“My lady, I’m Harlow. I’m to tend to you when you need assistance.”
I glanced up from where I sat, pinning up my long hair. A young demon maid—with lavender skin and snow-colored hair—nervously stood in the doorway. I took a deep breath and released it. I refused to let my bad mood taint the rest of my evening.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Harlow. You don’t need to trouble yourself, though. I can manage preparing for my bath.” She bit her lip, eyes darting to the sunken tub. I wondered if my refusal came across as an insult instead of an attempt at being friendly. I forced a smile. “If you could add some oils and soap to the water, that would be nice.”
“Straight away.” Harlow rushed into the room, her expression brightening. “I’ll go fetch a length of linen and leave it on the side for you to dry off after you bathe, Lady Emilia.”
“Thank you.”
The maid bobbed a quick curtsy, then exited the room. I knew Wrath had said that servants didn’t expect to be thanked for their jobs, but it felt strange to ignore anyone’s efforts at bringing comfort. She tended to the water, laid out the linen towel, then quietly left me alone.
I slipped the silk dressing gown off my shoulders and hung it on a crystal hook near the vanity. Candles in the chandelier flickered with my movements, adding a sense of serenity to the already lovely bathing room.
After the burst of fury that had consumed all rational thought brought on by Antonio, this was exactly what I needed. Time to simply breathe and soak and let go of the anger.
I stepped down into the warm water, the perfumed oils rising up with the steam. Between the aches that crept up from my lessons with Anir and the tension that had coiled in my body from Antonio, the water felt like heaven.
I submerged myself up to my neck, leaning back against the lip of the enormous sunken tub. I was trying to empty my mind and emotions. Each time I replayed what Antonio said about the goddess and the shape-shifters, I felt that unsettling murderous rage flare up.
Once the initial fury passed, I tried to pick it apart. I didn’t believe him. But perhaps he hadn’t been influenced by a demon. It was possible a witch crossed his path and pretended to be a goddess. Or was it a matter of two mortals being influenced with demon magic? Maybe the person who came to him as the angel of death had been another victim. It would be clever of the demon to never actually be seen by Antonio. Then he’d never be able to identify them.
After my lessons with Wrath, I knew how hard it was to fight off a magical attack, but I still found forgiveness and sympathy to be out of reach. Part of me hated to admit that, even to myself. When I got that furious… it felt as if I left my body and all sense of humanity was replaced with elemental rage. I sunk against the tub, drained both emotionally and physically.
I must have drifted off; the sound of the door creaking open jarred me awake.
No footsteps or sounds of the maid’s return rustled in the suite.
An uncomfortable feeling prickled along my skin. I was not alone in the chamber. Someone was watching me. Someone who was not identifying themselves.
“Harlow?”
A length of linen tightened around my neck. My fingers flew to the material as my airflow ceased. I thrashed in the tub, splashing water in violent waves. A strangled sound escaped my lips, but it wasn’t loud enough to alert anyone of the assassination attempt. My throat burned, white spots filtered in at the edge of my vision. Panic made me buck.
Then I remembered the one item I hadn’t removed for my bath.
My hand shot below the water and emerged with the slim dagger Wrath had gifted me. With one final burst of energy, I thrust my arm back and felt vicious glee as the blade sunk into soft flesh. The intruder gasped and dropped the garrote.
In the seconds it took for me to wrench the fabric from my throat and spin around, they were gone. The only sign that anything had happened was the obscene amount of blood leading to the door. I calmly got to my feet and pulled on a dressing gown. Then I called for a servant to fetch Wrath. All the while my pulse pounded in my ears. Someone had tried to murder me. And I’d stabbed them. Someplace vital if the amount of blood on the floor was any indication.
I couldn’t muster an ounce of regret. Or perhaps I was simply numb from shock.
One thing didn’t escape my notice, though. Thanks to Envy’s curse for stealing the book of spells, I had no magic to defend myself against the attack. No power aside from the physical blow I’d struck with the dagger.
Wrath appeared in a cloud of smoke and glittering black light, rage etched into his ice-cold features. “Are you injured?”
“No.” I pointed to the blood on the tile. “But the same isn’t true for the assailant.”
Wrath scanned me first, his attention catching on my neck. His expression turned thunderous. I imagined a red welt was forming. The very foundation of the castle vibrated.
“Do you wish to accompany me?”
I glanced at my hands, at the dagger I still held, coated in blood. Perhaps it made me weak, but I couldn’t bring myself to witness what was about to occur. I shook my head, not meeting Wrath’s gaze. If there were a House Cowardice, I’d probably be queen of it.
“It takes enormous strength to acknowledge your limits, Emilia.” His hand trailed from my temple to my chin, then gently lifted it so I looked at him. “A true leader delegates. Just as you’re doing now. Never doubt your courage. I certainly don’t.”
Dropping his hand from my face, Wrath finally glanced at the blood.
He prowled toward it, an almighty predator on the hunt, and didn’t utter another word before he disappeared, House dagger gripped in hand, looking like a nightmare made flesh.
And, to whoever had just attacked me in his House, I supposed that’s exactly what he was. May the goddesses grant the assailant a swift death—Wrath certainly wouldn’t.
TWENTY-TWO
I took a loaf of bread from a tray of freshly baked offerings and brought it to my oversized wooden cutting board. Two heads of garlic, a generous portion of basil, pecorino, pignoli, and olive oil all joined my station. The cook was just finishing up when I’d arrived and informed me that Wrath had the ingredients brought in from the mortal world for me.
Apparently, he’d also had seeds purchased and planted in the castle’s greenhouse so I’d have all my familiar herbs and vegetables at my disposal. A touch of magic helped them along, according to the cook, and there was a veritable bounty awaiting me whenever I’d like to tour the indoor garden. I rooted around in the icebox and pulled out a hunk of what tasted like goat cheese, then donned an apron I’d found hanging on a peg with an army of clean linens.
Cooking relaxed me. When I was in a kitchen my problems faded away. There was only me and a dish, the scents and sounds and satisfaction of creating something nurturing and delicious overtaking all else. There were no murders. No lost loved ones. No liars or secret keepers. I knew nothing of assassination attempts or marriages brought about by a spell gone wrong. I felt joy, peace. And serenity was something I desperately needed at the moment.
I cut off the top of one head of garlic, exposing all of the cloves, drizzled olive oil over them, covered it with a tin can, then placed it in the oven to roast. I turned my attention to the basil, pine nuts, garlic, and olive oil.
Chopping, mixing, pouring all of my love and energy into the sauce, erasing the rest of the night from my thoughts. It wasn’t denial, only a brief respite I sought.
I’d just finished making pesto when I felt his presence. I continued working, waiting for him to speak. I didn’t know whether I was eager for him to have found my attacker, or if I suddenly wanted to pretend the night hadn’t happened at all. When several moments passed, I finally glanced up. “Is there something you needed to tell me?”
Wrath leaned against the end of the table I worked at, his arms and feet crossed. The picture of casual calm. I noticed he’d changed into a new shirt and his hair was slightly damp. “There is little I need. But much I
want.”
“I’m not going back to that room tonight.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” He straightened and moved to my side, nodding at the loaf of bread. “May I help?”
I peered at him from the corner of my eye. “There’s not much left to do, but you can pour us some wine. Red would be nice.”
“Red it is.”
He left and returned a breath later, bottle and glasses in hand. He rummaged in the icebox and brought over a container of blackberries. After uncorking the bottle, he added a few berries to each glass, then set mine next to where I sliced bread.
I laid the bread slices on a baking sheet and drizzled olive oil across the tops. I set them inside the oven and adjusted the little timer before taking a sip of wine. Wrath clinked his glass against mine, his gaze content. “May we always feast after spilling the blood of our enemies.”
I smiled at him over my glass. “You’re a barbarian.”
“You defended yourself. If being proud makes me a barbarian, so be it.”
“Do you think I killed him?”
He swirled the liquid in his glass, his attention riveted to it. “Would it matter if you did?”
“Of course it matters. I don’t want to be a murderer.”
“Defending yourself is not the same as attacking without cause or reason.”
“Which, by your refusal to answer, I’m assuming means I did.”
“You do not bear the burden of that demon’s death, Emilia.” Wrath set his glass down and faced me, his expression hard. “I do.” The smile that tipped up the edges of his mouth was not warm or friendly. It was cold, calculating. Designed to frighten, to call forth fear and seduce it. “Here I am, the very essence of evil and sin. Am I the monster you feared?”
I looked at him—really, truly looked. There was nothing overtly indicative of his emotions in his face, but there was something in the way he’d asked the question that made me carefully formulate my response. He did not want me to think he was a monster.
And, goddess curse me, I didn’t. I met and held his gaze. “Did he suffer?”
“Not nearly enough.”
“Were you able to get information from him?”
Wrath shook his head. “His tongue was recently severed. It appears to have been a choice he made, likely in case he was caught.”
I don’t know what madness came over me, but I put my wine down and moved to where Wrath stood rigidly, awaiting judgment. Slowly, as if approaching an animal ready to bolt, I wound my arms around his waist and laid my head against his chest.
For several long moments, he barely breathed. Then, he wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin atop my head. We stayed there, holding each other, until the little windup clock dinged. Even then I didn’t let go right away. This demon, this living embodiment of sin, was so much more than the monster he was supposed to be.
I pulled back gradually, and rolled up onto my toes, pressing my lips to his cheek in a chaste kiss. “Thank you.”
Without giving him an opportunity to respond, I hurried to the oven and removed the toast and roasted garlic. I placed them both on the cutting board, then added the hunk of goat cheese and the bowl of pesto. I grabbed two small dishes and stuck a butter knife near each item on the board. I smiled down at my work, pleased beyond measure with the outcome.
“You’ll have to serve yourself, but it’s easy.” I took a slice of toast and smeared a few roasted garlic cloves across it like jam. “Next spread some goat cheese on top of the garlic. And finally”—I added a generous spoonful of pesto—“top it off with the pesto.”
Wrath watched me work, then picked up a slice of toast and made his. He took a bite and his attention slid to me. “I think I like this almost more than the sweets you made.”
“That’s high praise indeed, coming from the cannoli king.” I grinned at him. “Sometimes I’ll add a poached egg if I have any leftovers from breakfast or lunch. Vittoria likes to—”
I abruptly stopped speaking and set my snack aside.
Wrath lightly touched my elbow, drawing me back to the present. “What is it?”
“I miss her.”
“Your twin.”
“Yes, desperately. Sometimes, for a second, I forget she’s gone. Then it all comes back. Part of me feels terrible for forgetting. And the other part wants to lash out. Lately it seems like I’m at war with myself, and I can’t decide which part will win.”
“I have no personal experience with death, but I know that’s normal for some mortals.”
“I wonder, though.” I looked him in the eye. “I’ve been consumed with rage and anger since her murder. The intensity of those emotions doesn’t scare me, which does frighten me. I never used to be like this. Then tonight… tonight, when that demon tried to kill me, I wasn’t scared. I was furious. I wanted to inflict pain. One of my first thoughts after the fact wasn’t terror, it was anger that I hadn’t been taught dark magic.”
“Your mortal family should have taught you to protect yourself.”
I inhaled deeply. I might as well lay all of my fears out. After the events of the evening, I needed to purge the dark feelings from my whole person. “Sometimes I worry that it’s not the devil who’s cursed. But me.”
Wrath went still. “Why would you believe that?”
“My twin was murdered. My grandmother attacked. My parents were held hostage by Envy. And yet what has happened to me? Aside from tonight’s assassination attempt, I mean.” I searched his face for answers. “Maybe I’m cursed and everyone I love is in danger. What if I’m the villain? One who’s so vicious, so terrible, I was punished to forget? What if the witches who were murdered started to remember? Maybe I am the monster and I don’t even know it.”
Wrath was silent for an uncomfortably long time. When I’d started to feel foolish for sharing so many fears with him, he said softly, “Or maybe they all dabbled in pursuits they shouldn’t have. And you’re the one picking up the pieces of their mistakes.”
Demonberry wine dribbled over my chin and spilled onto my sleeveless gown, but I didn’t stop guzzling it from the bottle to bother wiping the mess from my face. The magical sensation holding me in its thrall vanished. I set the bottle down, seriously contemplating throwing it across the table. Wrath gave me a smug grin.
He’d had a large, gilded table and two plush chairs brought into the weapons room. More thrones that weren’t thrones. Complete with metal serpents—not quite gold or silver, but in between—making up the outer rim of the seats.
Gold platters of fruits and desserts and whipped creams and rich, savory foods covered every inch of the cloth-covered table. Some dishes towered so high they toppled over, spilling onto the floor. It was a despicable waste.
I shook my head. “This is shameful.”
“The puppies will feast like royalty.”
“Puppies.” I snorted. “You mean those three-headed hellhounds?”
“Need I remind you that you asked for us to train. Stop avoiding the lesson.”
“Considering the fact I do not drink to excess, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be learning from this little session. There must be something more useful you can teach me.”
“Allow me to try harder to prove the point.”
I should have known better than to assume the prince would take it easy on me during our training session the next night. He seemed to toy with lust, envy, wrath, and sloth the most, but tonight he exposed me to the sin of gluttony. Everything from my clothing, to the jewels I wore, to the rich meal we’d picked at, to the wine I drank spoke of overindulgence.
I had sent him a note, requesting our lessons to resume. After the assassination attempt, I was even more determined to protect myself from the demon princes. I was struggling to find the value in drinking wine to excess, and how that skill was going to aid my endeavors.
Wrath poured an enormous goblet and handed it to me. It was the third time he’d done so. And that wasn’t counting the two bottles of demonber
ry wine I’d already consumed over the last hour or two.
It was getting harder to fight off the demonic influence, or even sense that slight tingle that indicated magic was being used on me. I inhaled deeply, breathing through the wave of dizziness. I’d only ever gotten drunk on wine once before, but I recognized the signs.
“Drink this all as quickly as you can. Then pour another and do the same.”
His magic grazed the back of my senses. I gritted my teeth and focused on how annoyed I was. He grinned over a platter of chocolate-covered berries. Then his power overwhelmed me.
I held it at bay for another strained moment, then gulped down the goblet.
My head spun and my vision doubled. I swiped at my mouth, grinning like an idiot, and poured another drink. Wine sloshed from the goblet onto the floor. My silk slippers looked like I’d been traipsing through a murder scene, but I couldn’t care less.
The more he influenced me to drink, the more impossible it was becoming to concentrate on my free will. Which, through my drunken stupor, finally made sense.
His brothers could nudge me toward drinking, and in turn, a slow inebriation would make it nearly impossible to stave off their influence. The more out of control I became, the easier it would be for them to slip past my defenses. Wrath had a point after all.
He wasn’t just trying to have me fight off gluttony.
I pushed out of my seat and tripped my way over to the demon’s side of the table, the empty glass dangling from my fingertips. He’d had me dress in a long, extravagant silver gown made of silk. It was luxurious to the point of excess. I wore no undergarments and the material did not hide any part of my form. With the wine soaking through the front of the bodice, I might as well have been waltzing around naked. I doubted he’d planned for that.
Wrath hadn’t so much as dropped his gaze below my neckline. Ever the proper gentleman. At least when he wasn’t ripping out tongues or torturing would-be assassins to death.
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