Throne of the Fallen

Pretty, husky laughter sounded again, farther away this time, still as sultry as a summer evening. Inviting and warm, like sweat-dampened sheets and whispers spoken against pillows.

The prince was being charming, funny. How wonderful.

Camilla hadn’t yet seen the throne room, but she imagined they were slowly making their way to the dais, dropping pieces of clothing faster than their inhibitions as they disrobed each other, hands frantic, searching, kisses searing, messy. Tongues and teeth clashing, fighting for dominance.

Or would Envy kiss the woman like he’d kissed Camilla earlier? Sweet enough to make her dizzy, slow enough to make her believe it could last forever.

More likely he’d have her skirts bunched in one fist, hair wrapped tightly around the other, bending her over the throne.

Jealousy, pure and unending, barreled through Camilla.

She blamed being in this circle, this court, blamed the whole damn demon realm for its proclivity to induce sin. But mostly, she blamed the prince for daring to take another lover while she was sequestered.

Did he think he’d come back, sated, and Camilla would be waiting?

She would not be so easily dismissed.

Camilla turned away, noting the moment the guard relaxed his stance, then spun back and darted past him, shoving the double doors hard with both hands. Luck was with her; they were unlocked. They crashed against the wall, two cracks of thunder, warning of her impending storm.

She rushed in and ran hard, halting at the base of the dais, staring up at the prince.

Envy was indeed on his throne, his expression pure, glorious indolence as he casually lounged back, eyes closed. One leg was kicked over an arm of the chair, the other was planted firmly on the floor. His trousers were tented in the front, his arousal straining against the material. His hair was mussed, as if someone had run their fingers through it.

That someone being a stunning brunette standing behind him, playing with the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, whispering something in his ear.

Her gown was blush, ethereal, and practically nonexistent. Her eyes, a light purple hue, glowed softly as they flicked up to drink Camilla in. She looked like she ate lovers alive and picked her teeth with their bones.

Recognition slammed into Camilla. It was the female from Envy’s memory.

Whoever the female was, she wasn’t human. Power churned in the space around her, not visible, but Camilla sensed it there. Her mouth twisted into a delighted smirk, her hand disappearing under Envy’s shirt, exposing a triangle of the prince’s smooth, bronze skin, which she leaned over to slowly lick.

Perhaps she thought Camilla was here to join them.

Camilla cleared her throat.

Envy’s eyes opened, his attention sharpening when it landed on her, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. Maybe he was furious about the interruption. Or maybe he’d scented her envy. Too late she recalled what he’d said about showing that sin to him again.

The guard had her in hand at once. “Apologies, Your Highness. I—”

“Leave her.” Envy motioned to the guard. “Get out.”

Camilla didn’t turn to watch but heard the hasty retreat.

“Miss Antonius. We seem to have a problem.”

No warmth was present in Envy’s voice or his expression.

No hint of the male who’d held Camilla a few hours before, kissing her like he was damned and willing to fall further for another taste.

“I can see you’re terribly busy,” Camilla said, not hiding the bite in her tone as her attention dropped to his arousal. “What with all the clue-finding you’re doing.”

“Allow me to introduce Vittoria, the Goddess of Death,” he said. “She is the dear twin of my sister-in-law.”

Camilla drew in a deep breath. He was trying to solve the riddle. By seducing the twin. But she knew deep in her bones that she was correct. And this goddess damn well knew it too.

“Ah. The silver-haired beauty.” Vittoria looked Camilla over with appreciation. “No wonder he’s distracted.”

The goddess toyed with a lock of Envy’s hair, then raked her nails down his chest, dropping dangerously low.

Camilla’s jealousy reared its head, a territorial snarl close to ripping from her chest.

Vittoria watched her with slitted eyes, her hands now drifting to Envy’s belt.

“Should we take turns, now that he’s… up for the challenge?” she asked.

Camilla’s jealousy was spinning wildly out of control.

Vittoria kept her attention on Camilla as she dragged her tongue along the prince’s neck, then slowly drew back, lips quirked. She knew what she was doing, was getting a perverse pleasure from it. Envy hadn’t moved, hadn’t stopped her. But his gaze was flaring with some emotion… something that burned ice-cold, not hot.

Seeming to tire of her toy, the goddess descended the stairs of the dais, walking a slow circle around Camilla.