Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked Book 2)
Kingdom of the Cursed: CHAPTER 21

I expected the dungeons of House Wrath to be subterranean. Unending darkness broken only by meager bits of torchlight set along desolate corridors. Stones damp with piss and other foul odors of the forgotten and damned permeating the very essence of the chambers. Screams of the tortured souls who were abominable enough to find themselves imprisoned in Hell. I’d convinced myself the wailing I’d heard out in the gardens originated from the cells.

Reality was much different.

We climbed a wide stone staircase in a tower, the air crisp and clean, while light poured in through a series of arched windows set high above. A lovely wooden door greeted us at the top. There were no guards stationed outside. No weapons trained on the murderer who was waiting—just beyond the pale stone walls—for his audience with the prince and possible princess of this House of Sin.

I gave Wrath an incredulous look. “You’ve left him unguarded?”

“The door is magicked shut. And also locks from the outside.” He placed his palm against the wood and it clicked open. “It’s spelled to open for the both of us.”

I blinked slowly. I seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Wrath either trusted me more than he let on, or he didn’t consider me a threat. It was foolish on his part to underestimate me.

I walked into the room and halted.

Antonio sat in a plush leather chair with a book and a steaming cup of tea placed on a low table next to him. A throw blanket was spread across his lap. He was in an alcove that overlooked the snowcapped mountains of the realm. An ebony river slithered through the land like a giant snake. The view was breathtaking, and the room was far better than the dormitory of the holy brotherhood. This prison cell was the height of cozy comfort.

I wasn’t certain I was breathing.

Antonio glanced up at our arrival, his brown eyes warm and friendly. Gone was the previous hatred he’d gazed upon me with. The disgust.

“Emilia. You came.”

An overwhelming wave of anger washed over me at the sight of his smile. The soft tone of his voice. Here was the human blade who had killed my twin, lounging with a book and a warm drink. As if he was on a lovely respite from the holy brotherhood instead of suffering for his crimes. Wrath had been wise after all, keeping his location secret from me.

I was halfway across the room before Wrath’s arms circled my waist and lifted me in the air. His touch did little to soothe the fire in my veins.

I kicked out, trying to land a blow on the despicable human.

“Drop me at once! I’m going to murder him!”

Wrath held me against his body without giving any quarter. I bucked against him, wild with fury that was spiraling beyond control. In the back of my mind, I knew my reaction was extreme, but I had lost the ability to see reason.

All I could see was red.

The red of anger and the crimson of my twin’s blood, puddled on the hard ground. Staining my hands as I slipped over it and lost any remaining sense of peace I’d know. Now I would take from him until he had nothing left. Until he met Vittoria’s same fate. I’d rip his damned heart from his chest with my teeth if I had to.

Antonio dropped the book and pressed himself deep into the chair, his eyes wide. The only thing standing between him and a vicious attack was the demon. Irony was located in there.

“Do you recall what I said about your anger, my lady?”

The prince’s low voice held a hint of teasing that doused the blazing inferno of rage. The fight left my body, only to be replaced by a different sort of tension.

Without letting me go, Wrath maneuvered us out into the corridor and kicked the door shut behind us. He carefully set me on my feet, my back against the cool stone, his arms casually placed on either side of my body.

A glimmer of amusement shone in his eyes as I leveled a glare at him.

“Master your temper, or we’ll attempt this again tomorrow.”

“This was a test.”

“You’re failing miserably.”

Like he surmised I would. I inhaled deeply through my nose, then exhaled through my mouth. Just as he’d done the night we fought over the enchanted skulls. I repeated the exercise twice more before my emotions settled. “I’m calm now.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I find it fascinating that you continue to lie to my face, knowing full well I can sense each untruth. Rage makes for messy battle strategies. If you cannot control your fury, you risk getting hurt.”

“Fine. I’m calmer. Though not for long if you keep poking at me.”

“That creates quite the mental imagery.”

And just as he’d intended, I was suddenly no longer thinking of murder, anger, or rage. A new pulse pounded through me that had little to do with my heart. My attention dropped to his wicked lips, noting the tantalizing curve of them. He hadn’t used an ounce of magic or influence. This lust-filled emotion belonged only to me. And this realm and our provocative marriage bond.

Or maybe he wasn’t the only one whose anger swiftly turned into passion.

Maybe it was an aphrodisiac for me, too. “You’re wholly inappropriate.”

“Lie.” Wrath moved slowly, placing his body flush against mine. The physical contact was a welcome distraction from the anger still simmering inside me. I focused on the demon, on the heat not originating in fury. “I am your intended. And a living embodiment of sin, as you once called me. A certain amount of inappropriate behavior should be expected. Especially when the future princess of House Wrath is so appealing.”

“You are a heathen. I just tried to murder a man.”

“Precisely.” He pressed his lips to my cheek. “Are you ready to try again?”

“To murder him?”

“I suggest talking, but you are free, as always, to choose your path.”

“Murder, or at least a good thrashing, then.”

“Try.” Challenge rang in the single word. “We’ll just end up out here again.”

As if that was a deterrent. “You trust me?”

“It’s more important for you to trust yourself.” He pushed back from the wall. “Only you can decide how to move forward. What would you like to do?”

Dangerous question. I would like to open the murderer from gut to gullet and watch his stinking, steaming entrails spill across the floor. That answer wouldn’t get me back inside. And, no matter how I’d felt moments before, I did not want to become someone I could no longer respect. Murdering a man, even one who’d violently killed my twin, would only put me on his level. Which was why Wrath had made me take the dagger to him the other night.

I knew how it felt, hurting someone. Blood would not stain my hands. Today.

Wrath waited silently, giving me time and space to decide my next move. His expression was perfectly bland, offering no judgment. No hint to his inner thoughts.

I rolled my shoulders, releasing the tension. “I’m ready to ask him about my sister.”

“Emilia.” Antonio jumped to his feet. “It’s good to see you.”

His tone indicated what he actually meant was “It’s good to see you no longer snarling and kicking like a rabid beast trying to rip out my throat.”

This meeting was young, though. There was still time for snarling and snapping. The leash I’d put on myself was already slipping. I did not return his tentative smile. Just because I’d decided against gutting him did not mean we would ever be friends again.

I moved carefully into the small tower chamber, feeling Wrath close behind. His trust only went so far, apparently. Smart demon.

“Is it? I would imagine initially it was like staring into the face of one of your victims. Only to discover they weren’t dead after all.”

There was a beat of silence that fell awkwardly between us.

“I cannot… words and apologies will never be enough to make up for what I did to you.”

“What you did to Vittoria.”

“O-of course.” His throat bobbed. I almost believed the emotion was real. “I’ve been taking a tonic.” He indicated the steaming mug on the small table. “The matron is talented with breaking enchantments.”

I paused in the center of the room. Wrath was a shadow looming in my periphery. “Is that what you’re claiming now? Magic was the true villain, not your hatred?”

Antonio watched me closely as he settled back onto his chair, his gaze never once straying to the demon prince behind me. He did not know I was unable to use magic, that my threats were all bark and no bite. His fear did something to me. Made me want to strike harder.

“Do you recall my trip to the village? Where they claimed a goddess was feasting with wolves in the spirit realm, and teaching them ways to protect themselves from evil?”

“Let me guess.” My tone turned frosty. “You’re claiming a goddess actually descended upon that village and was the one who cursed you?”

“Emilia, my god.” He looked affronted. “I didn’t…”

“You expected forgiveness? Unearned mercy? You murdered my twin. You killed other innocent women. Instead of taking responsibility for your actions, you’re telling me superstitious stories. Ones you were only too happy to claim as silly and unfounded, if I recall. Own your truth, admit your wrongs, and do not waste my time with old folktales or lies.”

I spun on my heel and headed back to the door. I didn’t trust the growing darkness of my temper. Wrath moved aside and let me pass, his expression still unreadable.

I turned at the threshold and looked at the man I’d once believed I’d loved. How young and foolish I’d been then. Antonio had devoted his life to the holy order and would never be half as honorable as the prince of Hell standing beside him.

“When you regain all of your memories, or whatever it is you’re claiming the matron is helping you with, send for me then. But if you lie to me again, I will come for you. I will rip out your heart and feed it to the hellhounds. Wrath cannot stand guard and protect you forever.”

Antonio pressed his lips together. “I know I must earn your forgiveness. Please, Emilia. Please visit me again soon. Let me prove I am trustworthy.”

Hell was already frozen over, so I didn’t point out it would take it thawing into the Garden of Eden for me to willingly seek out his friendship again.

I left Wrath in the tower and rushed back to my chambers, heading straight into the bathing room. I needed to soak away the experience of being in Antonio’s filthy presence. I’d made it to the glass stool near my vanity when I heard the faint knock. “Come in.”

“My lady, I’m Harlow. I’m to tend to you when you need assistance.”

I glanced up from where I sat, pinning up my long hair. A young demon maid—with lavender skin and snow-colored hair—nervously stood in the doorway. I took a deep breath and released it. I refused to let my bad mood taint the rest of my evening.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Harlow. You don’t need to trouble yourself, though. I can manage preparing for my bath.” She bit her lip, eyes darting to the sunken tub. I wondered if my refusal came across as an insult instead of an attempt at being friendly. I forced a smile. “If you could add some oils and soap to the water, that would be nice.”

“Straight away.” Harlow rushed into the room, her expression brightening. “I’ll go fetch a length of linen and leave it on the side for you to dry off after you bathe, Lady Emilia.”

“Thank you.”

The maid bobbed a quick curtsy, then exited the room. I knew Wrath had said that servants didn’t expect to be thanked for their jobs, but it felt strange to ignore anyone’s efforts at bringing comfort. She tended to the water, laid out the linen towel, then quietly left me alone.

I slipped the silk dressing gown off my shoulders and hung it on a crystal hook near the vanity. Candles in the chandelier flickered with my movements, adding a sense of serenity to the already lovely bathing room. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

After the burst of fury that had consumed all rational thought brought on by Antonio, this was exactly what I needed. Time to simply breathe and soak and let go of the anger.

I stepped down into the warm water, the perfumed oils rising up with the steam. Between the aches that crept up from my lessons with Anir and the tension that had coiled in my body from Antonio, the water felt like heaven.

I submerged myself up to my neck, leaning back against the lip of the enormous sunken tub. I was trying to empty my mind and emotions. Each time I replayed what Antonio said about the goddess and the shape-shifters, I felt that unsettling murderous rage flare up.

Once the initial fury passed, I tried to pick it apart. I didn’t believe him. But perhaps he hadn’t been influenced by a demon. It was possible a witch crossed his path and pretended to be a goddess. Or was it a matter of two mortals being influenced with demon magic? Maybe the person who came to him as the angel of death had been another victim. It would be clever of the demon to never actually be seen by Antonio. Then he’d never be able to identify them.

After my lessons with Wrath, I knew how hard it was to fight off a magical attack, but I still found forgiveness and sympathy to be out of reach. Part of me hated to admit that, even to myself. When I got that furious… it felt as if I left my body and all sense of humanity was replaced with elemental rage. I sunk against the tub, drained both emotionally and physically.

I must have drifted off; the sound of the door creaking open jarred me awake.

No footsteps or sounds of the maid’s return rustled in the suite.

An uncomfortable feeling prickled along my skin. I was not alone in the chamber. Someone was watching me. Someone who was not identifying themselves.

“Harlow?”

A length of linen tightened around my neck. My fingers flew to the material as my airflow ceased. I thrashed in the tub, splashing water in violent waves. A strangled sound escaped my lips, but it wasn’t loud enough to alert anyone of the assassination attempt. My throat burned, white spots filtered in at the edge of my vision. Panic made me buck.

Then I remembered the one item I hadn’t removed for my bath.

My hand shot below the water and emerged with the slim dagger Wrath had gifted me. With one final burst of energy, I thrust my arm back and felt vicious glee as the blade sunk into soft flesh. The intruder gasped and dropped the garrote.

In the seconds it took for me to wrench the fabric from my throat and spin around, they were gone. The only sign that anything had happened was the obscene amount of blood leading to the door. I calmly got to my feet and pulled on a dressing gown. Then I called for a servant to fetch Wrath. All the while my pulse pounded in my ears. Someone had tried to murder me. And I’d stabbed them. Someplace vital if the amount of blood on the floor was any indication.

I couldn’t muster an ounce of regret. Or perhaps I was simply numb from shock.

One thing didn’t escape my notice, though. Thanks to Envy’s curse for stealing the book of spells, I had no magic to defend myself against the attack. No power aside from the physical blow I’d struck with the dagger.

Wrath appeared in a cloud of smoke and glittering black light, rage etched into his ice-cold features. “Are you injured?”

“No.” I pointed to the blood on the tile. “But the same isn’t true for the assailant.”

Wrath scanned me first, his attention catching on my neck. His expression turned thunderous. I imagined a red welt was forming. The very foundation of the castle vibrated.

“Do you wish to accompany me?”

I glanced at my hands, at the dagger I still held, coated in blood. Perhaps it made me weak, but I couldn’t bring myself to witness what was about to occur. I shook my head, not meeting Wrath’s gaze. If there were a House Cowardice, I’d probably be queen of it.

“It takes enormous strength to acknowledge your limits, Emilia.” His hand trailed from my temple to my chin, then gently lifted it so I looked at him. “A true leader delegates. Just as you’re doing now. Never doubt your courage. I certainly don’t.”

Dropping his hand from my face, Wrath finally glanced at the blood.

He prowled toward it, an almighty predator on the hunt, and didn’t utter another word before he disappeared, House dagger gripped in hand, looking like a nightmare made flesh.

And, to whoever had just attacked me in his House, I supposed that’s exactly what he was. May the goddesses grant the assailant a swift death—Wrath certainly wouldn’t.

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