Throne of the Fallen

“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.

Camilla drank in every detail of the hallway, fingers trailing over the statues lining the wide passage, appreciating the way the art had been set up. If she hadn’t been in such a hurry, she’d have wanted to spend days admiring each piece. From the brief glimpse into the prince’s House, it was like a museum or art gallery.

It was the home of her dreams.

The floor tile was oversized black-and-white marble laid in a checkered pattern, broken only by a long hunter-green runner. Frames were gilded, sculptures were marble. The ceiling was painted with a wonderfully detailed fresco.

Camilla wanted to lie on the floor, staring up at it.

She glanced back at the floor, squinting at what first appeared to be droplets of paint. Little splatters of dark reddish brown marred the otherwise shining surface of the checkered tile. She kept the butler in her sight but drifted to a closed door. Dried blood smeared along the handle, pooling under the threshold.

She jumped back, heart hammering.

“What on earth?”

Now that she was looking more critically, other cracks in the beauty emerged—the thin layers of dust, the shattered marble and defaced art up ahead.

Camilla grew more concerned the deeper they traveled into House Envy.

She stepped over what appeared to be a smear of blood, strikingly similar to how it would look if a body had been dragged down the corridor.

Bits of broken glass crunched under her boots, the artful sconces smashed and hanging from the wall. If the blood hadn’t been dry, and if the dust hadn’t settled over the mess, Camilla would have thought Envy had encountered something horrible here earlier.

Is this why the game is so important? She imagined so. If his court was failing, she understood exactly why he was so driven to win.

The butler kept glancing over his shoulder, seeming to grow more concerned by her pursuit, as if he couldn’t remember speaking with her. And worried she was stalking him.

This was why Envy had kept her in the cottage. And it was why he’d kept his indifferent act up so insistently. Envy had been playing another role. Wearing the mask of someone who needed to hide his desperation, who needed to plot and scheme and save his people at any cost.

She rushed around the corner of the next hallway after the butler, who’d finally paused by a set of arched double doors. Two guards stood to either side, ignoring the demon as he spun to face her, brows tugged close.

“May I help you, miss?” he asked.

Camilla was unsure how to reply.

“The prince,” she said delicately. “You were taking me to His Highness.”

“I was?”

The butler screwed his eyes shut, then blinked them open. Without uttering another word, he darted down the corridor, disappearing.

Playing her own game of pretend, she smiled warmly at the guards.

“Hello, I’m—”

“No one is permitted inside.”

“Is the prince here?”

“No one is permitted inside,” the guard repeated, his tone unchanging.

Camilla glared at the barrel-chested demon barring her from the throne room.

“This is a matter of urgency.”

“No one is permitted inside.” The guard flicked his attention over her, a tiny furrow appearing in his brow before smoothing away as quickly. “Order stands. For everyone.”

“He is inside, though, correct?”

“No one is—”

“—permitted inside,” she finished. “I heard you the first three times, sir. Please. I need to know if the prince is here; I assure you he will want to know what I’ve come to say.”

The guard pressed his lips together. This was ridiculous. Envy wanted to win the game and Camilla had the location of the next clue. What on earth could he be…

Soft, feminine laughter spilled out from the other side of the door.

Camilla shot an accusing look at the guard.

“I thought no one was permitted inside.”

The demon averted his gaze, square jaw set. He would no longer answer any questions. Not that he’d answered any before. He seemed only capable of repeating that one phrase. As if it was the only thing he’d been trained to say and he refused to deviate from his orders.

Why would Envy keep me locked out…

A sick feeling burned inside her.

Envy hadn’t lied. He hadn’t changed tactics. He was entertaining someone else.

Someone who had a sensual laugh. Who probably wouldn’t balk at spending only one night with him, who didn’t selfishly desire more than he wished to give.

It could have been her. It should be her.

Envy had wanted Camilla earlier and would have given her a night of pleasure she’d never have forgotten. But it hadn’t been enough. For that one confusing moment earlier, she’d wanted more than just his body.

And he’d made it clear his heart was strictly off-limits.

It hadn’t taken him very long to find another willing bedmate. Camilla almost doubled over.

There it was again, that uncomfortable dark feeling she refused to acknowledge, bubbling below the surface, a scalding geyser preparing to erupt.

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.

“Perhaps we should pleasure each other.” She gave Camilla a secretive smile. “See if we can tempt him to join. Or maybe we’ll decide against it. Play with his sin a little.” She looked at Envy. “Would you like that, Your Highness? Seeing her come for me?”

Camilla’s attention drifted past the goddess, coming to rest on the prince.

Envy’s expression was hard now, his chest barely rising. He was no longer lounging across his throne, his hands gripped the arms of it, knuckles white.

Like he was trying not to launch himself off it.

“Do you think he’ll stroke himself?” Vittoria asked, shooting him a dark look. “Make himself come all over that pretty throne? Or do you think he’ll envy me as I make you writhe?”

She moved a step closer. Camilla didn’t retreat.

“What is it about you?” Vittoria muttered. “Your very presence seems to incite passion.”

That was an effect of Camilla’s true nature. And the goddess was entirely too observant. Or maybe Camilla was tired of chaining herself, dimming her light as Wolf had accused.

Perhaps she should seduce the goddess in front of Envy, give him a taste of his own game.

Envy suddenly rose from his throne, all demon. He took one fierce step at a time, closing the distance between them in an excruciatingly slow procession.

Camilla held his stare the whole time.

This battle of wills was one she could not lose; it would give him too much power, alter their dynamic in a way she’d never regain ground from. Camilla was an equal here, not a pet.

It was high time he realized that.

The prince stopped close enough for her to feel the heat of him, so close she had to tilt back her chin to hold that glittering, dangerous stare. Sometimes she forgot how large he was, how tall and commanding. He used every bit of his size now, crowding her space.

Camilla’s chin notched a degree higher; she was not cowed.

He moved so fast she didn’t register what had happened until her cloak hit the floor.

“You smell like Unseelie, Camilla.”

Vittoria laughed quietly. He tensed.

“Alexei. See the goddess out. We’re through.”

“No, we’re not,” Vittoria challenged. “Things are just getting fun.”

Jealousy had Camilla feeling downright murderous. No matter if the goddess ruled over Death, Camilla would find a way to end her if she touched Envy before Camilla did.

“Alexei.” Envy was pushed to his limit too. “Now.”

Camilla hadn’t known the vampire was there, she’d kept her attention only on Envy. But now he swooped in, ushering Vittoria out with a bitter curse and a foreboding thud of the throne room doors. Camilla heard a bolt sliding home, locking them in.

Envy was still.

It was the stillness of a predator. Of a being who wasn’t human and never had been. The sort of stillness that unnerved.

And it would have, if Camilla hadn’t been as still, mind whirling as the puzzle slowly came together.

All at once, she understood. She thought Envy had been reacting to her jealousy, his sin surging, being stoked by her strong emotion, but the stillness, the tension…

He was jealous. Of more than the goddess’s taunts. Those had been a mere distraction, a way for him to try to get his true envy under control.

And he’d failed to do so.

Wolf had touched her cloak.

Her locket.

He’d danced with her across the snow.

He’d hugged her, run those big hands along her spine, attempting a mortal’s embrace. And Camilla had sunk into it, allowing Wolf to envelop her for a moment, brief though it had been.

But Envy wasn’t human, his senses weren’t dulled.

From the second she walked in, he would have scented Wolf all over her. Had probably assumed that the Fae had sought her out once Envy went to meet the goddess.

And there was only one thing Wolf was legendary for.

A puzzle that wouldn’t have taken Envy long to solve.

Camilla imagined that Envy was vividly picturing all the things the Fae had done to her, the same way she’d just pictured what Envy was doing here. On the throne. With the goddess.

Camilla wasn’t jealous of Vittoria; she was envious that he’d dare to touch another the way she wanted him to touch her. Only her.

“I spoke with Wolf,” she said.

“I know.”

His sin chilled the chamber, frost lightly coating the walls. If she’d possessed that ability, Camilla would have iced over the chamber with her envy too.

Finally, his gaze flicked down to her locket. Or maybe he was staring at her breasts. An eternity passed in a handful of moments before he looked up, face impassive.

“Did you fuck him?”

His voice was low, but his words carried a punch.

If he expected Camilla to flinch, she refused to do so. Clarity came without warning. This wasn’t about her. Or whether she’d allowed Wolf into her bed again.

It wasn’t even about Envy’s sin, about his inability to be satisfied, like his brothers all thought. His one-night rule was about Envy punishing himself. Repeatedly.

Brick by brick he’d built a wall around his heart. His refusal to spend more than one night with a lover meant he never had to risk that wall crumbling. Never had to risk getting hurt, or falling in love, never had to risk losing. Because he had been hurt before, he’d played the game of romance and had lost; the scar ran deep, the fracture never quite mending.

And he blamed himself for a choice that was never his to make.

His mortal had gone to the Wild Court of her own free will. What had happened was tragic, but he was not to blame.

“Once.” Camilla gave him the truth, knowing he’d sense a lie. Knowing, too, she wanted to offer an olive branch. “A long time ago.”

His gaze traveled to her lips.

“Was he the male in your memory?”

“Yes.”

“How long.” His voice held no trace of anger. It wasn’t a question, either. “A year? A decade?”

Camilla’s throat tightened. He was asking so much more than he appeared to be.

“Two mortal years.”

There was a flicker of understanding in his face. Perhaps relief. Even if he didn’t know what she was, it was an admission that Camilla wasn’t human.

Moonlight streamed in from high-set windows, pooling around them. For the first time, Camilla noticed how the light bathed him in silver, giving him a celestial glow; a star fallen to grace mortals with its splendor. As if he needed any heavenly assistance to make him more alluring. Looking at him now, Camilla wondered how she’d ever believed he was human.

“Is that why you wear the locket?” he asked. “A charm to ward him off? Or is it an enchantment to hide your true nature?”

“Did you love her?”

Camilla didn’t clarify who she meant, and he didn’t ask. They both knew she was asking about the mortal, not the goddess.

He’d gone still again; this time a storm was quietly brewing behind his gaze as it turned inward.

“Infatuation. Intrigue. Deep admiration. But never love.”

He bared his teeth, like he expected her to think him monstrous for that admission of truth and played the role to own it. Masks upon masks.

Deception would be their undoing.

When she didn’t react, he filled the silence.

“I brought her to the Wild Court. Introduced her to her death. Made a selfish mistake that has impacted my entire court. That responsibility weighs.”

And then she’d wager his one-night rule was born.

Camilla knew what it was like to make a single mistake that continued to ravage. Some mistakes grew fangs and claws, always hungry for more wickedness, more regret. She wanted to ask what he’d done but sensed that was a door he’d keep firmly closed for now. She’d just walked the halls of his House, knew his mistake had grown more than proverbial fangs.

“Your turn,” he said. “Tell me about the locket.”

She expelled a breath.

“It was a gift from my mother. It wards against Unseelie males.”

It did more, but that was all she’d reveal now.

His gaze sharpened on her admission, the wheels of his mind spinning. She saw the exact moment he’d added all his clues together. “You’re Seelie. How old are you truthfully?”

Far older than twenty-eight human years. “We left Faerie when I was six.”

Envy blinked, calculating. Time in Faerie was much different. But Fae children aged slowly there even by those standards. She’d been born more than a century before.

Camilla hadn’t truly started to age until she’d left her realm and come to Waverly Green, where human time had quickly ushered her to full adulthood.

It was one of the many reasons she’d refused to marry. Camilla wouldn’t age another day in her life, would have to leave Waverly Green eventually, before anyone grew suspicious. She wondered sometimes if that had been one of the reasons her mother had left.

“Were you going to bed the goddess?” she countered.

He considered her question.

“That was the plan, if it came down to it.”

This time Camilla did flinch. Truth was more hurtful than a blade. But he’d given it to her as she’d done for him, and for that she was grateful.

Envy moved in, like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“You see, Miss Antonius, the truth is, I’ve fucked for less. I’ve fucked for more.” He nodded to the doors, the moonlight shifting into shadow on his face. “I would sooner stick my blade in that goddess than my cock. But if that was her price, I was willing to pay it.”

He was no better than a scorpion, striking out when cornered.

Camilla drew herself up, unwilling to become anyone’s pincushion. Being hurt and regretful was one thing, being an ass and lashing out was another.

“By all means. Go after her. I’m only here because I deciphered the last clue—the ‘dearly twin’ is a carved pillar, not a person. That is why I sought Wolf out. All for your stupid game. Though he did offer to make me his mate. Perhaps I’ll allow him the chance to convince me. He was quite talented with his tongue.”

Envy looked stricken, but then realization dawned. “The Twin Pillars of Faerie.”

“Perhaps you ought to take your goddess there. Stab or fuck to your heart’s content, Your Highness. Maybe a blood sacrifice unlocks your next riddle.”

A beat later, his eyes narrowed. Like he’d just deciphered what else she’d said.

“He wanted what?”

“Oh, please,” she said. “As if you truly mind.”

“Swans mate for life. I’ve heard the Fae are similar. Do you really think I don’t care if another male mates with you? Do you know what other creatures mate for life?”

Camilla almost drew up short. Wolves. The very creatures Envy had chosen to symbolize his House of Sin. It was just one more twist in their game. And she’d had enough.

“You only want one night. Am I supposed to simply swear off all other lovers for eternity? I assure you I’ll carry on living my life long after you and your magical erection are gone from it.”

Camilla turned, furious. He could keep his damn wall up for eternity. When—and if—he ever grew up, he could seek her then.

“A curious thing happened.” Envy didn’t chase her, but something in his tone made her pause. “My cock—diligent soldier that it normally is—refused to cooperate with Vittoria.”

Of all the asinine things to say…

“Is that supposed to console me?” Camilla spun. It seemed his cock had more sense than his brain. “Perhaps you ought to speak to a royal physician, Your Highness. I’m sure there are herbs for that problem.”

He advanced on her then. For every step he took forward, she matched it stepping back, until she found herself pressed against a column and could go no farther.

Her heart pounded, a tiny thrill racing down her spine as he closed in.

The smooth stone cooled her flushed skin through her clothing. Her whole body suddenly warmed, her senses heightened. Her breasts chafed against the fabric of her gown, aching to be freed, yearning for the cool air to kiss her flesh.

Damn it all. She couldn’t possibly be aroused.

Envy pressed one hand to the stone next to her, the other snaking around her waist, holding her firmly against him. The scent of bourbon and berries mixed with something unmistakably masculine surrounded her, intoxicatingly dark and sinful—just like him.

Camilla could get drunk on that scent alone.

His hips ground against her. The hard ridge of him sliding against that most sensitive area, even through their clothes, stole her breath.

“Does it feel like I have a problem, Miss Antonius?”

He moved again, hitting that same place with unerring precision. A responding throb of pleasure pulsed between her legs. It felt like she had a problem.

The problem was that she wanted him to do that again.

His gaze captured hers, penetrating and deep. He knew. He’d sensed her desire, her want.

Camilla didn’t try to pretend otherwise; didn’t demand he retreat.

Her traitorous hands roamed over the backs of his defined arms, the muscles flexing beneath her caress, encouraging her to explore his back, his waist, before rising again to tangle in his soft hair.

“You didn’t answer me.” His voice was a hoarse whisper now.

Another sinfully decadent stroke had her parting her thighs on instinct, inviting him closer, deeper. She should push him away, protect her heart. This was destined to end in a few short hours.

Instead, she touched him everywhere, committing each curve, each ridge, each line to memory to paint later. The bones of his cheeks, his nose, those seductive lips… she wanted to map the road of his body and travel it again and again in her dreams.

“My only problem,” he said, gently nipping at her fingertips, “is that I want you.”

His confession was nothing but a raw whisper near her ear, a blade of truth so sharp it carved him open on the way out. Maybe she would regret it tomorrow, maybe they would both break into a million pieces after, but right now all she wanted was to soothe the ache in his voice, the responding ache in her soul.

One night.

It would be enough. Envy now knew she wasn’t human. Knew she was an equal, that neither one of them had to hold back or worry about breaking the other.

They could be as wild as they desired.

A ragged breath escaped her; perhaps it was a moan, or a wordless plea for more. Whatever language she spoke, he understood. He moved against her again. And again.

Heat bolted through her with each torturous thrust.

“I want you so fucking much,” he murmured. “I should be focused on the next clue.”

Hips met hers again, harder.

“I should be on my way to the pillars.” Another punishing, delicious thrust. “My court stands in the balance. Yet I’m here.”

His fingers tightened on her hips, branding, possessive. Her body grew slicker.

“Plotting everything I’m going to do to you. I want you shouting my name when you come, every time you come. On my tongue. My fingers. My cock. You’ve destroyed me, Camilla. I want to return the favor.”

This time, she met his thrust, grinding against him.

A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Tell me you want me.”

Camilla clasped on to him, fists bunched in his shirt, holding him against her. It was the only answer she’d give him, the only one that mattered now.

More.

His face dropped to her neck, hips grinding again. And again. His breath was hot on her skin, a bit ragged, too. God, she wanted him.

His grip tightened again, like he was holding himself back from a terrible fall and failing, his control slipping. He was coming undone right along with her.

Lips ghosted across her skin, the sensation haunting her senses. Maybe this was what it was like to die from pleasure, to exist outside a physical form, to only know boundless ecstasy.

And he wasn’t inside her yet.

“Camilla.”

Her name was a curse, a plea. You’ve destroyed me.

He’d done the same to her. Tearing down her walls, her happy little human life. False though it had been, it had been safety. Being near him, back in this realm, wasn’t safe at all.

It was dangerous and alluring and tempting and made her recall who she truly was.

He’d been right when he said she didn’t want Prince Charming.

She wanted the demon.

The ruthless lover who’d demand and command and force her body to submit to pleasure.

Camilla wasn’t sure how to go back to Waverly Green. How to shove herself neatly into that restrictive box again, simpering and pretending. Hiding her passion and lust for life and art and each dark game she liked to play. Pretending she did not desire as men there did.

Closing the distance now would send them hurtling over the edge. She moved so their lips brushed, breath panting in unison. His mouth hovered against hers.

“Camilla, fuck.”

The last tangled threads of their control were slipping, unknotting, releasing them from their restraints. She wondered who would move first, damn them both.

Knew it would be her.

“Destroy me.” Her voice didn’t sound like hers. It was rougher, lower, filled with sensual promises. “Kiss me.”

Envy lowered his head, closing the last breath of space between them, his lips the sweetest poison Camilla had ever tasted. If this was all they’d have, she’d make it count.

His erection strained against his trousers; it was cruel to keep it caged. She broke away from their kiss, working the laces on his trousers loose, needing to see and feel him without anything between them at last.

He drew back, gaze searching.

“You know my rule.”

Camilla nodded.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He dropped to one knee, propping her foot on his raised leg, fingering the hem of her gown. In the matter of seconds, he magicked her stockings away.

A devilish smile curved his mouth as she shuddered at the first brush of his hands on her skin. He’d only touched her ankle, yet the bolt of awareness that shot through her tingled everywhere.

She leaned against the large column, eyes trained on the prince kneeling before her, head bent over her as if in prayer.

Camilla reached down, running her fingers through his dark locks, tracing the curve of his jaw, then drawing his attention back to hers as she tilted his face up.

From his position, it might look like Envy had surrendered, was bowing to his princess, but Camilla knew that was nowhere near the truth. On the contrary, he was about to conquer.

And she’d gladly allow him to win this round, knowing she’d be the ultimate victor.

“Brace yourself, pet,” he growled. “I’m going to fucking devour you.”