Throne of the Fallen

In a small city called Waverly Green, which is somewhat similar to Regency London but not quite, a few mortals have seen strange occurrences that cannot be explained. Some with secrets of their own—like Miss Camilla Antonius—have heard whispers of a shadowy nether realm full of vice, where seven demon princes rule over seven deadly courts full of sin. Magic isn’t immediately laughed off in Waverly Green, though it’s never openly spoken about either. Unless of course one ventures into the illegal dark market, where it’s said that the stolen art and artifacts are imbued with mystical powers and the dealers might not actually be human…

Unbeknownst to Camilla, or anyone in the Green, a curse in that devious realm recently broke, setting one sinfully handsome prince free.

Unlike in a fairy tale, the prince who’s now coming for Camilla isn’t at all charming. But like all storybook villains, if Camilla isn’t careful, this dark prince just might end up capturing her heart.

Unless she succeeds in the impossible and steals his wicked one first…

PROLOGUE House Envy

SEVERAL DECADES BEFORE

GODS-DAMNED FAE BASTARD.”

The Prince of Envy stared at the emerald feather that had just fallen from the unfolded parchment in his hand, heart thundering from the taunt. The area between his shoulders suddenly burned, the need to summon his wings almost painful.

That prick certainly knew where to hit Envy the hardest.

The spell tattooed across the feather glowed in invitation.

Be ready.

—L.

He took a steadying breath and glanced up, searching his reflection in the gilded mirror across the room, studying himself with the eye of someone who appreciated art, including the fine art of deception.

Outwardly his expression was calm, bored even. The portrait of royal indolence. His nearly black hair was combed perfectly, his cool, arrogant features set into that troublesome half smirk that easily won lovers to his bedchamber.

It was just another pretty deception.

Inside he raged, that emotion blazing so wildly that his brother Wrath, the king of demons, would sense the disturbance from his circle and eventually come sniffing around.

Envy had gotten good at pretending over the years; a necessity to save his court.

He knew what others saw when they looked at him, the mask he’d crafted of a handsome, devil-may-care prince who liked games and riddles. He understood that the well-dressed exterior and disarming dimples he rarely flashed were simply two more weapons in his arsenal. Clever ways to hide the dangerous demon lurking beneath his chiseled façade, the ruthless prince who’d long since lost any sense of morality when it came to accomplishing his goals.

Envy picked up the feather, his thumb brushing the emerald plumage almost in reverence, until that feeling gave way to something darker.

The feather was a reminder of the time his own edges had been more soft than hard, and the note itself was a warning that a new game was beginning.

Be ready. That at least was a challenge Envy intended to win. He’d been waiting for this game to start for more than half a century now, watching his court slide closer toward ruin every year. In being soft, in making that one mistake, Envy had damned them all.

That was a secret that wouldn’t remain hidden from his brothers for long, especially if things continued as they were.

Already the signs were clear enough, should anyone look closely. It was apparent in the way Envy’s courtiers grew foggy, or that constant half-second delay amid conversation. As if they couldn’t recall where they were or who they were speaking with.

Thus far it only lasted for a heartbeat, but it would worsen. Time would see to that.

And Envy knew that the Fae bastard would draw the game out, wait as long as possible to start, just to weaken Envy as much as he could. Envy, like all his brothers, drew his power from provoking his sin. And a court in peril was the envy of no one.