I was so stunned, I forgot the seeds of discord I’d been trying to plant. “You cannot be serious. Pride would desire another in our bed? With me? I don’t understand.”
Wrath hesitated a minute. “On occasion, my brother enjoys multiple lovers.”
“At the same time?” I felt my face flame as he slowly nodded.
“Sex isn’t viewed as shameful or sinful here, Emilia. Attraction and desire are part of the natural order of life. Mortals put restrictions on such things. Princes of Hell do not.”
“But Lust… his influence. It’s considered a sin, even here.”
“My brother mostly toyed with your happiness, things that bring all manner of pleasure and joy, not just carnal urges. Being tested or prompted toward one particular emotion usually means it’s something this realm senses you struggle with.” He canted his head. “If you are interested in sex but fear passion or intimacy, you may experience a higher rate of sexual desire until you work through your personal issues regarding it. Which one intimidates you?”
I swallowed hard, uncomfortable with the topic of pleasure while I was alone with Wrath, and naked beneath my silken sheets. “Neither. And it’s hardly your concern. Discussing what I may or may not do with my husband is inappropriate. Especially with you.”
Wrath tossed the robe next to me on the mattress, his expression cold. “You’re welcome for keeping you alive. By my count that’s twice. And not a lick of gratitude for either.”
His tone made my blood boil. I wondered if he knew his magic was leaking out, affecting me so potently. Maybe being inside his House of Sin exacerbated my fury, along with the realization that I was woefully inexperienced in certain areas. I hadn’t thought about bedding Pride, or considered any other wifely duties I might be required to complete. I felt trapped. My bubbling anger needed an outlet, and Wrath seemed game.
“Do you always require profuse thanks for doing the decent thing? I’m starting to think your sin is actually pride, not wrath. Your ego’s definitely fragile enough. Maybe I should grovel at your feet or throw a parade in your honor. Will that satisfy you?”
“Careful, witch.”
“Or what? You’ll sell my soul to the highest bidder?” I scoffed. “Too late. Let’s not forget if it wasn’t for you and your deception, I wouldn’t even be here, nearly freezing to death, or having to worry about bedding your brother and whoever else he invites between our sheets!”
“You chose House Pride.”
“Why are you even still here? I thought you’d leave the second you gained your freedom. Have you not tormented me enough? Or is your duty not completely fulfilled until my marriage is consummated? If that’s what you’re waiting for, I’m sure Pride will invite you into the room to bear witness, ensuring I lay back and take it like a good little queen.”
If hatred could be captured with one look, he’d mastered it. “There are clothes for you in the wardrobe. Wear whatever you like. Do whatever you like. Go wherever you like in this castle. If you decide to leave House Wrath, good luck. I’ll return when Pride sends a summons. Until then, good evening, my lady.”
He stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing into another chamber before a door opened and shut and I heard him thunder down the hall. I blew out a frustrated breath.
That demon stoked my anger like no other.
Miserable beast. How dare he demand truth when he didn’t offer any in return. I waited for my pulse to calm itself. I was thankful for everything he’d done last night. And if he’d given me an opportunity, I would have told him his efforts were appreciated. He didn’t need to rub the arches of my feet. That had nothing to do with frostbite and everything to do with tenderness.
“Goddess curse us both.” I sighed. I hadn’t meant to get so furious or to snap about the cave, but the feelings had been festering. Best to lance that wound and be done with it.
Despite the tense escalation of our argument, my little experiment was a partial success; Wrath could only detect a lie for certain when I spoke. It was a trick to add to my mental journal.
I glanced at the door and considered chasing him to wring his neck or kiss him senseless but shut those urges down. To find out what really happened to Vittoria, I’d have to disentangle myself from him eventually. And I might as well start now. I didn’t know all of the rules and etiquette of the demon realm, but at least I now knew the princes didn’t infringe on one another’s royal domain. Once I left for House Pride, Wrath and I would not see each other again. At least not for a while.
My lady.
What nonsense that was.
My attention settled on the robe and a strange feeling had my heart racing. I didn’t notice while the demon held it across the room, but the flowers embroidered on it matched our tattoos.
The pale lavender ink symbolized a betrothal I’d accidentally forced between us when I’d first summoned him. He knew within moments what I’d done and hadn’t bothered telling me the truth. I’d found out weeks later from Anir, the night we’d stumbled across another murdered witch in an alleyway. Wrath swore he was going to tell me, that he’d been waiting until our trust was built to reveal our impending marriage, but I doubted it.
Everything he did was calculated. Every move, strategic. There were games he was still playing and secret agendas he had that I hadn’t begun to figure out yet. Maybe they related to my sister’s murder, and maybe they didn’t. No matter how tightly he guarded his secrets, one way or another I’d find out what he was truly after. If I’d learned anything about him at all, it was the endless lengths he’d travel to get what he desired.
I looked down at my inked arm. I’d thought the matching tattoos would vanish when I’d cast a spell of un-making to end the betrothal that same night. They didn’t.
Despite the broken magic, they kept growing like seeds that had been planted and tended. Bits of each of us fed the design: his serpents, my flowers, the twin crescent moons within a ring of stars. They were a constant reminder of my inexperience and his lies of omission.
I traced the delicate stems and petals replicated on the robe, the fabric silky and cool. It was so beautiful, the exact thing I’d choose for myself if given enough resources to have such a fine garment made. He knew that. Knew me.
Maybe more than I gave him credit for. And yet, he still remained a mystery to me.
I gathered up the robe, swung myself out of bed, and stood naked before the crackling fire. Hours ago I was near death, my skin burning from ice, not fire. He’d stayed the whole night, cradling me against his body. A body that was not ice-cold as Nonna used to claim in her stories of the Wicked. He could have summoned a royal healer to do the task.
He also could have let me die like Anir suggested. But he didn’t.
I held the fabric to my face, breathed in Wrath’s lingering scent, then tossed it straight into the flames.
FIVE
“Death by wardrobe” was destined to be the epitaph on my gravestone, thanks to Wrath’s obsession with fine clothing and exquisite fabric. There were so many dresses and skirts and bodices and corsets and tunics and stockings and delicate, lacy undergarments and silk nightgowns and dressing robes, I had to close the carved doors and step back. It was too much.