Throne of the Fallen

HEMLOCK HALL WAS no House of Envy, but the prince of that circle was pleased enough with the restoration. And the turnout. Regardless of the ache growing in the pit of his stomach, or the way his attention kept turning to the clock. Much would be decided by the end of the night. He’d either be one step closer to victory, or he’d damn his people forever.

The fate of Envy’s court depended on one stubborn mortal.

The irony was poetic, he supposed. Lennox had had decades to plan this game, and had probably chosen Camilla because of that very trait, knowing she’d not make it easy for any of them.

Still, Envy hadn’t expected to come this close to losing so soon.

He focused on his breathing, on the role he needed to play of enigmatic lord. Inside, he churned like a violent sea. He wanted to pace the upper balcony, strum his fingers along the banister, release some of his pent-up energy.

Maybe he just needed to find a willing partner and fuck his way to serenity. Or better, restore some power by stoking someone’s envy.

That shouldn’t be too hard. He looked out at the first guests, arriving with great excitement at his glittering estate. He’d restored the circular drive, adding a fountain that boasted a statue of a winged beast, the water colored a sparkling pale green.

Every chamber, every inch of the grounds, had been designed to dazzle and to provoke his sin.

Nearly everyone in Waverly Green’s mortal high society had accepted his invitation, well over a hundred nobles drawn to the manor house and its mysterious allure, if only to boast about it later. Envy had also made sure to withhold certain invitations. There was nothing to be envied about an event that everyone could attend.

He watched as a dozen or so couples swarmed into the ballroom, dressed in gowns and suits of the finest materials, their masks gleaming in the candlelight. Women circled the room, talking excitedly, while the men swiped drinks from passing trays.

Envy moved along the balcony overlooking the grand hall, listening in. Even wearing deep gold masks, he recognized the Lords Walters and Harrington from Vexley’s party, and the man—Lord Garrey—who’d snuck off with Widow Janelle.

Lord Garrey was interesting. Apparently, he’d had a string of bad luck over the last few years, despite his family’s impeccable standing. His youngest sister and then a woman he’d courted had gone missing, never to be seen again. Envy’s spies had also uncovered his connection to Lord Edwards, a boyhood friend. Lord Garrey, too, had been seen frequenting Silverthorne Lane.

Knowing all this, Envy suspected that Lord Garrey was another player. Fae liked to take mortal women, lure them into Faerie. It would be something worth playing for—a chance to win one back.

Envy’s hunch grew as the man excused himself to slowly wander around the edge of the ballroom, his attention sliding over each painting and sculpture. Envy had purposefully included art depicting Unseelie. He’d wanted to see who would notice. And like clockwork, that was where Lord Garrey paused now. The Wild Court.

Envy signaled to Alexei, who’d been waiting on the main floor, indicating that he should watch the mortal in question. His second nodded, then disappeared into the shadows.

Envy returned his attention to Walters and Harrington. Two buffoons, from what he’d observed, not likely players, unless Lennox was simply toying with Envy.

Whispers from that group of lords reached his ears, their voices tinged with jealousy. Apparently, Envy’s invitations had done what he’d hoped they would. He’d stamped them with a two-headed wolf, the symbol of his House of Sin. And they had been printed on the finest card stock, the green so deep it was almost black, with silver ink that glimmered.

Gifts had also been sent, each tailored to the guests. Brandy, cigars, rare books—Envy’s spies had been gathering careful intelligence for him. He’d made it nearly impossible for those invited to refuse. Harrington and Walters practically seethed from the audacity, the insult of the packaging being so wretchedly, wonderfully unique.

Camilla’s gift, however, had been different. Envy had shopped for everything himself. And he’d given her far more than a simple party favor. Camilla might not be royalty, but he’d wanted to see her look like a princess tonight, unmatched in dignity, in grace. In part because her beauty called for it, and in part to show Vexley he’d never stood a chance.

Sparks of envy already flitted through the ballroom air, feeding his sin, and magnified by the seductive oils he’d placed throughout to stoke every human sense. Vanilla, ginger, jasmine, musk—each scent evoked a different feeling, promised a new delight.

Knowing he had to store up as much power as possible for the game, Envy had played into the darkness of sin through his chosen décor, too. Dark wooden tables and chairs, a black crystal chandelier. Sconces and candelabras made of iron, fitted with ebony beeswax tapers.

Below him, the ballroom floor gleamed like a meadow at night, the blackish-green marble buffed to clearly reflect the masked faces of the dancers gliding across it.

At his nod, his hired quartet began to play, and gowns in every hue unfurled like flower petals as they twirled across the large expanse of floor, each reflecting its own beautiful midnight blossom within the marble.

Envy’s vision had come together exquisitely.

The mortals sensed the true grandeur, sipping their drinks, talking in little groups, growing bolder as the night grew later because of the masks they wore. Envy had guessed they’d allow themselves to indulge in sin a bit more if they had a sense of anonymity.

Although, thus far, the most scandalous thing he’d witnessed was men stealing more dances than society normally permitted.

He wondered what Camilla would be like, whether her mask would make her bold. Envy waited for a splash of silver to cut through the rainbow of colors swirling below, thinking of her desire in the tunnel several nights before. It had been so intense, so heady, it had nearly made Envy lose sight of his goal.

Envy pictured her silver hair, then thought about winding it slowly around his fist, angling her face up to his. Would she fight such a leash, or welcome it? In either case, he’d cover her mouth with his until she forgot her anger, forgot she’d ever wished to deny him what he wanted most. He could imagine her moans as he pushed his tongue into her mouth, possessing her as she’d wanted, up against that wall.

He’d been tempted by her then and was frustrated to realize he still was. Maybe Envy needed to get her into his bed, bargain aside, so she could remove herself from his head shortly after.

One night and then he’d finally be satisfied.

“Careful, brother.”

Lust sidled up beside him, a tumbler of Dark and Sinful dangling from his fingertips.

“Some might confuse that expression for longing.”

Envy remembered the role he needed to play. He was a Prince of Hell, debauched, insolent. Looking for the sort of fun to inspire his sin.

He wasn’t a desperate male on the verge of losing everything.

“They would be correct,” Envy said. “I long for the next clue.”

Lust snorted.

“Stubborn prick.”

“You sound like Pride now. Perhaps you ought to do as Sloth has suggested—branch out and be more creative.”

“Since you are so unbothered, I’ll happily bend Camilla over and shove my cock deep—”

Lust made a garbled sound.

Envy had exploded before he could think through his actions. Still, he squeezed his brother’s throat tighter, his expression void of humor.

“Don’t.”

“Why? It’s lust, not love. No need to act like our love-drunk big brother. Unless, of course, this game is different from the others.” Lust’s gaze sharpened; he’d been purposefully provoking Envy. “There isn’t anything you’d like to confess, is there?”

A loud roaring sounded in Envy’s head. Lust hid his cunning behind his jovial persona, but his instincts were nearly unmatched by any of their other brothers.

“Until she’s mine,” Envy said smoothly, “you know how I feel about sharing.”

It was normally true. Everyone knew how territorial he could be.

“Good. For a moment it looked like you were thinking of tearing my throat out.”

Lust flashed him a wolfish grin before his gaze darted behind Envy.

Envy dropped his hand and flexed it, poised to strike again.

His brother tossed an arm around his shoulders, turning him to face the dance floor.

“If you won’t take the artist to bed, someone else will.”

There she was—a shimmering blade cutting through the darkness. His princess of starlight, if only for one evening. The woman who held him and his court in her burning, deadly grasp.

“Gods fucking damn,” Lust muttered beside him, whistling softly. “That woman.”

Envy barely noticed Lady Katherine and Lord Edwards standing beside her, mere shadows in masks of blue and gray. Between them, Camilla held her head high, her otherworldly hair pulled back from her mask, curled and cascading down her bare shoulders.

His attention slid over her collarbones, admiring the dip in the gown that hinted at her curves but didn’t reveal much. It was meant to tease, to seduce, and Miss Camilla Antonius was enchanting the whole room. At Vexley’s party she’d been shy, wanting to fade into the shadows, escape notice.

With her shining silver mask, she owned every ounce of attention that came her way now. She was a star, and she refused to dull her light for any mere mortal.

Which was fitting, since she wasn’t meant for a mortal man tonight.

She was meant for Envy.

And after she agreed to paint the Hexed Throne, because he had to believe she would, he was going to enjoy every second of their time together. Worshipping her body until the sunlight streamed in through the windows and their night of passion ended.

Envy was ready to make his own grand entrance when he saw something that made his sin ignite.

Vexley had arrived as well and was already whisking Camilla onto the dance floor. His hand had settled far too low on her hip for Envy’s liking.

Jealousy, ice-cold and ancient, frosted the railing where Envy stood.

Mortals peering over the next balcony shrieked as ice shot across their banister next.

Gods damn it. Envy used a tiny bit of magic to glamour the mortals’ memories, making them forget the oddity they’d just experienced. Once they’d settled, he flashed his brother a warning look.

“Don’t start.”

Before Lust could needle him about his temper again, Envy was already descending the stairs.

Masked lords and ladies attempted to catch his attention, stepping into his path, clearing their throats. Envy carved through them like a dagger, aiming for the mortal who had a certain wish to die. Vexley’s garish gold mask was about as subtle as his hands sliding lower on Miss Antonius’s form. If they dipped any farther, Envy would chop them off.

Envy ignored gasps as he strode with purpose onto the dance floor. He didn’t speak, didn’t deign to ask to cut in. Vexley ought to thank his God that Envy didn’t shove his blade through his heart right there. Or perhaps he’d stab the idiot’s cock first, show him how it felt when someone took something that wasn’t theirs.

Instead, Envy’s arm slipped easily around Camilla, and he expertly drew her into a waltz without missing a beat. She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, her gaze fixed to his mask. Vexley fumed, but the dance had soon left him far behind.

They circled other couples, but Envy paid them no mind. Camilla was a goddess to be worshipped, and tonight she was his.

He watched as she nibbled her lower lip, the action igniting an ember of heat low in his abdomen.

“Something you wish to say, Miss Antonius?” he asked, bringing his mouth to her ear.

He’d meant to tempt her, but that coiled warmth dropped lower, his body suddenly aware of each place they pressed together.

A shiver rolled down her spine—Envy knew, because he felt it beneath his light touch. Her skin pebbled from excitement. He drew her closer, not demanding or forceful, but steady. An edge shy of possessive.

Camilla didn’t back away. Instead, she leaned in, as if matching his move. Daring him to up the ante. His hand gently stroked along her back, her sharp intake of breath hardly noticeable as they whirled.

“Camilla?” he prompted, his breath stirring the delicate silver curls near her neck.

“People will talk about what you just did, my lord.”

Amusement laced his tone.

“And what would they say?” He guided her around again, moving faster, keeping pace with the music. “That I stole a dance? That I prevented a drunken ass from making a spectacle? Or that I could not care less what anyone thinks?”

She was quiet a moment.

“The paintbrush was lovely. But bribery is always tempting, isn’t it?”

He smiled. “Consider it merely a simple gift.”

“With all due respect, my lord, I’d wager nothing with you is simple.”

His chuckle was deep and delighted. Miss Antonius was a formidable opponent. He might actually miss sparring with her when all this was through.

Envy maneuvered them to a shadowy section off to the side, affording them a moment of privacy.

“If I wished to coerce you, Miss Antonius, I can think of much more interesting ways to do so.”

Camilla’s gaze dropped to his mouth, lingering there a beat too long before she jerked it back up, quickly glancing away. A pretty blush stained her cheeks.

Interesting.

He considered tilting her chin up, tracing those full lips with his, kissing her right there. He wondered if she’d be scandalized by his behavior, or if the mask would make her daring.

A throat delicately cleared behind them, breaking the moment. Envy didn’t immediately step away or drop his arms from Camilla. He shot an annoyed look over his shoulder.

“Yes?” he asked, tone clipped.

The brunette held up her dance card. “This dance belongs to me, my lord.”

Envy blinked, realizing that the music had stopped, that a new song was beginning. He was about to dismiss the woman, who he suspected was Widow Janelle behind the white feathered mask, when Camilla stepped back, dipping her chin in a slight nod, then swiftly moved across the dance floor, heading straight for the refreshment table.

Envy stared after her a beat. He’d been so close to… what? Getting her to say yes, or gaining her trust? Maybe he simply wanted to kiss her in that moment, make Vexley and anyone else watching mad with envy.

The brunette shifted back into view, her gaze behind her feathered mask drinking him in.

“My lord?”

Envy pasted on a pleasant smile. Society games were already interfering, and he hadn’t even had the pleasure of bedding a lover for his trouble.

He shot one last look in Camilla’s direction, his sin igniting when he saw his pleasure-seeking brother sidle up to her, a fresh drink clutched in his hand.

Lust lifted his glass in Envy’s direction, a smile curling his lips. Gods-damned prick.

Envy could imagine too clearly what Lust would say, how he’d probably attempt to use his sin on Camilla again. Jealousy seared through him as he gathered the masked woman up in his arms, purposefully dancing her closer to where Camilla stood.

He wanted to keep an eye on Lust to ensure that his brother didn’t screw his best chance at saving his court. And perhaps he wanted to see how Camilla reacted to his dancing with another. He swore there had been something there, brief though it might have been.

And if Camilla had considered kissing him, perhaps she was also considering accepting his bargain.

Something like hope kindled in his chest. Tonight might prove to be worthwhile after all.