“Only that your beloved will soon be dead. And you will be nothing but the divine whore you are. Poetic justice if you ask me.”
Before I thought about what I was doing, I dragged my blade from ear to ear across its throat. Hard enough to tear its head from its body. I coolly stared down at the dead demon, unfazed by what I’d just done. It struck me then what I was slowly becoming. The more the curse lost its grip on me, the more I remembered what it was to be a goddess. To feel no remorse. To be fueled by vengeance and openly welcome the vice of my House.
I bent down and retrieved the head.
Envy whistled and stuck his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Remind me not to call you any nasty names. At least not without donning armor and casting a protective spell or twelve first.”
“It wasn’t what it said about me.” I smiled, though it was tinged with sadness, not happiness or pride, at what I’d done. At the prince’s questioning look, I added, “Its mistake was saying Wrath would die. Imagining a world without him… I couldn’t bear it.”
Envy carefully studied me, his expression inscrutable. “If Wrath can’t ever give you his heart, would you still fight for him?”
I surveyed the bodies around us. Some still twitching from where they choked on the vines. If only I’d been able to do this during the battle with the werewolves, perhaps my husband might not have gotten stabbed or poisoned at all. “I can only hope one day you won’t have to ask me such a question,” I said. “That my actions will speak louder than my words.”
I thought of Wrath with that last statement, understanding exactly why he preferred actions over words. They held more value. More meaning than words that could just be pretty lies.
With my prize in hand, I faced the castle and started walking for the doors. It was time to pay the prince of this circle a visit. One way or another, Pride would let me use that portal so I could get to my husband.
Envy fell into step beside me, stealing glances I pretended not to notice. If he was about to question why I took a souvenir of our bloody battle, he decided against it.
And that made the mortal part of me wonder if I’d actually frightened a prince of Hell.
ELEVEN
After much arguing—mostly due to my less-than-palace-worthy clothes—and helped largely in part by a little display of my fire magic, we were announced to Pride’s court. His throne room was a testament to his sin. The first time I’d been detained in his House after wandering through his fields of slumber root, I’d seen only one room. It had been ornate, gilded, like something the Sun King would have adored. Perhaps Louis XIV was inspired by this prince.
The floor was white marble with delicate gold veins. Cathedral ceilings with colorful frescoes painted on them were also gilded where the wall met the ceiling. Oversized crystal chandeliers hung the entire length of the room in even intervals, giving off a warm, sun-kissed glow.
Ornamental molding was used as trim on both the floor and upper wall. Arched mirrors hung along the walls on the left and right, creating a mirrored pathway to the prince. Of course someone as prideful as he was would require so many opportunities to gaze upon his glorious self.
At the end of the very long hall of mirrors, Pride lounged on his throne, wearing a deep navy-and-gold brocade waistcoat, slim trousers in charcoal, and dark brown boots that gleamed. He looked every inch the prince he was, styled in the highest of fashion. With my battle-worn and blood-flecked clothing and lack of a bathing chamber visit, I knew I looked wildly out of place. I didn’t care. Only one thing was on my mind at the moment: the portal.
Envy and I walked through the parted crowd of sneering courtiers, all dressed impeccably, like each demon court I’d visited. Each of these demons had nearly perfect features, making me wonder if their eerie perfection was the result of magical enhancements, not a result of nature. It also made me think of the scar their prince had on his lips; how he probably had the option to conceal it but chose not to. Which made me wonder how he’d gotten it once more.
“Some of us take pride in our appearance,” the prince of this circle said, almost answering my thoughts. I schooled my features into an unreadable mask. Pride looked down his nose at me, his lip curling from either the blood or—more likely—the shredded material of my gown. “Not all of us, clearly. Though I suppose as an unofficial member of Wrath’s court, you don’t count.”
“It’s lovely to see you again, too. Thank you for the warm welcome.” I dropped the severed head on the floor, enjoying the hiss of disapproval coming from the courtiers as it rolled to the base of his throne and crashed to a stop. “And some of us spend our time doing more than sitting in fancy chairs, pretending to be drunk and looking pretty.”