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

“Is she dead?” It took a minute to place, but I recognized the voice. Anir. Wrath’s human second in command. The demon responded with an obscenity that sounded an awful lot like Of course not, you fucking idiot. “Can you blame me? She looks plenty dead. Maybe you should let fate run its course. No one will blame you if her heart stops. Not even—”

“Careful. I don’t recall asking your opinion.”

Calloused fingers poked at my throat, grabbed my wrist. I struggled to sit up but was strapped to something rock hard and unmoving. “Your majesty, we should alert the matron. I don’t think this is—”

“Get a mug of warm water and blankets. Now.”

My skin felt like someone had tossed me into a fire and held me there. Drinking something warm or putting on a blanket was the last thing I wanted to do. I thrashed in my chains and one of them broke free and smoothed my hair back. Arms, not chains. Wrath still held me against his body. I tried to open my eyes but couldn’t. He took a few steps and placed me carefully on a mattress. At least I hoped that’s what it was.

Which meant… my heart thundered. We must be at the devil’s castle now. Panic had me clawing at his arms as he tried to pull away. Despite my earlier bravado, I did not want to be alone with the king of demons. At least not like this. “N-no… no…”

“Don’t move too much, or your heart might stop.”

I sucked in a sharp, ragged breath. “Y-your bedside m-manner—”

“Is abominable? There’s a reason I’m not a healer. Complain later. You’ve got a mild case of hypothermia.” He gently disentangled himself from my death grip and drew back. I could have sworn he brushed his lips across my burning forehead before his weight fully lifted from the bed. When he spoke, his tone was hard enough to make me question if the kiss had been real. “Lay still.”

Fabric ripped. My eyes flew open as shock rippled through me. Wrath leaned over my body, tearing my frozen clothing down the center like it was no more substantial than a piece of parchment. Skirts, shirts, belt. A few more tugs and cool air blew across my scorched skin.

I almost groaned with pleasure as he pulled my damp clothes out from under me and tossed them away. I didn’t even care that I was naked in front of the demon. Again.

I wanted to claw my flesh off and submerge my body in a tub of ice. Which was odd considering I’d been freezing not long ago. My eyes drifted shut and no matter how hard I fought, I couldn’t reopen them. Odd images played across my mind. Memories blurred and broken flitted through a thick mist, a possible result of a dying brain. Or maybe it was visions of a future I’d never know, taunting me. Statues and flowers. Fire. Hearts in jars, a wall of skulls.

Nothing made sense.

“Emilia… stay with me.”

Wrath picked up my hand and gently massaged warmth into each of my fingers. If he was trying to keep me awake, it wasn’t working. A drowsy peace fell over me, and I relaxed under his touch, the memories and strange images fading. He moved his careful ministrations from my fingers to my wrist then slowly up my arm to my elbow, before tending to my other hand.

Once he finished rubbing life back into my fingers, he shifted lower on the bed. He lifted my leg at the ankle with one hand, and used the other to work the feeling into my toes much the same way he had with my fingers. The pads of his thumbs slipped to the arch of my foot, and I softly groaned as he used just the right amount of pressure to heal the ache there.

Someone rapped at the door and Wrath ordered them to leave everything outside. Footsteps thundered across the room, a door swung open and slammed shut, then he was back, gently covering my body with the softest fabric I’d ever felt.

I choked on a scream. It felt as if he’d poured kerosene over me and lit a match. I kicked the blanket off and earned a frustrated growl from the demon.

“Stop.” He pressed me down and folded me into the blanket again. A heaviness settled beside me a breath later. Two large arms wound around my body, tugging me closer, his chin resting on my head. He looped a leg over my hip, securing our connection.

He felt like fire. And I was already burning. I tried to roll out from under him, aiming for the ground. I wanted to crawl under the floorboards and bury myself in the earth like an animal deep in hibernation. Wrath’s grip never faltered; I was trapped against his body. And, with his supernatural strength, no amount of struggling would break his grasp if he chose to hold on. Survival kicked in—I became a feral cat clawing at the one trying to cage me.

Wrath’s arms were twin bands of steel.

“Get off me.”

“No.”

“Didn’t your maker teach you proper ways of treating women?”

“Live through the night and I’ll respect your wishes then,” he snapped.

“You don’t understand…” I was mad with fury and wild with the need to move. His arms tightened around me, but never painfully so. “I need to be in the earth. I have to go below ground now.”

“That’s a common symptom of hypothermia. The feeling will pass when you’re stable again.” He slid an arm behind my shoulders and angled me up. “Sip this. Now.”

His tone indicated that he’d pinch my nose and force it down my throat if I didn’t listen. Coddling nursemaid he was not. I took a tentative sip of warm liquid and held in a scream. Everything was too hot. Wrath lowered me back onto a pillow and slowly pulled another blanket on me. It was featherlight but hurt tremendously. Pain intensified until it was all I knew.

I clamped my teeth together, trying to force the chattering to stop. Blessedly, mere moments after drinking the liquid, I drifted in and out of various degrees of consciousness. I wondered what he’d put in the drink to make me drowsy but couldn’t muster enough energy to feel threatened. If he wanted me dead, he would have let nature handle that deed.

Movement drew me out of my fevered battle with lucidity sometime later. I forgot where I was. Who I was with. Warm light gilded a large silhouette.

I squinted, wondering who had sent an angel. Then I remembered. If the heavenly being staring down at me had ever been an angel, he was something other now. Something to be feared and avoided. Something that made hearts pound and knees quake.

He was as forbidden as the fruit offered to Eve, but somehow even more tempting.

In a dreamlike state, I watched Wrath perform the most peculiar tasks. Refilling a mug of warm liquid. Helping me sip it until a honeyed heat slowly spread through me. Peaceful and calming, a direct contrast from the inferno I’d felt earlier. He fussed with more blankets. Stoked wood in a massive fireplace across from a bed made of midnight. The sheets were the white and silver of shooting stars. They were strangely familiar, though I’d never seen them.

At one point I rolled over to face him and stared at a sheen of sweat glistening on his bare skin. Sometime during the night he’d removed the two amulets. He was tucked into the blankets, too, arms wrapped around me in a comfortable embrace, his body heat fueling mine. He was extraordinary. And it had nothing to do with his physical appearance.

I dragged my attention up to his eyes. Black flecks dotted his gold irises like tiny stars circling his pupils. He watched me inspect his features, his focus scanning my face in the same intent way. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me, how he felt.

“Sometimes,” my voice came out scratchy and soft, “sometimes I think I want to be your friend. Despite the past. Maybe aligning ourselves, our separate Houses, is something to consider.”

His jaw tightened, as if the mere idea of friendship or an alliance was appalling. “Rest.”

Fire now blazed in the room and my lids closed as if he’d commanded them to obey. The world grew foggy. “Wrath…” I wanted to say “thank you” but my words were stolen by sleep.

He spoke in whispers and hushed tones. Smoothed hair from my face with his big, tattooed hand. It felt like he was sharing a secret—something vital. Important in a way that would forever change my reality. I burrowed closer, straining to listen. His voice rumbled through me like a distant storm, trying to shake something awake before it went slumbering again.

I couldn’t retain anything and drifted off once more.

The next time I awoke, Wrath’s side of the bed was empty. Without his massive body, and constant glowering or not-so-gentle fussing, the room felt too big.

A room.

I sucked in a sharp breath, instantly alert. The worst of my delirium was gone, and reality felt like a mountain crashing down on me. Wrath had taken me to… I wasn’t sure. I didn’t get a good look at where I was yesterday. I wiped the remnants of sleep from my eyes and stared up at a smattering of constellations. They were wholly unexpected.

I blinked at them—the ceiling had been painted to look like a sky full of stars. Though that wasn’t quite right, either. On closer inspection, the constellations were actually tiny lights glowing softly in a ceiling painted a bruised shade of dark blue.

I swept my attention around the chamber. It was enormous. Elegant.

The walls were a pure snowy white with panels of decorative molding and trim, and the massive fireplace across from the bed was edged in silver that reflected the flames in its shiny surface. A giant, ornate mirror hung above it. Silver sconces sat to either side of the mantel. Another identical set was on the wall behind the bed. I was surprised to see silver and not Wrath’s signature gold, though I had a suspicion the metal was actually white gold.

A dark blue rug exactly matched the hue of the ceiling, and the bed seemed to be carved from the same gemstone that surrounded the gates of Hell. Layered on top of the dark carpet was a yellow rug woven through with gold thread.

All of the fabrics looked soft, luxurious, and smelled faintly of crisp winter air and musk.

On the far side of the room, a set of glass chairs and a matching table were tastefully placed in a nook. If not for their edges glinting in the blazing fire, my attention might have skipped over them entirely. Next to the fireplace an enormous armoire made from dark wood stood tall and imposing. Little flowers and stars and snakes were carved into its doors. Crescent moons formed the handles. They reminded me of an incomplete triple goddess symbol. Beside the wardrobe was a door that either led to another chamber or a corridor.

This was a far cry from the abandoned palace Wrath had commandeered in my city.

I twisted around. On my left another door led to a bathing room, if the splashes of water were any indication. A large canvas painting hung beside it. The frame was silver, as ornate as the mirror above the fireplace, and must have cost a small fortune.

The painting itself looked like an enchanted forest taken straight from the pages of a fairy tale. Deep green and rich brown oils brought the landscape to life. Flowers in a riot of dark colors dotted the foreground. Vines of ivy wound around massive tree trunks.

Fruit trees offered ripe treats from apples to fat pomegranates bursting with seeds, to various citruses. Mist floated above soil near the center, and frost coated the petals of the flowers on the right. The artist’s palette was dark, yet muted. The scene alive, yet frozen. Summer inhabited one side and it was ice-kissed with winter on the other.

It was a seasonal garden unlike any I’d ever seen in real life. I had a sudden urge to find the artist who painted it at once, curious about the inspiration behind such a unique piece. If it was based on a real location, I wanted to visit it. But first…

I glanced down at myself. The only clothes I had had been ripped from my body in Wrath’s frenzied attempt to get me warm, and discarded the goddess knew where. I sighed and yanked the sheets up, attempting to tie them into a makeshift dress.

Someone cleared their throat.

The uptick in my pulse indicated who it was before I brought my focus up to his. My heart rate spiked impossibly higher the moment our gazes connected and locked.

Wrath leaned against the doorframe, dark hair tousled and damp, new suit pressed to perfection, his expression bordering on contemplative. He scanned me slowly, his gaze sharp and clinical in its assessment. An ebony robe embroidered with wildflowers dangled from his fingertips. “You’re awake.”

“You’re observant.”

“Play nice. I’m the one with your robe.”

My attention slid to the clothing in question. I was at a clear disadvantage, one I intended to remedy at once. “Where are we?”

“A bedchamber, from the looks of it.”

Interminable ass. “Yours?”

He shook his head, not elaborating further. I silently counted to ten. Wrath waited, one side of his mouth tipped up, as if irking me was his most treasured diversion.

If he desired an argument, I was more than happy to oblige. Until I recalled what he’d said about anger being an aphrodisiac and bit my tongue. “Are we at Pride’s royal House?”

“No. This is House Wrath.”

“The contract…”

“Do you want to go there?” His tone was carefully neutral.

Something about the question felt like a trap, and I did not wish to find myself in any demon’s snare so soon, if ever. I swallowed hard. “I made a blood vow.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

As if he answered all of mine. I took a page from his book of secrets and lobbed a question back at him. “What does it matter? I signed it. It’s done.”

“Do you want to go there?” he repeated. Of course I did not want to go there or stay here, for that matter. I wanted to do what I came here to do and go home. The faster, the better. I pressed my lips together, unwilling to answer aloud, and forced myself to think of something pleasant. He sensed emotions and lies. And I had a theory I needed to test. His eyes narrowed as he scanned my face, searching for the truth hidden in it. “Is that a yes?”

I nodded.

A rare bout of emotion flashed in his face, but he recovered quickly and crossed the room in a few long strides. If I hadn’t been studying him, I would have missed the lightning-fast reaction. Now rage flickered in his eyes. A mask to cover his hurt.

“Don’t worry. When my brother rouses himself from the near-constant parties and debauchery, and when his cursed pride finally surrenders enough to allow me entry into his hateful domain, I’ll hold up my end of the bargain.”

I was fairly confident each of their domains were hateful in their own way but didn’t bother pointing that out. “We need to be invited?”

“Unless you’d like to start a feud between our Houses, yes.”

I mentally filed away the information. Feuding princes would certainly create a diversion from more seemingly innocuous pursuits, such as gossip. “If you enter his territory without his consent, it’s taken as a threat? Even if you’re doing his bidding?” Wrath nodded. “That makes little sense. Is it because he’s the king and wants to remind you of your place?”

“Royal posturing is a favorite pastime here for some.”

Which didn’t exactly answer my questions. Prince Wrath, one of the Feared and Mighty Seven, General of War, and Master of Avoidance. A devious idea sprang to mind. I schooled my features into bland interest and locked my smile away. Wrath had plenty of masks in his arsenal. It was time to add some to my collection.

“As his bride, what if I decide to go to him alone? Am I not technically part of House Pride? If so, I don’t see how that rule should apply to me. Unless he’s still dedicated to his first wife, which cannot be true if he’s as debauched as you claim. I’m sure he’d welcome me into our marital bed.”

I doubted Wrath realized it, but the room chilled a fraction. I’d struck a nerve.

“Pride will gladly welcome you and anyone else he’s fascinated by into his bed. All at once if he desires to do so, and if you permit it the nights you’re with him. Though I suggest pretending he is the supreme lover, else you’ll injure his namesake sin and find yourself alone.”

I was so stunned, I forgot the seeds of discord I’d been trying to plant. “You cannot be serious. Pride would desire another in our bed? With me? I don’t understand.”

Wrath hesitated a minute. “On occasion, my brother enjoys multiple lovers.”

“At the same time?” I felt my face flame as he slowly nodded.

“Sex isn’t viewed as shameful or sinful here, Emilia. Attraction and desire are part of the natural order of life. Mortals put restrictions on such things. Princes of Hell do not.”

“But Lust… his influence. It’s considered a sin, even here.”

“My brother mostly toyed with your happiness, things that bring all manner of pleasure and joy, not just carnal urges. Being tested or prompted toward one particular emotion usually means it’s something this realm senses you struggle with.” He canted his head. “If you are interested in sex but fear passion or intimacy, you may experience a higher rate of sexual desire until you work through your personal issues regarding it. Which one intimidates you?”

I swallowed hard, uncomfortable with the topic of pleasure while I was alone with Wrath, and naked beneath my silken sheets. “Neither. And it’s hardly your concern. Discussing what I may or may not do with my husband is inappropriate. Especially with you.”

Wrath tossed the robe next to me on the mattress, his expression cold. “You’re welcome for keeping you alive. By my count that’s twice. And not a lick of gratitude for either.”

His tone made my blood boil. I wondered if he knew his magic was leaking out, affecting me so potently. Maybe being inside his House of Sin exacerbated my fury, along with the realization that I was woefully inexperienced in certain areas. I hadn’t thought about bedding Pride, or considered any other wifely duties I might be required to complete. I felt trapped. My bubbling anger needed an outlet, and Wrath seemed game.

“Do you always require profuse thanks for doing the decent thing? I’m starting to think your sin is actually pride, not wrath. Your ego’s definitely fragile enough. Maybe I should grovel at your feet or throw a parade in your honor. Will that satisfy you?”

“Careful, witch.”

“Or what? You’ll sell my soul to the highest bidder?” I scoffed. “Too late. Let’s not forget if it wasn’t for you and your deception, I wouldn’t even be here, nearly freezing to death, or having to worry about bedding your brother and whoever else he invites between our sheets!”

“You chose House Pride.”

“Why are you even still here? I thought you’d leave the second you gained your freedom. Have you not tormented me enough? Or is your duty not completely fulfilled until my marriage is consummated? If that’s what you’re waiting for, I’m sure Pride will invite you into the room to bear witness, ensuring I lay back and take it like a good little queen.”

If hatred could be captured with one look, he’d mastered it. “There are clothes for you in the wardrobe. Wear whatever you like. Do whatever you like. Go wherever you like in this castle. If you decide to leave House Wrath, good luck. I’ll return when Pride sends a summons. Until then, good evening, my lady.”

He stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing into another chamber before a door opened and shut and I heard him thunder down the hall. I blew out a frustrated breath.

That demon stoked my anger like no other.

Miserable beast. How dare he demand truth when he didn’t offer any in return. I waited for my pulse to calm itself. I was thankful for everything he’d done last night. And if he’d given me an opportunity, I would have told him his efforts were appreciated. He didn’t need to rub the arches of my feet. That had nothing to do with frostbite and everything to do with tenderness.

“Goddess curse us both.” I sighed. I hadn’t meant to get so furious or to snap about the cave, but the feelings had been festering. Best to lance that wound and be done with it.

Despite the tense escalation of our argument, my little experiment was a partial success; Wrath could only detect a lie for certain when I spoke. It was a trick to add to my mental journal.

I glanced at the door and considered chasing him to wring his neck or kiss him senseless but shut those urges down. To find out what really happened to Vittoria, I’d have to disentangle myself from him eventually. And I might as well start now. I didn’t know all of the rules and etiquette of the demon realm, but at least I now knew the princes didn’t infringe on one another’s royal domain. Once I left for House Pride, Wrath and I would not see each other again. At least not for a while.

My lady.

What nonsense that was.

My attention settled on the robe and a strange feeling had my heart racing. I didn’t notice while the demon held it across the room, but the flowers embroidered on it matched our tattoos.

The pale lavender ink symbolized a betrothal I’d accidentally forced between us when I’d first summoned him. He knew within moments what I’d done and hadn’t bothered telling me the truth. I’d found out weeks later from Anir, the night we’d stumbled across another murdered witch in an alleyway. Wrath swore he was going to tell me, that he’d been waiting until our trust was built to reveal our impending marriage, but I doubted it.

Everything he did was calculated. Every move, strategic. There were games he was still playing and secret agendas he had that I hadn’t begun to figure out yet. Maybe they related to my sister’s murder, and maybe they didn’t. No matter how tightly he guarded his secrets, one way or another I’d find out what he was truly after. If I’d learned anything about him at all, it was the endless lengths he’d travel to get what he desired.

I looked down at my inked arm. I’d thought the matching tattoos would vanish when I’d cast a spell of un-making to end the betrothal that same night. They didn’t.

Despite the broken magic, they kept growing like seeds that had been planted and tended. Bits of each of us fed the design: his serpents, my flowers, the twin crescent moons within a ring of stars. They were a constant reminder of my inexperience and his lies of omission.

I traced the delicate stems and petals replicated on the robe, the fabric silky and cool. It was so beautiful, the exact thing I’d choose for myself if given enough resources to have such a fine garment made. He knew that. Knew me.

Maybe more than I gave him credit for. And yet, he still remained a mystery to me.

I gathered up the robe, swung myself out of bed, and stood naked before the crackling fire. Hours ago I was near death, my skin burning from ice, not fire. He’d stayed the whole night, cradling me against his body. A body that was not ice-cold as Nonna used to claim in her stories of the Wicked. He could have summoned a royal healer to do the task.

He also could have let me die like Anir suggested. But he didn’t.

I held the fabric to my face, breathed in Wrath’s lingering scent, then tossed it straight into the flames.