at the waist. “Take five.”

I followed him to a side table set up with a pitcher of water and glasses.

“Where is Wrath?” I don’t know why I blurted it out, but it seemed odd that the demon of war was nowhere to be found while we were in his glorious weapons chamber.

Anir glanced sideways at me as he poured himself a glass and downed it by half. “I didn’t think you’d mind his absence.”

“I don’t. I’m just curious.” When he didn’t respond, I found my ridiculous mouth filling the silence. “He seemed uneasy about my choosing to visit House Envy. I would have thought he’d wish to see me when I returned.”

“Do you ask after me when I’m away?”

“No.”

“Ouch.”

Blood and bones. I immediately kicked myself as Anir’s grin widened. I poured myself some water and took a sip. “I just meant…”

“No offense taken.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “Lie to yourself all you want, but you’ll have to do better around me.”

“Fine. The truth is the emissary got under my skin.”

“Lady Sundra?” Anir snorted. “I imagine so. Her father’s a duke, and she’s never let anyone forget that elevated rank. She always believed she’d make an advantageous marriage match with a prince.”

“Ah. That’s why she became emissary. It put her in close proximity to all of the royals.”

“Look at you, Lady Em. You’re thinking like a cunning noble now. Most of the princes have no designs of being caught in a marriage snare, though. No matter how many schemes noble families like hers attempt, the princes are content as they are. Her natural state runs angry; it’s nothing personal against you.”

“So, the higher the rank, the more the demons exhibit the sin they’ve aligned with.”

“From what I’ve gathered in my time here, yeah. Though no one can ever gain enough power to overthrow a prince. They are something else entirely. It’s like the difference between a lion and tiger. Both are large, predatory cats, but they are not the same.”

“And the lesser demons? They’re different from the nobles.”

“Indeed. And it’s why they often choose to live on the outskirts of their circles.”

“If Lady Sundra is best aligned with House Wrath, how would she marry a prince who represented a different sin?”

“It would be rare, but not unheard of for her to shift sin alignment.”

I propped myself against the table’s edge and set my glass down. “You knew Wrath had initiated his acceptance of the marriage bond the night the Viperidae attacked me.”

“All hail the queen of changing topics.” He offered a dramatic bow. “Is there a question in there, or are you looking for confirmation?”

“I know I’m not his first choice in a wife,” I hedged, still thinking of the duke’s daughter, “but I’d like to know if there was someone he was interested in before… everything.”

The teasing light left Anir’s face. “It’s not my business or my place to share his story.”

“I’m not asking you to. I only want to know if there was someone else.”

“Would it change anything if there was?”

I thought about it. My curiosity was at play, for certain, but it would change matters. I would refuse the bond and have our fate decided by the council of three Wrath had mentioned.

If he loved someone, well, that would both make me uncomfortable and also clear my way to pursuing Pride. Which was still the surest path to achieving my goal of vengeance.

Unless, of course, I beat Envy to finding the Temptation Key and Triple Moon Mirror. And if a demon prince couldn’t sense the spelled wine or food, I might be able to garner truth that way. But I’d need to practice on a prince of Hell, and one was still notably absent, curse him.

I returned to the matter at hand. I would not want to be tied together in a loveless marriage with Wrath if he would always be pining for someone else.

“Yes. It would. It would change a lot.”

“Careful.” A low voice drawled from behind me. “Or I might think you’d actually like to marry me.”