Throne of the Fallen

Her mother, Prim Róis Fleur, had kidnapped her from the Wild Court for reasons she would probably never fully understand. Ever since, Lennox had been trying to tempt her back. Wanting her to take her throne. To Camilla, it had been one of the worst games her parents had ever played.

But one piece still didn’t fit: Why had Prim Róis stolen the locket, and then left it with Camilla? And why had Lennox gone through so much to get it back?

More puzzles, more riddles, more deception. Such was the way of her family.

Not all had been a lie, though. Her mother had become fond of Pierre. Had even used her true middle name, offering him some honesty.

It hadn’t taken much magic for her mother to convince Pierre that the young child had been his—she’d given him false memories, of her being pregnant, of the first few years of Camilla’s life. Of him teaching Camilla how to hold a paintbrush nimbly between her fingers.

All lies, pretty little magical glamours.

But Camilla had truly loved him. Staying in Waverly Green, running Pierre’s gallery—that had finally been Camilla’s choice. With her human father, Camilla had learned how powerful love was. How fear could never hope to compete.

Camilla wondered, though, if her mortal father had known. If there had been a piece of him that could see through Prim Róis and her Fae magic. She feared that that was what ultimately drove him to his obsession and madness.

But perhaps it was also what led Pierre to fill her head with fairy tales. He’d been the one to warn her of the Fae and their bargains. He’d taught her about the vampire prince. And the seven ruling Princes of Hell.

Camilla did not believe in coincidences.

Her fingers brushed the soft curve of her ears again.

Would her mortal father hate this form?

No. He’d love her anyway. Pierre’s love was unconditional, without games or strings.

She dropped her hands into her lap.

Envy was not Pierre. He would not care for her now that her truth was revealed.

“Princess?” Wolf called from outside her door. “You indecent?”

His tone held a note of teasing, and maybe a little hope. He would wait for her.

He’d told her as much when he’d walked her to her bedroom suite. And that ought to comfort her, knowing she wouldn’t be alone. Envy was only ever going to be hers for one night. That was truer now than it had been before her deception was revealed.

“Princess? You’re making me think thoughts that are downright filthy.”

Camilla finally managed a smile, the first since she’d arrived here.

“Come in.”

He slipped into her chambers and gave her an appreciative once-over. “Bold.”

“I tried.”

She knew he didn’t mean the cut of the gown, which plunged to form a deep V to her navel in both the front and the back.

Camilla had chosen the deepest shade of green in the wardrobe she’d found in her suite. It might not matter, but even if Envy wasn’t there to see it, she wanted the Wild Court to know it hadn’t all been a lie.

Her father, however, would not be pleased.

She assumed he’d hate the emerald-and-diamond ring she’d strung on a necklace, to rest over her heart, even more.

Wolf’s gaze paused on the emerald. “He’s an ass.”

“He’s hurt,” Camilla said. “I should have told him who I was.”

Wolf snorted. “I’m sure he was nothing but honest with you.”

“I’m not responsible for anyone’s actions but my own.” Camilla exhaled. “My human father taught me better. I was afraid. I let fear of losing my talent forever rule my actions first. Then as I grew… closer to Envy, I feared how he’d react to my truth. He hates Unseelie royals.”

“I repeat, he’s an ass.”

“I imagine you aren’t here to discuss my love life,” she said, smiling weakly. “Has the king summoned me?”

Wolf nodded slowly, his gaze drifting around her private suite. Windows took up three of the four walls, and the ceiling was also made of glass, allowing the moonlight to cascade in like a silver waterfall.

When his attention came back to her, he seemed uncertain.

“Play your father’s game, Camilla. Or things will go very badly tonight.”

She’d already played enough of Lennox’s games, but she nodded to keep from speaking the lie aloud.

Wolf looked her over, a frown tugging at his lips, then escorted her to court.

“Good.” Lennox glanced at Camilla, his gaze narrowing on her gown. He didn’t miss the subtle to hell with your court and games of her color choice. “You’re right on schedule.” He motioned to the guards flanking him. “Bring her here. I’m ready to begin.”

All but the new head guard descended on her. He hung back, holding an object under a velvet cloth, surely something nasty to threaten her with if she didn’t do as her father said.

She felt Wolf stiffen beside her, didn’t dare to look in his direction. Her father was watching her every move, the cunning gleam speaking volumes. She hadn’t failed to notice that no one else was present in the Crescent Court now. An oddity. When she was a child, the room, shaped like a crescent moon, was always filled with Fae.