SIXTY-NINE
WHAT DID I tell you?” Gluttony grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Pay up, brothers.”
“You don’t know that for a fact,” Lust shot back sourly.
“The invitations said, and I quote, ‘We would be honored to celebrate our betrothal with you,’” Gluttony said in falsetto. “Facts are facts, brother. You lost. Again.”
Envy ignored the petty argument, his attention straying to the silver-haired beauty holding court with the Queen of the Wicked Emilia, her friend Lady Fauna, Lady Katherine, and—much to his constant annoyance—Wolf. The gods-damned silver-tongued Unseelie.
Though Envy supposed it was beneficial to his court to have him around; Camilla gently but playfully provoked his sin just to get a rise out of him.
And rise he did. Camilla’s passion ignited his constantly.
They’d barely slept since they returned to his House of Sin. Once the last of his court had drunk from the chalice, chasing off the madness of no new memories, they’d focused on one another. Healing old hurts, forging a bond stronger than steel.
He was relieved to show her how spectacular his demons were. And spectacular they were tonight. They wore their best gowns and suits, their finest jewels. Their eyes as clear and cunning as ever as they flitted around the party, mingling with the other demons, showing off their riches. Attempting to inspire jealousy by sharing stories and discussing new art.
Envy had never been happier, seeing his court as it should be.
And Camilla… she was worth facing his fears.
Envy had never imagined the strength he’d feel the moment he became vulnerable.
His Unseelie princess had been a tireless lover, demanding he make love to her in every room, every floor of his sprawling House of Sin.
Harder, faster, gentler, deeper. Camilla loved ordering him around.
And Envy must be mad, because it made him hard as steel every time.
But he could only take orders for so long.
He’d push her down, spread her thighs wide, devouring her in the kitchens, on the dining room table, in their bedchamber, in the gallery. She’d arch up from the table, shouting his name, cursing him, praising him, bucking as he suckled every bit of her arousal, then flipped her over and fucked her until she came again. And again.
His court would hurry by, averting their gazes, though he knew they secretly adored Envy’s infatuation. They wanted their prince as happy as possible, wanted him to enjoy all he’d fought for. And Camilla enjoyed stoking envy in everyone who knew she was the one to make him break his rule.
They’d made love on the throne every night: fingers, tongue, cock. And he wanted more. Forever. And since she wasn’t human, they had all that time and more.
For the first time in his long existence, he wanted to experience everything with another.
More laughter, more quiet moments, more midnight snacks, strawberries dipped in chocolate, the two of them sprawled in front of the fire, talking of art.
More games and bringing out each other’s human aspects that hadn’t existed before.
More walking the hallways of House Envy, rearranging paintings and sculptures based on what she preferred. When they could manage not to tear each other’s clothes off, they moved some of her art from Waverly Green, combining their collections.
It wasn’t enough. Envy wanted more still.
More running his fingers through her soft hair, watching her drift off to sleep, her face peaceful. Those full lips parted in dreamy contentment.
More games to play—and he was delighted he didn’t even know what they’d be yet.
Envy would remake worlds for her. Would break every rule to make her smile. He’d—
“Are you even listening?” Gluttony waved a hand in front of his face, shaking his head in disgust. “Witches’ tits. You’re worse than he is. He jabbed his thumb in Wrath’s direction. And he’s abhorrently in love. Look at him. He’s making doe-eyes at Emilia right here.”
The demon of war bared his teeth, his smile feral, so at odds with his finely made suit.
“One day you’re going to gorge yourself on those words, brother.” Wrath’s voice was laced with dark promise.
Gluttony snorted, the sound filled with derision.
The reporter he was feuding with hadn’t responded to the invitation Envy had sent, and he was sure Gluttony’s foul mood had nothing to do with that.
“Don’t count on it,” Gluttony said. “I bet Lust will be next.”
“Not a fucking chance in any of the realms combined. Where’s Sloth?” Lust asked. “Maybe he’ll make a chart and line up all the variables for me. I cannot fathom how you’re all content to bed the same person for the rest of your days.”
He shivered.
“Sloth went to find Pride,” Wrath said, gaze landing back on his wife. “I saw a book in his jacket, though.”
“Of fucking course.” Lust groaned. “I’ll see where he’s hiding. If he doesn’t start acting like a gods-damned demon, we’re all going to get bad reputations.” He jabbed a finger into Wrath’s chest. “You need to lay down a law or something.”
Wrath’s gold eyes glittered. “First rule? Don’t touch me again.”
“Don’t kill each other in this room,” Envy said. “I just had the floors waxed.”
He’d had the entire House scrubbed of any evidence of how close the court had come to falling. Looking at it now, no one would ever suspect they’d been on the brink of collapse.
Gluttony glanced around, brows knitted. “Where’s Greed?”
“There was an issue at his gaming hell,” Envy said. “He sent his regrets.”
Gluttony snorted. “I’m sure he did. Prick.”
Wrath and Gluttony began debating about boxing, and Envy took that as his cue to leave.
He strode down the corridor, walking to where Pride lounged in a chair he’d pilfered, his crown tilted to one side. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing corded muscle, his shirt half untucked from his trousers.
His head was tilted all the way back, his eyes closed. An empty glass hung from his fingers. Pride played the role of debauched prince so well, Envy wondered if he’d finally become that.
He stood over his brother, then kicked Pride’s boot, drawing his gaze.
It was slow, unfocused.
“Party over, Levi?”
Envy noticed the rest of the empty bottles, the broken wineglasses. They’d been shoved into the alcove beside him.
This time Pride wasn’t pretending to be the drunken royal.
“What happened?” Envy demanded.
Pride lifted a shoulder, dropping it as if he couldn’t be bothered to respond or care.
Envy kicked him harder. “Answer the damn question, Luc.”
“Sursea won’t tell me anything.”
The First Witch, Pride’s consort’s mother, had cursed them all when Pride and Lucia wed and then refused to dissolve their relationship. Witches and demons were sworn enemies, but that didn’t stop Pride from falling in love with the one witch he shouldn’t have. Lucia was strictly off-limits, but they chose each other, despite all the reasons they shouldn’t have.
One day, Lucia left House Pride without a word. Pride didn’t know if she’d been taken against her will, imprisoned somewhere, or given a True Death. He’d been searching ever since, even when the First Witch cursed them all, keeping them trapped in the Seven Circles for years. She’d done something worse to Pride before that, though, something he refused to speak of. Envy knew it had been the true root of the miscommunication between Pride and Lucia.