Throne of the Fallen

IF YOU GO around biting everyone you fuck here,” Envy said between clenched teeth, “rumors are bound to begin, Alexei. Do you think terrorizing the entire city of Waverly Green is conducive to winning the game?”

“No, Your Highness.”

The blond vampire delicately dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a black neckerchief, removing the last bit of evidence before the human staff at Envy’s newly acquired manor spied the blood. The move was civilized, wildly at odds with the blood dripping down his chin.

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t intend to bite him. I only planned to give him what he’d asked for. A night of passion.”

“All the same, keep your fangs and cock to yourself. If you need a snack or a tumble, leave Hemlock Hall. The last thing we need is for any overwrought human to associate our arrival with vampire attacks. Have I made myself clear?”

His second-in-command inclined his head, wisely keeping his mouth shut.

Envy had returned to his manor house to plan his next approach to Miss Antonius, only to find the vampire in the middle of the main corridor, fangs deep in a femoral artery. His human lover’s trousers were around his ankles, and he was moaning loudly as Alexei alternated between drinking from his leg and stroking his erection.

Vampire venom was intoxicating for humans, enhancing pleasure tenfold and causing most mortals to quickly lose all sense of reason.

The more powerful the vampire, the more potent their venom. And Alexei—once mortal—had been reborn into the vampire kingdom with the frosty blue eyes of royalty. As such his bite was wildly potent. In fact, a mere lick of his tongue or brush of his fingers could drive a lover mad before they even experienced his venom.

It had been a horrid day and Envy was ready to retire alone to his studio, where he could take out his frustration on a fresh canvas.

Instead, he found himself reprimanding his second as if he were a nursemaid punishing a child.

If they’d been in the Seven Circles, this wouldn’t have been an issue. The very realm itself thrived on seduction. Alexei could fuck—and often did—any willing lord, lady, or member of the house.

Even a certain goddess, Alexei’s most recent tryst. Envy had to admit the affair had its uses, no matter how much Envy disliked the female involved.

Alexei retreated to the other side of the room, giving Envy time and space to think. That was one good thing about a vampire: they could remain silent and motionless for hours, almost making you forget they were there.

Envy glanced out the tall window to the thick blanket of fog curling around the limestone manor, brooding along with the abysmal weather. Rain thudded against the glass, growing in intensity with his darkening mood.

Pride and Lust had a point—seducing Camilla seemed the clearest route to success. But if he took Miss Antonius to his bed, she would likely want more, crave it—most mortals who found themselves tangled in his sheets were tainted with his sin. They envied anyone who came before and anyone who’d come after. It was why he’d created his cardinal rule—he would spend only one night, ever, with a lover. Never more. His one-night rule had become legendary, along with the hunger of his lovers.

Often this was part of the fun, but with Camilla, it seemed too complicated to begin. Granted, Envy drew his power from provoking envy in others, and fueling his sin was critical now. He needed to store as much power as he could to win the game.

But he hadn’t allowed a mortal into his bed in decades, not since the last time had gone so very wrong, and felt reluctant to start again.

If a night of passion was Camilla’s price, perhaps he could leave the task to Alexei. It would be less complicated… but surely there was another way.

Envy abruptly flipped open the journal before him, staring down at the lines he’d written, the two clues he’d received over the last month with accompanying notes on how he’d solved them.

The first clue still made his blood boil—a taunt wrapped within a riddle, it had arrived while he’d been visiting House Greed a week after Wrath’s queen had taken the throne, nearly a month ago now.

He didn’t typically gamble in his brother’s House but was feeling petty. When Envy had turned over his cards, he’d realized the game was on. Twelve hunter-green cards, with one lone red card, all blank save for the solid colors.

Envy had been waiting decades and had almost given up hope of the game ever starting. Pulse speeding, his attention had shot to the clock, noting the hour that was almost upon them.

Midnight.

Hunter green. House Envy.

Red: a bull’s-eye target, he’d guessed.

Without delay, he’d rushed home to his throne room, arriving right before midnight. And there it had really begun, as his throne burst into flames on one side.

Just as in the painting he now needed Camilla to create.

It took two weeks to track the correct artist down based on the clue. Then he’d spent nearly two more weeks setting up his base in Waverly Green. He wanted to move on to the next clue quickly.

Previous games had anywhere from four to six clues, although none of those games had stakes anywhere close to the ones he faced now. But that meant Envy could be halfway through already, as long as Camilla agreed to paint the gods-damned throne.

He glanced down at the clues again.

12 green, 1 red = midnight, House Envy, target/next clue

The Hexed Throne

Same Lie Lilac. Anagram

Anagram solved: Camilla Elise

A raven landed outside the window, its beady ebony eyes fixed on him before it shot into the storm drenched sky. It could be a simple bird, or a spy. He did not need a reminder that he wasn’t the only player in this game, though he knew each player would have different clues leading to the prize.

That Fae bastard Lennox often chose those he’d wronged at some point to play his games, allowing them a chance to win back whatever he’d taken. The clues, the prize, everything would be tailored to the individual, though clues often overlapped. For example, if another player was in Waverly Green, they might need Camilla to paint them something as well.

Envy slammed the journal shut.

He was in the right place. Now he just needed to convince Camilla to help. He cleared his mind of all but his surroundings, needing to let a new strategy form on its own.

Hemlock Hall was a sprawling manor house located at the top of a rather large hill that overlooked the twinkling city below. In that respect it reminded Envy of his own House of Sin. But that was where the similarities ended.

This study was all dark wood and leather-bound books, with an oversized desk and comfortable high-backed chairs. No vibrant art, no elegant sculptures. Only bland mortal maps, inaccurate and odious in their design.

A slight odor of cigar smoke lingered in the damp air, seeping into the wood after years of indulgence, a hint of the previous owner’s favorite vices, of which it seemed he’d had many. In fact, the lord had recently had to abandon Hemlock Hall altogether after falling on hard times, and had struggled to secure a buyer due to rumors that his lands were cursed. It was the sort of terrible news Envy had been all too happy to hear.

And perhaps those rumors might have been planted by Envy himself in the weeks leading up to his grand offer.

Not that money was a concern for Envy. But the crumbling estate had held so much potential, and he knew the rumors only added to his mystery, ensuring that locals would accept any invitation to come tour the property.

And personal distaste aside, there was no better way for the Prince of Envy to enter mortal society than by hosting a masquerade ball, the likes of which he was certain they’d never seen before.

Envy reached across his desk to pull a bottle of dark whiskey closer, uncorking it and splashing a little into a cut-crystal glass. He swirled it slowly as he considered the game again.

A Fae overlord never went out of his way, and knowing Lennox, Envy suspected the other players would also be drawn to Waverly Green after their first clues. A masquerade might give Envy a chance to discover who the players were, and how many. And if they were all charged to commission Camilla, then Envy needed to be ahead of the pack.

He already had his spies watching her gallery day and night, but he needed to consider other ways he could keep her close.

He finally glanced at Alexei. “Have there been any updates on Camilla’s vices? Any temptations we can exploit?”

“No, Your Highness.”

A knock sounded at the freshly polished mahogany door, interrupting them.

“Enter,” he commanded.

Goodfellow, his butler, swept into the room, bowing politely at the waist. “My lord.”

It was sad, really, how easily mortals believed lies. Money, fine clothing, arrogance—with only Envy’s word, his solicitor’s backing, and Alexei’s agreement, it was far too easy to create a story for the humans here. Envy was a lord who hailed from the southern region of Ironwood Kingdom; his arrival heralded his family’s desire to expand their territory and wealth through marriage.

“Did you need something, Goodfellow?”

Goodfellow shot a nervous look toward the vampire.

“Alexei,” Envy said, “tend to that matter.”

His second inclined his head, then left.

To Envy’s knowledge, humans in this realm didn’t necessarily believe in vampires but could certainly sense they were prey when near one.

Fear heightened mortal senses, bringing them closer to the animal world before they reasoned their natural survival instincts away as silly.

Whether due to hubris or ego, man was the only creature who often ignored what no other prey did: trust your instincts or suffer the consequences.

“Yes?” Envy asked, drawing Goodfellow’s attention away from the vampire as he exited.

“Invitations have all been sent, my lord. No noble family in Waverly Green will want to miss it. Cook has been—”

“Did you send one to Miss Antonius?”

“The artist?” Goodfellow asked.

Envy offered a slight nod.

“Not yet, my lord. But I suppose she’s become a society darling despite her rather tragic past, so I’ll add her to the list. As I was saying, Cook has—”

“Explain.”

“Er, about Cook or…” Goodfellow trailed off at Envy’s hard look. “Oh, Miss Antonius. Her mother left right before she debuted, poor thing. Made things proper difficult for the young miss with all those nasty rumors. No mamma wanted their son to court her. She’s as good as a spinster now, though the ton love her gallery, which has kept her current, I suppose.”

Envy considered that a moment. Camilla’s mother was gone, she had no marriage prospects… so why had she so thoroughly dismissed him? Envy had made it clear he was titled, and he was obviously handsome. Camilla should have at least attempted to flirt. Unless she’d been waiting for him to do so…

Why was Lust’s gods-damned scheme always the correct path to take? Maybe Envy should attempt to seduce her next. It was worth trying.

Goodfellow took Envy’s quiet pondering as an invitation to continue his report.

“Cook has been given the market requirements, and I’ve sent the footman out to secure the masks you requested. The gardener has also been instructed on the floral arrangements. Ballroom renovations are underway and should conclude at least two days prior, allowing time for any adjustments Your Lordship might desire.”

“What about the blackberries and brown sugar?”

“Taken care of, my lord. Along with the finest bourbon in Waverly Green.”

Envy nodded. “Progress on the gallery in the north wing?”

“The portraits have all been unveiled and the sculptures are being cleaned now.”

“I trust the hedge maze is also under control.”

“Of course. The groundskeeper has the images you rendered and is tending to it.”

A bit of the tension Envy had been feeling since Camilla’s refusal released. At least something was going his way tonight.

Goodfellow cleared his throat, and Envy fought a sigh.

“Was there something else?”

With a bit more theatrics than was entirely needed, Goodfellow produced an envelope. Crisp, decent ivory stock. Bland and uninspired.

“An invitation has arrived, my lord. From Gretna House.”

Envy stared blankly at the butler.

“Pardon me, my lord. Gretna House is Lord Philip Vexley’s home. He’s a favorite of society, though a bit notorious, if I may speak freely.”

For all his pomp, Goodfellow was also a horrible gossip, only too happy to help Envy learn the ins and outs of Waverly Green.

“What makes him notorious?” Envy sipped at his whiskey, curious.

Goodfellow’s ruddy face flushed a brighter crimson, signaling that licentiousness must be involved.

“It’s rumored he hosts… er, debauched parties, for a select circle of friends, my lord.”

Envy schooled his features. How predictable, and so very human, he thought.

He might as well have some fun and watch Goodfellow flounder.

“Do guests engage in lewd behavior?”

Goodfellow drew in a sharp breath, then nodded. His eyes sparkled with the need to share this delightful scandal.

“And?” Envy encouraged.

“Oh, well, I’ve heard that some guests sneak off to the gardens to”—he glanced around as if to make sure no one else had snuck up on them—“kiss.”

“Kiss.” Envy mentally counted until the urge to stab himself—repeatedly—passed. “Does anyone actually witness this… lewd behavior?”

“Well, I imagine so. Though I haven’t heard any specifics.”

Envy must not have hidden his annoyance as well as he’d thought; Goodfellow quickly continued.

“That’s not saying anything of the art he’s collected. Most of it isn’t fit for polite company. Not that Lord Vexley concerns himself with that. He’s rumored to have an entire private collection of virile-member-shaped implements. He keeps those hidden, else the ladies would faint at dinner. Society looks the other way with Vexley up until a point.”

“That point being virile-member-shaped art,” Envy deadpanned.

“Indeed, my lord. This one is unsubstantiated, but there’s another rumor, that he hosts… demonstrations… once the gentlewomen retire after dinner.”

Goodfellow would have an embolism if he ever visited House Lust.

Demons playing with virile-member-shaped implements was the daily standard there.

However, at the mention of art, Envy’s interest was finally piqued.

“This Vexley is an avid art collector, is he?” Envy asked. Goodfellow nodded. “Is his collection as large as the one here?”

Goodfellow opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, reconsidering.

“I personally haven’t seen it, my lord, so I can’t speak with any authority on that. But I have heard he visits Silverthorne Lane. And you know what they say about the dark market.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Well, my lord, almost everyone in the Green believes the dealers aren’t exactly… human.”

Envy’s brows rose a fraction. He hadn’t heard this. But his spies would certainly hear from him about missing this detail.

“And what, pray tell, are they instead?”

“They say the dealers there are exiled Fae. Mind you, most who enter are also deep in their cups. Personally, I don’t believe in such fairy tales.”

Envy stilled. This was very interesting news indeed.

“You’re certain this notorious lord visits these… Fae?”

“Aye. His footman told me himself, my lord. Once per week, like clockwork.”

“Accept his invitation,” Envy said, dismissing the butler with a crisp nod. Maybe he’d found another player after all.

If Goodfellow disapproved of his master’s decision, he wisely didn’t let it show.

Envy wanted to get a feel for this rake who dealt with Fae, see if his theory was correct.

Goodfellow left to do Envy’s bidding.

If there was one truth that ought to be universally accepted, it was this: when sin was involved, no gentleman in this realm or any other could ever hope to compete with a demon.

Most especially a Prince of Hell.