Throne of the Fallen

PERHAPS IT WAS a bit wicked, but Camilla was having entirely too much fun torturing the prince lying stiffly beneath her.

He deserved to be toyed with after his lies and trickery. And especially after that stunt to make her jealous. It took her a few moments to realize what he’d been up to; she’d been thoroughly focused on trying and failing not to envy his previous lovers.

Once she pieced together his little game, she was irritated with herself for playing into it. He’d had entirely too much fun, stoking her envy, trying to whisper things to shock and tantalize, to build anticipation and need.

Camilla had been shocked, all right, shocked by how damp the area between her thighs had become at the mere thought of his rakish orders.

So when she had felt the testing tingle of lust, she’d decided to make the most of it. If Envy wanted a show, she’d give him one.

The sin’s influence had long since receded, something she was surprised Envy hadn’t even considered.

Although, feeling his full response to her, she’d almost forgotten this was supposed to be a cheeky repayment. His thick length was pressing against her, so hard and tempting it was difficult to remember where the boundaries of her playacting fell.

If there were any left at all.

She wondered how far they both might go, pretending neither was aware that the Sin Corridor wasn’t responsible for their actions.

Another wicked game.

Her hands drifted back up along her sides, teasing the undersides of her breasts before circling the tight buds at their centers. Her bodice felt tight, constricting, and she could feel her flesh pushing against her neckline, threatening to spill over with her heaving breath.

She lifted herself up, then slowly moved down his body, getting lost in the sensation, the sheer power of him coiled tightly beneath her.

All that raw masculinity, all that animal grace, practically vibrating with barely leashed desire.

This might have started as a game, but she wasn’t pretending to be aroused.

A strangled sound jerked her attention back to the prince, and she glanced down to see Envy’s gaze locked on her, a tortured expression on his face.

He grasped her hips, strong fingers splayed around them, like he couldn’t decide if he should help grind her against him or lift her off completely.

Camilla boldly looked him over, pleased he was still so… affected by her show.

“Camilla.”

Her lips curved. His voice was low and slightly hoarse.

She imagined there weren’t too many people who’d ever turned the Prince of Envy’s own game against him.

“Would you like to know what I was just recalling, Your Highness?” she asked, circling her hips again, writhing up along that glorious length.

“No.”

Liar, she thought.

“The night at Vexley’s, when we fell off the mattress and landed, like this? For a moment, I had wondered what you’d do if I leaned down.” She did so now, her lips hovering so close to his she felt his sharp intake of breath. “I wanted to see if you tasted as sinful as I hoped.”

His throat bobbed and she lightly traced the outline of his mouth with her tongue. It was the shape of fantasies—full and seductive and made for kissing.

“Should I have? Tasted you that night,” she whispered, bringing her mouth to his ear, noticing the trail of goose bumps rising along his flesh.

She didn’t think he was breathing anymore. He looked pained.

Tension wound between them, so taut she wanted to pluck it like a string.

“I want you to answer two questions truthfully, Your Highness. Will you do that? For me?”

His gaze fixed to her face, scanned her eyes, then fell to her lips. His nod was a slight incline of his head, barely noticeable.

“Did you like the way I tasted?” she asked silkily.

He cursed, his grip on her hips tightening, his self-control slipping.

“Yes,” he gritted out.

“Do you think about it?”

She sank into him, hitting a spot that made them both suck in their breath. Camilla realized she needed to be careful. Her body throbbed against his.

Envy hadn’t answered her question. She leaned down, nipping at his lip.

“You promised to answer.”

“Yes. I fucking think about it.” He gave a tortured laugh. “Constantly.”

“Thank you for your honesty.” Abruptly, she pushed herself up, slinging her leg back over to settle peacefully on the bed next to him again. She gave him a victorious smile as she tidied her cloak around her, readying for sleep. “May your dreams be as wondrously sinful as your tongue, Your Highness.”

Envy’s teeth ground together, his jaw tight enough to cut stone.

Camilla thrilled, just a little, as she added, “And in the spirit of honesty, you should know, I might think about it too.”

Morning arrived with another mighty storm.

As Camilla stretched and rose, she felt tired but ready to see what more this realm would bring her.

The prince didn’t offer much in the way of conversation as he donned his cloak and broke through the fresh frost on the cabin’s door. He seemed to be wound more tightly than usual. Whether it was because of their little temptation game the night before, or because his mind was on his true game, she couldn’t tell.

They trudged through the endless snow, the landscape losing some of its appeal the colder and wetter and hungrier she got. After a few hours of endless walking, he finally paused.

“All right. We’ve gone far enough to satisfy the Corridor.” He held out his hand. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, and without uttering another word, he magicked them away. Camilla felt the power of the air whooshing around them and opened her eyes to find an enormous stone castle ahead, nestled at the top of an impressively jagged mountain.

She spun in a circle, drinking in the castle, the mountains—bruised smudges of navy and white stretching far into the distance—and the mist that had descended like a funeral shroud.

Unless Envy had changed his mind about their plan, they were on the front lawn of House Sloth.

Envy strode up the wide stone stairs powdered with fresh snow, heading straight for the arched double doors at the top, tucked into an alcove flanked by two grand columns.

Camilla, too, trudged up until, unable to help herself, she stopped before the first column, admiring the intricate flora and fauna carved into what appeared to be limestone—or whatever the demon equivalent was. Whoever had done the work was exceptional: there was not a single chisel mark, no sign at all that the stone hadn’t sprung forth already carved.

She peered closer. The scene depicted was whimsical yet dark: flowers shifting to become weapons and animals seemly engaged in battle.

Camilla understood. Nature was a violent mistress, her beauty a mask to hide her cruelty.

Camilla slowly circled the column, pausing on the most fascinating scene yet. A scorpion, vulture, and ibis, all dancing around a sphere. More animals and geometric shapes were spread throughout, but this grouping seemed different.

She laid her hand on the cold stone in reverence, wondering if magic had been involved in its creation.

Envy paused, glancing over his shoulder, his expression inscrutable.

“Stay there, Miss Antonius. No matter what.”

The fine hair along her arms stood on end and she instantly became more alert.

He hadn’t asked her to wait, there was steel in his command.

Now the carvings didn’t seem so much enchanting as ominous.

“Is this not your brother’s estate?”

Envy’s hand flexed toward his right side, to the place where she knew he hid his dagger.

“In this realm it’s considered an act of war if a prince shows up in another’s circle uninvited.”

“Yet you continue to waltz in, brother.”

Before he could turn back around, the point of a blade erupted from Envy’s chest.

It happened so fast Camilla’s scream was ripped from her throat at the exact moment the blade was yanked back out of the prince.

Envy dropped to his knees, his expression one of cold fury as gold blood spurted from the wound, splattering brutally across the snowy steps.

“Touch her”—his voice was laced with malice, even as it faded to a mere whisper—“and I’ll annihilate you all.”

Even bleeding as horrendously as he was, Camilla felt the promise in his words.

Keeping one eye on his attacker, Camilla rushed to the fallen prince’s side, but as she dropped before him, Envy vanished.

She frantically patted the ground where’d he’d been—had he been cloaked by some invisible force? But he was truly gone. Only a small pool of blood remained carved into the snow, its color a harsh reminder that he was Other.

She glanced up at Envy’s killer, taking stock of what she might use to defend herself, quieting the voice that said she’d never stand a chance against him. She’d have to try.

His hair was a unique shade caught between silver and gold, his eyes the palest shade of blue she’d ever seen. They were like two diamonds gazing back at her, hard and cold. Utterly without emotion.

The demon was studying her closely too.

After an uncomfortably long stretch of silence, he slowly returned his dagger to its sheath. He’d said Envy was his brother, so…

“You must be the Prince of Sloth.”

He gave an insolent half bow, then said smugly, “He had that coming for a good century.”

“You murdered him.” Camilla couldn’t believe how cavalier the man was!

Amusement warmed those icy eyes a fraction.

“I assure you, he’s only been sent back to his circle. He will probably return by nightfall, fully healed, but this time he’ll have the decency to send a missive first. Come. Miss Antonius, was it?”

Camilla nodded, weighing whether she should believe him, but Sloth turned, giving her his back.

In his mind Camilla clearly posed no threat. She supposed she could use that to her advantage, if needed.

“Welcome to House Sloth.”