Throne of the Fallen

Envy gritted his teeth but attempted to summon an image of Camilla, no matter how wrong it felt. He closed his eyes, closed out the throne room, recalled Camilla soaking in her bath earlier. How the water had caressed her curves, the steam mixing with her floral scent, her gaze sharp as he teased her.

He’d wanted to shuck off his clothes and step into the tub with her, drawing her onto his lap as he dampened a cloth and dragged it over every inch of her glorious skin, her nipples pebbling from the sensation, making his mouth water from the sight.

He jolted from his memory.

“There it is.”

Vittoria was licking her lips and rubbing his erection. She’d only gotten the first lace of his trousers undone when he softened. She glared at him.

“What seems to be the issue?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I don’t know,” he lied.

“Are you in love?” Vittoria asked, her tone dripping with accusation.

“Of course not.”

She pushed to her feet, her cheeks flushed with annoyance. “Your bedroom skills are legendary. Am I to believe the rumors are all false?”

“I’m tired. I have a lot on my mind,” he said. “And you know I don’t particularly like you.”

“And you’ve particularly liked everyone you’ve fucked before?”

He hadn’t, further complicating matters. He tossed his hands up, frustrated. “I’ll try again.”

Vittoria folded her arms across her chest, clearly annoyed. “What does this mystery woman look like? Glamour works wonders.”

Everything inside him seized at the thought. He did not want to fuck someone wearing Camilla’s face. When he took her to his bed, it would be her.

His mouth pressed into a firm line.

Alexei shook his head at his refusal to play along, answering for him.

“She has silver hair and eyes. Stands a little over five feet three inches tall. Gold skin. Full mouth, slightly upturned eyes.”

Vittoria flashed another crooked grin. She moved around to the back of his throne, leaning across his shoulder.

“Close your eyes, Prince Envy.”

Her hand shifted, slowly undoing the top button of his shirt. He hid his flinch. The last time she’d been near his chest, her taloned hand had punched through it.

She slowly licked down along the column of his throat.

He fought the urge to leap up and put distance between them.

“Let’s pretend your silver-haired beauty is here.” Vittoria’s skin brushed against his. “In your deepest, most secret fantasies, does she close those full lips around your thick length while you sit back on your throne?”

Her fingers trailed lower.

“Or does she bend over this armrest here”—she traced the spot where his hand curled over his throne, his grip tightening—“and let you take her from behind?”

Envy thought about what Alexei had suggested earlier. He didn’t need to actually have Vittoria in his bed to incite jealousy. He only needed to give the appearance that he was aroused by the Goddess of Death.

Vittoria continued whispering sinful tableaus in his ear, tempting him with thoughts of Camilla. He closed his eyes, imagining everything Vittoria said.

Slowly trailing his fingers up the back of Camilla’s legs, the slight swishing of silk as her skirts lifted off her body. Her bare skin, soft and welcoming. He’d draw her gown farther up, baring her as he slowly pushed her up against his throne.

He’d go to his knees, kissing his way up, his hands drifting over the curve of her bottom, then sliding around to hold her hips, and dip within, ensuring that she was wet and ready.

Vittoria had painted a vivid picture, her hands roaming down his chest. But Envy had stopped listening to her, thinking only of the woman in his fantasy, glancing back at him over her shoulder as he finally dragged his cock against her entrance.

Soft, throaty laughter sounded from behind him.

Envy had gotten so hard from the erotic image, from the look of impatience on Camilla’s face, as she pushed herself onto him.

He was so lost to the fantasy that he almost missed the commotion outside his throne room.

FIFTY-ONE

“I NEED TO speak with the prince.”

The gray-haired butler’s expression was one of deep contemplation as he barred Camilla from entering House Envy. How odd.

“The prince…” He trailed off.

“Envy,” she said, watching for any flicker of recognition.

If the prince hadn’t brought them here, hadn’t told her they were in his circle, Camilla would have thought they were somewhere else entirely.

“Is the prince here?”

Clarity flashed.

“His Highness. Prince Envy. Yes. Yes, of course.”

The demon nodded several times, almost absently. Then turned on his heel and began striding in the opposite direction, not looking to see whether she followed.

She waited on the palace’s front step, debating whether she should return to the cottage.

Cursing, Camilla closed the door and hurried after the demon, wondering at the strangeness.

They traveled down a long corridor, silent save their footsteps. No demons or courtiers lingered, no staff. All was eerily quiet and still.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

The butler didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge her at all.