Throne of the Fallen

A RUSTLE OF FABRIC from the other side of Camilla’s door stopped Envy from chasing her.

Wonderful. Just what he needed to complete his night. She was disrobing and now his mind was envisioning the slow, seductive removal of each garment instead of focusing on methodically uncovering her secret layer by layer.

Even through a thick wooden door she knew the best moves to use on him, knew how to get his mind focused on her, teasing and distracting.

The same way you tease and distract her.

Camilla had not only figured out his game, she was playing it better than he was.

He strode into the sitting room between their two suites and made himself a Dark and Sinful. Double. Minimal ice. Fuck the berries.

He drank it down, barely tasting the liquor he usually savored.

He poured another glass, then went to his private bedroom and dropped onto an overstuffed leather chair. Each sofa, settee, chair, and chaise in House Sloth was made to entice one to lounge, to curl up and lose oneself.

Envy was losing himself, all right, to annoyance, irritation, and a glorious woman with more secrets and puzzles than he had. Two more drinks in, part of him could admit he liked her refusal to show her hand. Camilla made him work hard for each kernel of information, giving him just enough to crave more without ever fully satisfying his curiosity.

She remained a riddle. A vexing, beautiful riddle begging to be solved. He just didn’t have as much time as he’d like to puzzle out the mystery of her.

Envy kicked his feet up onto the arm of the chair, attention straying to the clock on the mantel. Midnight. And restless.

He was frustrated. With the gossip spreading through the Seven Circles, with the twisted game, with each second that passed and his court grew more weakened.

He wanted to unfold his wings and catapult into the sky, leaving this hell behind. And that needled him too. The fact that he couldn’t. That he’d need to win to do so ever again.

Envy had to reserve as much power as he could. One thing the columnist had gotten correct: part of his circle was warded against anyone coming or going without his permission. And it took most of his magic to maintain that lock, leaving him weaker than he’d like to be.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the chair, emptying his mind.

Then he thought of Sloth’s attempt to stoke his sin and bolted out of his chair, pacing the bedchamber like a caged wolf.

The reporter had said two players were in the Seven Circles.

One heading toward Bloodwood Forest. Perhaps he would get lucky and find a player; then he’d have one less worry to taunt him. Sleep wasn’t going to be happening, so he headed for his door, set on hunting down his competition.

He wrenched his bedroom door open, then halted.

There, sprawled on her stomach across the chaise in their common room, half dressed in shadows, wearing nothing but her soft-looking short stays and reading a book, was Camilla.

Check fucking mate.

Camilla had upended his game board with this move. He had to grudgingly admire it.

She’d lit and arranged several candles to strategically cast shadows along her body, composing the artistic scene with impressive precision, positioning herself in a way that gave her the appearance of being fully dressed, allowing a glimmer of the truth to flicker into focus whenever she moved.

Which she did now, legs bent above her and crossed at the ankles, slowly swinging back and forth like she hadn’t a care in the universe. She flipped the page of the book propped in front of her, completely undisturbed by Envy’s presence.

Corked bottles of oil sat on a tray on the low table next to her, the robe Sloth had sent for her folded neatly on the carpet near her feet.

Their conversation and his taunting words from earlier drifted back to him.

Take off your clothes, put on the robe. I’ll rub your back down with oils.

A smile ghosted across his lips. Clever, clever woman. Camilla was tempting Envy to massage her. She knew he wanted to see her bare flesh, to see whether any mark or spell or enchantment had been inked onto her skin.

And likely, she was thinking of his rule—by his own decree, they’d only ever have one night to make love.

And she lay there, almost entirely undressed, daring him to make his move.

Envy didn’t bother to stop his attention from following the artful lines of her body—from her shapely thighs and calves to the generous curve of her bottom—as she turned another page. Upon closer inspection, he saw that she’d removed her underwear but kept her thigh-high, lace-edged stockings on.

He admired the sight of her like he’d do with any great work of art. Camilla was the painting, the sculpture, the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen. Silver hair, golden skin, all draped in a tantalizingly dark mystery.

From where he stood in his doorway, he didn’t notice any immediate signs of ink. Though he wondered why she’d kept her stays and stockings on, whether it was a ploy to get him to undress her the rest of the way, torture him, or a means to hide the information he was seeking.

The ivory stays hit just above her ribs and dipped low enough to show the tops of her breasts. From the little he could see, they laced up the front, not pulled tight enough to restrict, but allowing her golden flesh to spill out the top.

Two tempting bows tied each strap, making for ease of removal.

She wanted to play. And he was always game.

Envy leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. “I didn’t know you enjoyed reading.”

“I suppose it’s one more secret I’m keeping, Your Highness.”

Camilla didn’t bother to glance up, his second clue that she was toying with him.

Even knowing that he was playing into her scheme, Envy couldn’t stop himself from striding over. He knelt down, gently pressing the book back to read the cover.

“Of course.” He scoffed. “You’re looking for a Prince Charming.”

“Just because I occasionally enjoy romance novels doesn’t mean I’m looking for a prince. I find most royals to be tiresome, arrogant bores who don’t know the first thing about being charming.”

She gave him a pointed look, then tugged her book back and continued reading.

Arrogant, most certainly guilty as charged. But tiresome or boring…

Envy plucked up the bottle of oil, uncorked the stopper, and inhaled. Vanilla and bourbon. Sweet and sinful, just like their little game.

He contemplated his next move. Going to Bloodwood Forest wasn’t the most practical use of his time. The likelihood of finding another player wasn’t high, especially since they’d been seen heading there last night. If they had entered the forest, they’d be long gone by now.

He could waste time and energy he didn’t have running down that old lead. Or he could play this little game with Camilla, hopefully solving the riddle of her, and maybe even stoking her jealousy before the night was over—thus refueling his power.

If she had a magical tattoo inked onto her skin, he’d know she was Fae. If she didn’t, his theory of her being some kind of shape-shifter would be proven likely.

He stood and drizzled the oil over her back without warning, enjoying her slight hiss as the cool liquid dribbled across her skin.

Envy didn’t stop at her back. She was offering him an unobstructed view of her body, and he was going to tend to every inch of her, searching for answers to the questions he had.

Hopefully he’d succeed in solving one mystery tonight.

He poured a light line of massage oil over the round curve of her bottom, then set the oil aside. He slowly rolled down one stocking at a time, pulling them off to expose her bare flesh. He wound the stockings around his fist, considering tying her to the chaise with them, but tossed them aside. He wanted Camilla freely squirming tonight.

Envy grabbed the oil again and continued drizzling it down the backs of her thighs and all the way to the soles of her feet.

“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless.

Camilla was excited by the unexpected path he’d laid out.

“Showing you why Prince Charming isn’t what you truly desire.”

Envy gently gathered her loose hair, then swept it aside, giving himself access to her neck and shoulders. He rubbed the backs of his knuckles against the line of her stays, slipping a finger under the strap, tugging it gently.

“Is there a reason you left this on, Miss Antonius?”

She shot him a look over her shoulder, part irritation, part anticipation.

“If you wish to see me fully nude, Your Highness, I’m afraid you’ll need to dirty your hands.”

He smiled faintly at that.

“You ought to know one thing about me, Camilla darling.”

He reached around, gently pulling one side of the bow on her shoulder straps. He moved to the other side, unwrapping the next ribbon. Then he loosened the ties along the front, freeing her breasts as he removed the garment and tossed it aside.

“I like being filthy.”

Her breathing sped up, her arousal hitting him hard.

“I’d wager the mere thought of how dirty I can be arouses you.”

He took the book and set it aside, then guided her back down, pressing her firmly onto the chaise so he could stroke her shoulders, kneading each muscle until she slowly relaxed.

Envy rubbed the backs of her arms, followed each down to her wrists and hands, tending to every area with care. His attention was sharp on her, cataloguing any freckle, any hint of magic at play. By the time he’d worked his way down to her lower back and run a hand over her tight little bottom, he hadn’t found a single indication that she was glamoured.

He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or even more skeptical.

Envy rubbed the oil into her legs, ending the massage with her feet, releasing any ache she might have felt from their long trek through the Sin Corridor.

She hadn’t complained once of the miles they’d traveled on foot.

He listened as she sighed contentedly, her body languid from his ministrations. Her desire, though—that had continued to build with each stroke.

It was time for him to up the stakes.

His hands lightly trailed along the backs of her calves before he flattened them against her thighs, rubbing larger circles across her uninked skin. He fought the urge to lean over, bite the plump flesh of her bottom before soothing away the sting with a kiss.

Still, the air around them felt thick, tense. Her breathing had all but stopped as she waited to see what he’d do, where he’d touch next.

Envy took his time, plotting, dreaming of all the divinely sinful ways he’d make her call out his name. Slowly, he drizzled oil into the palm of his hand, allowing it to warm slightly before sliding it down to his fingers.

He began rubbing it over her bottom, again and again, on each circle his hand dipping deeper between her legs, beginning to stroke that lovely place he wanted to bury himself inside.

“Well,” he purred softly as her hips lifted to meet his touch. “Looks like I was correct. You want it dirty too.”

She was drenched, her arousal almost as slick as the oil on his hand. He lazily traced the seam of her body, dipping the tip of his middle finger inside her. A harsh curse escaped her pretty lips, her face half hidden under her ethereal hair.

“You crave a demon, do you? One who fucks like a sinner because he is one.”

He withdrew his finger before she could push herself onto it, sliding it back across her body, spreading her wetness.

“I promise, sweet Camilla, you won’t be shouting for God when I’m buried inside you. I’ll be ruthless when I grace your sheets.”

His finger circled her clit, and he bit back his own groan. It was so swollen with desire she must ache. At the touch her hips bucked against his palm.

Envy finally slid one finger inside, giving her what she wanted. Camilla arched up and back, seeking more. His filthy little deviant wanted him to fill her. He plunged a second finger in, her soft moan making his cock rock-hard. She was so wet, so hungry for more.

Camilla propped herself on her forearms, her book long forgotten as she glanced back at him, watching as he continued to pleasure her.

“You’ll be shouting my name, Camilla. I will be your God, your Creator, your Destroyer, and every depraved dark thing in between. And I promise you’ll find religion on my cock. You’ll get on your knees for it, pray for it, worship it with every fiber of your being.”

He withdrew his fingers, then gave her clit a tiny little pinch, adding a twinge of pain to enhance her pleasure. Camilla moaned, the sound pure bliss. He thrust his fingers back inside her, pumping them, his own breath ragged as she quietly demanded he keep doing that to her.

“You won’t think of Prince Charming again. I promise you that.”

Envy lightly slapped her slick flesh, her body jerking toward him.

Camilla cursed softly, arousal glistening down her leg.

Envy played gently with her clit, one flick, another, before plunging his fingers deep inside her again. She began grinding against his hand.

The way her body responded to him was fucking glorious. He could watch her seek pleasure from him all night.

She clenched around him, slowly riding his fingers.

His free hand drifted down to his erection, stroking it gently over his trousers as he watched her. It would be easy to give in and give them both what they craved. He could pull her hips up until she was on all fours, bend her over the arm of the chaise, spread her wide, and end their mutual torment. But the lure of this particular game was even more potent than any fleeting physical satisfaction.

Camilla’s breath caught as she rolled her hips, seeking friction. He stroked himself harder, his balls tightening as his own pleasure increased. He imagined how good it would feel to slide his throbbing cock across her slickness.

But tonight wasn’t that night. Tonight was about her alone. He stopped touching himself and focused on her again. She was getting close.

He pumped a few more times, drawing out the sensation, listening as her breath turned ragged, then withdrew his fingers.

Camilla must have sensed the shift; she glanced back at him, back still arched, searching.

“You stopped.”

She didn’t ask why. But her frustration was written plainly across her face, as was her lust. Instantly, Camilla knew… He’d won this round.

Envy flashed her a grin, then bent forward and nipped playfully at her fleshy bottom, his tongue soothing over the mark, indulging his earlier fantasy.

He stood, straightened, and handed her the bottle of massage oil.

“Use this when you touch yourself later. It’ll be almost as good as when I make you come again.”

“What?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

He gave her a slow, wicked smile. “Sweet dreams, my filthy little darling.”

Envy returned to his bedroom and shut the door, chuckling softly as she called him every cursed name in the book.