Throne of the Fallen

Envy quietly seethed. Most humans had quite a different reaction to his kind. Demon princes had a certain dark charisma that attracted lovers; some believed it was due to their power to wield sins. He’d been certain she’d be taken in with little to no effort on his part.

He tried to keep the contempt from his voice.

“Is it a matter of payment?” he asked. “Name your price.”

“I assure you it has nothing to do with money, my lord.”

Her chin notched up defiantly. Envy knew damn well that she wasn’t in any position to turn down work that would pay so handsomely.

“Is there anything else I may help you with, or will you be on your way?” she asked. “I’m afraid you’ve come at an unfortunate time, as the gallery is closing.”

“Perhaps.”

Envy debated whether to use a bit of his sin to influence her agitated mood but decided against it. Fae games were tricky. Players couldn’t use magic to win. It kept the playing field level, reducing immortals to mere humans. Envy would burn before he’d admit how exciting he usually found that challenge. But these weren’t usual circumstances.

For him to move forward in this game, Camilla needed to freely choose to paint the piece.

And she’d need to do so soon.

“Might I inquire as to why you’d turn down my work?” he asked, mindful to keep his tone pleasant.

“Of course.” Her smile was as sharp as the dagger hidden on his hip. “I refuse to paint any hexed object. And correct me if I’m wrong, my lord, but the Hexed Throne is one of the most powerful.”

Envy appraised her in a new light. “What does a woman of your standing know of hexed objects?”

“Enough to decline getting involved with one.”

At last, Miss Antonius came out from behind her desk, sweeping past him toward the door, where she placed her ungloved hand on the crystal knob. Paint speckled her skin like a colorful constellation of freckles.

“Perhaps you should visit the dark market on Silverthorne Lane. They’ll know much more about that particular realm of art than I do.”

With that she tugged the door open, the bell ringing in finality. The Prince of Envy was being summarily dismissed.

He blinked down at the little hell beast before him, and she smiled even more sweetly back up.

“You may wish to hurry, my lord.” She glanced out at the darkening sky, her silver irises like strikes of lightning against the storm clouds. A beautiful portent of doom. “It looks about ready to rain.”

A clap of thunder punctuated her warning, and before he knew it, Envy was standing outside and the quaint door was being slammed and locked in his face.

Two beats later, the candles went out, plunging the gallery into complete darkness.

Envy cursed every saint he could think of under his breath as the first plump drops of rain freckled his shoulders. Then he heard the scrape of a boot, only seconds before his companion stepped from the shadows, chuckling darkly.

“You’ll just walk right in, was it?” the Prince of Pride asked, his eyes an annoyingly bright silver against the night. His chestnut-brown hair was mussed, giving the impression that a lover had run their hands through it. “Simple as that.”

Envy gave his brother a murderous look. “I thought you were waiting at the pub.”

“Changed my mind.” Pride shrugged. “I wanted entertainment. How does it feel to have your balls handed to you?”

“Not now.”

Envy headed across the street toward the nearest awning, wanting to escape the impending storm and his damned brother. His cavalier mask was slipping.

“Now is the perfect time to point out it was a dismal plan,” Pride said, strolling beside him, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Even Lust’s idea was better.”

“It’s Lust’s only idea.”

“Point? It always works.”

Envy gritted his teeth.

“So, Lord Syn.” Pride still drawled, but there was a sharper edge to his voice now. “Care to explain how the fuck it’s possible for you to lie?”

“Not particularly.” Envy wasn’t in a giving mood. “Aren’t you supposed to be searching for clues to Lucia’s whereabouts?” he asked instead. “Perhaps you aren’t as heartbroken as you’d like everyone to believe.”

It was a low blow, but Envy needed to be left alone before Pride noticed the cracks in his armor. If he could have risked the power needed to summon his wings, he’d have catapulted into the heavens, leaving his brother behind. As it stood, Envy had to remain grounded until he won the gods-damned game and fully restored his magic.

All levity vanished from his brother’s face at the mention of his missing consort. Pride’s lips pressed together tightly, revealing the ancient scar that still carved a path across his lower lip. For most, Pride pretended to be a drunken rake, obsessed with all that glittered. Frivolous, egotistical. Unconcerned with anything aside from pretty lovers, parties, and baubles.

But Envy, king of masks, knew these were false identities his brother wore. Pride was much more calculating than he let on. His secrets were so vast, even Envy’s best spies hadn’t unearthed them all yet.