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.
FIVE
“Death by wardrobe” was destined to be the epitaph on my gravestone, thanks to Wrath’s obsession with fine clothing and exquisite fabric. There were so many dresses and skirts and bodices and corsets and tunics and stockings and delicate, lacy undergarments and silk nightgowns and dressing robes, I had to close the carved doors and step back. It was too much.
At home I’d had a handful of simple corset-less dresses and frocks made of muslin. Two pairs of shoes. Sandals and lace-up boots. A few blouses and homespun skirts. Vittoria and I would often share clothing to make our meager closet appear larger than it was.
The items inside this wardrobe were unlike anything I’d seen in the mortal world. And it wasn’t simply the daring styles and scandalous amount of skin I’d be showing. It was the vibrant colors, detailed embroidery, and whimsical nature of them.
I took a deep breath and opened the armoire again. Shoes ranging from slippers to small-heeled shoes to boots in a rainbow of dark colors lined the bottom of the wardrobe. Blacks, charcoals, deep maroons, golds, and even some dark purple and silver.
Ribbons, lace, leather. Gowns with exotic and fantastical patterns featuring thorns and serpents and flowers and fruits and glittering fabrics to rival the night sky. Silks, tulles, velvets, and something that was so soft and fuzzy I rubbed it against my cheek.
Cashmere. A half-forgotten memory sparked to life. A little cabin deep in a frozen wood; a plume of silver smoke snaking into the sky. Whispers and cauldrons and… and Nonna had given Vittoria and me cashmere gloves when we’d visited her friend in northern Italy once. I liked the material then and loved it now. I pulled the pale lavender-gray dress out and swallowed hard.
“Oh.”
Fashion in the Seven Circles was a lot more formfitting and revealing than the clothing in my world. This dress would fit like those gloves and fall to mid-thigh. If I was lucky.
It was the obscenest piece of clothing I’d ever encountered, shorter than any nightgown designed for those who plied their trade in pleasure-houses. I wondered what it would be like, confidently owning my body and sensuality, neither apologizing nor simpering to anyone.
Suddenly, I imagined wearing the dress while I picked a fight with the demon who’d chosen it…
… his gaze would darken as it roved over me in a furiously slow way, making my blood boil. I’d shove him against the nearest hard surface, breathless as he flexed his fingers on the soft fabric at my thighs, carefully considering his next move.
Perhaps his troublesome mouth would taunt and tease while he strategized ways to wring pleasure from me. He’d whisper all sorts of filthy promises, heating me to my core instead of shocking me. I’d lean in and nip at his lower lip, a warning and a plea.
I would happily inform him that I was no longer fearful of my passions or willing to deny myself. That shame was the last thing I felt when he was in my arms.
He’d kiss me then, slow and deep. A commanding exploration of my mouth, my body. Proof of making good on his wicked promises. I’d feel his desire pushing against me, hard and warm and thrilling. My satisfaction over affecting him as much would slide into need faster than I could draw my next breath. I’d press against him, wanting to feel more.
It wouldn’t take much for him to wrench the dress up over my hips, drop to his knees, and kiss his way up—
“Blood and bones.”
I shook myself from the magically induced illusion. This realm and its nudges would take a lot of getting used to. It wasn’t as strong as it was in the Sin Corridor, but that same darkly seductive magic was there, lingering, testing, teasing.
Another unfortunate complication. I’d have to carefully mind each of my thoughts and feelings. I quickly put the dress back and snatched a dressing robe, banishing thoughts of Wrath.
Thinking about the prince of this House of Sin while standing near my bed without a stitch of clothing was a courtship with trouble. After I slipped the robe on, I tied the silk belt around my waist and thumbed through the clothing once more.
I held up another gown that was slightly closer in style to clothing from home. Well, dresses a princess or noblewoman might own. This one had a strapless corsetlike top in an endless matte black. A sleek skirt that would hug my hips and fan out mid-thigh before dramatically cascading to the floor. Satiny black piping edged each line of the top and circled the waist. It was a far cry from the simple blouses and skirts I was used to wearing to work.
Pangs of homesickness hit me. All the finery in the world couldn’t replace the comfort I felt with my family. I wanted to be standing in the kitchen of Sea & Vine, listening to the symphony of sounds my mother, Nonna, and sister made as we worked on our dishes. Knives chopping, pans sizzling, spoons clattering, and all of us happily humming while we shared gossip from the marketplace. My father and uncle Nino chatting merrily with diners.
The scent of savory food wafting around… That simple, happy life was over.
Ready or not, I needed to step into this new role and own it. So I would. Both literally and figuratively. Starting at once.
I gathered up the gown and strode into the room the prince had washed up in, then halted.
“Divine goddesses above.”
Every surface reflected my shocked expression back at me. Floors, ceiling, sunken tub, vanity—everything was made of either solid crystal, frosted glass, or white gold. Candles flickered from a circular chandelier. The chamber gleamed softly like I’d crossed from the underworld and stepped directly onto the surface of the moon.
The only bits of color came from an assortment of makeup in tidy piles on the vanity. Brushes for eyes and face and hair. Jeweled clips and tiaras and pins. Flower buds for my locks. Pots of multicolored inks for my lips. Crushed gold that could be dusted across my face or body, delicate perfume bottles with pale pinks and purples and hues I had no exact name for.
I set aside the gown and picked up one perfume and inhaled. Lilac and maybe almond with a hint of bergamot. Vittoria would have adored the assortment of scented riches. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and grabbed the lilac perfume. I dabbed a bit on each wrist and rubbed them together. It was heavenly. I smelled another that reminded me of honeysuckle and birchwood and heavy whipping cream. Perhaps a tiny hint of gardenia, too. Another smelled almost exactly like hyacinth, reminding me of lush spring mornings.
I smiled a little to myself; Vittoria’s passion for creating perfume aided me with singling out different notes. For a minute, I could almost close my eyes and pretend she was here now. The moment passed, a temporary shadow cast from a cloud racing past the sun.
I inspected each bottle and all of the items Wrath had supplied. Nothing surprised me as much as the fresh flowers. A crystal vase sat on the vanity beside the makeup.
Fragrant blossoms in whites and pale blues and rose-gold pinks cascaded around a smattering of ferns and eucalyptus stuck throughout the arrangement. The flowers were all lovely, almost exactly what was found in the human world, except they were coated in ice.
&nb
sp; I breathed them in, surprised their scent penetrated the frost. My fingers trailed over the icy petals. I wondered if the flowers were Wrath’s idea or if someone else had sent them.
Someone like my soon-to-be husband. I stopped wondering. It didn’t matter.
My attention swept across the sunken glass tub; it took up almost the entire center of the room. I could swim from side to side and do laps in it. It was one of the grandest things I’d ever seen. Before bed I’d definitely take a swim. Now I had things to do, secrets to uncover. And seven demon courts to slowly infiltrate, starting with House Wrath.
Thus far the underworld was wildly different from what I’d heard about it from mortal religion. I had much to learn if I had hopes of sorting truth from fiction while here.
A quick bath was all I could spare time for. I removed my robe and waded in, quickly scrubbing my skin and hair with a bar of soap laid atop folded linen. The water was a perfect temperature. Not too hot or cold, but delightfully warm. Part of me reconsidered my plan to quickly bathe and instead spend the rest of the evening floating in heaven.
With a sigh, I rinsed off and pulled myself from the tub. The length of linen I found near the water’s edge was big enough to towel off my whole body.
Once I was properly dry, I picked up the gown. Goddess bless me and the demon who ordered this wardrobe, the dress was designed to be put on without assistance. I shimmied it up over my hips and chest. Little hook-and-eye closures ran up the side and clasped with ease.
I went back to my bedchamber and rummaged around until I found a pair of heeled black shoes coated in a glittery charcoal dust and slipped them on. They fit perfectly, just like the gown. Wrath was nothing if not a perfectionist.
I returned to the bathing chamber, ready to address the matter of my hair. My attention slid to the makeup. Our family didn’t have money for such a large assortment of luxury items.
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