Even the sun—if it could be called that—was a dulled orb pinned to a twilight sky. Another storm was blowing in. The cold air smelled of nature’s violence.
“You remain remarkably unaffected, Miss Antonius. Why is that?”
“I’ve been fed stories of different realms as part of my weekly sustenance for as long as I can remember. My father frequented the dark market from the time I could walk.”
The prince waited for her to elaborate, his cool, aristocratic features as remote as this frozen land.
Of course the Seven Circles, the realm ruled quite literally by sin and debauchery, by seven dark and dangerous princes, were forbidding. Like the regal man next to her. Or rather, regal demon prince.
That would take some getting used to. Remembering he was no mortal man.
She tamped down the rush of excitement she felt, hating how the thought of his power affected her.
“That didn’t answer my question.” Envy was watching her curiously.
She lifted a shoulder but remained silent.
After lying to her and now this kidnapping, he would have to wait forever before she’d reveal any more secrets about herself.
Camilla drew in a deep breath, the cold air forcing her senses to heighten.
Envy hadn’t lied, at least not about the Sin Corridor. She’d pretended to be unaffected, but she’d felt the magic of the world circling them like a pack of wolves sniffing out potential prey. She wondered which sin would strike first, test her mettle. She also wondered if the realm would be surprised at what it discovered.
“We’ll travel as far as possible, but if the test hasn’t finished, we’ll need to shelter in the Corridor for the night,” the prince said, breaking the silence.
Camilla flicked her attention to Envy, noticing the tension in his body, the strain.
He couldn’t have seemed more on edge if he’d tried. From what she recalled of old stories, he did not need to remain with her.
He was choosing to do so. Probably to ensure that she didn’t run. Or maybe it had to do with his sin. Envy wouldn’t want her to stray too far from his side.
He looked her over clinically.
“Are you cold?”
She shook her head, then quickly gestured to the grand cloak. He was not the only one capable of withholding unnecessary details.
If he found that suspicious, he didn’t comment on it.
Instead, he began their slow trek through the snow, remaining a few steps ahead to tamp down a path for her. It was practical, but also kind.
Camilla drank in each part of this realm as they walked, guzzling details and storing them away to paint when she returned home, theoretically with her talent again intact.
This was precisely the sort of scene that would make her name in Waverly Green. Her father had known that distinctiveness was the key; his whimsical fantasy pieces had been so unique compared to the religious or still life paintings so many others gravitated toward.
This would combine Camilla’s love of landscape with the vibrancy of the fantastic. Something not quite as on the nose as Pierre’s work, but so perfect for her, holding secret worlds that begged to be explored.
There was so much white, of course, but it was broken with deep, rich splashes of green from the trees, gray clouds in the sky, and a beautiful bluish tint where the ice was exceptionally thick. The colors were muted but rich, holding steady against the looming danger of the dramatic weather.
They traveled up steep hills and down sharp ravines. Sometimes the path was so narrow she had to turn to the side to pass, and other times it was wide enough to march an army through.
The farther they trudged, the more she understood that this realm was vast—much more so than she’d ever heard. It seemed to go on forever in every direction—the corridor only hinting at what majesty might lie beyond those high mountain peaks.
Camilla had never traveled far outside Waverly Green, except for her family’s yearly outings to their country estate nearby. Still, her mother had loved to share stories of her previous travels across the mortal world, often painting a picture with her words as deftly as Pierre had with his watercolors. For many years, her mother and Pierre had seemed an exceptional match.
Yet her mother’s restlessness had put an end to that.
After her father had died, Camilla had thought about following her mother’s footsteps and leaving Waverly Green. Suddenly alone, she realized she could go anywhere, do anything. At home, it had seemed possible that the flood of loneliness and memories would drown her. But she’d made a choice, holding close her father’s honor, choosing instead to run Wisteria Way.
Camilla had never really regretted her choice, but she’d still secretly dreamed of seeing the worlds from her father’s stories one day. Although the reality that she was doing so now with the Prince of Envy at her side seemed more than she’d bargained for.
Every so often she felt the slight pressing of magic against her and mentally brushed it away. Wrath was only mild annoyance. Gluttony was a slight desire to keep feasting on the world. Envy was wishing she had a way to come here whenever she wanted to soak it all in and feeling jealous of those who could. Yet nothing overwhelmed her, nothing commanded her.
She was the master of her will. If only she could summon her talent as easily.
Envy kept his attention mostly fixed on the tree line, indicating that the snarls she’d heard earlier were in fact beasts. She’d heard legends of three-headed hounds and could picture those creatures making the eerie sounds they heard now.
Envy glanced at her a few times, his brow creased as if she were the one riddle he couldn’t solve.
She waited, breath held, for him to question her, but he never did.
She studied him while his back was to her, openly admiring his powerful frame, the certainty of his confident, unhurried steps. Envy was at home in this harsh world, undisturbed. He was the greatest predator in this corridor and knew it.
And that knowledge made her annoyingly attuned to him.
Camilla watched the way even the snowflakes seemed to part for him, not daring to muss his hair or clothing, admirers merely sweeping to the side, bowing to their prince.
If she were to paint him now, here, she’d have the whole realm bending to his mighty will. Would show the earth folding in at his feet, kneeling too.
She snorted.
He’d love the idea of being worshipped by the very earth he stood upon.
He shot a look over his shoulder.
“Nothing,” she said, answering the unspoken question in his eyes. “Just amusing myself.”
“I can see that.” His mouth curled up at the edges, the first flicker of playfulness she’d seen on his face since he’d brashly brought them here.
He turned and set an increasingly brutal pace.
On and on they walked.
Instead of Camilla’s being fearful of the snarls and roars all around, a sense of adventure reemerged, her creativity spinning visions of what the creatures hidden in the forests might look like, how she might paint them when she won her talent back. Because she would win it back.
Would the creatures be great winged beasts, perhaps with the head of a lion and the body of a whale? Would their fangs be the size of her arms? Would they be covered in thick coats of fur, or in scales, or something wholly new?
The possibilities were endless.
Excitement rushed through her as the next roar sounded, vibrating through the ground. It sounded like it was directly over the nearest hill. Camilla thrilled at the pounding of her heart, the rush of her pulse.