“Perhaps you should visit the dark market on Silverthorne Lane. They’ll know much more about that particular realm of art than I do.”
With that she tugged the door open, the bell ringing in finality. The Prince of Envy was being summarily dismissed.
He blinked down at the little hell beast before him, and she smiled even more sweetly back up.
“You may wish to hurry, my lord.” She glanced out at the darkening sky, her silver irises like strikes of lightning against the storm clouds. A beautiful portent of doom. “It looks about ready to rain.”
A clap of thunder punctuated her warning, and before he knew it, Envy was standing outside and the quaint door was being slammed and locked in his face.
Two beats later, the candles went out, plunging the gallery into complete darkness.
Envy cursed every saint he could think of under his breath as the first plump drops of rain freckled his shoulders. Then he heard the scrape of a boot, only seconds before his companion stepped from the shadows, chuckling darkly.
“You’ll just walk right in, was it?” the Prince of Pride asked, his eyes an annoyingly bright silver against the night. His chestnut-brown hair was mussed, giving the impression that a lover had run their hands through it. “Simple as that.”
Envy gave his brother a murderous look. “I thought you were waiting at the pub.”
“Changed my mind.” Pride shrugged. “I wanted entertainment. How does it feel to have your balls handed to you?”
“Not now.”
Envy headed across the street toward the nearest awning, wanting to escape the impending storm and his damned brother. His cavalier mask was slipping.
“Now is the perfect time to point out it was a dismal plan,” Pride said, strolling beside him, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Even Lust’s idea was better.”
“It’s Lust’s only idea.”
“Point? It always works.”
Envy gritted his teeth.
“So, Lord Syn.” Pride still drawled, but there was a sharper edge to his voice now. “Care to explain how the fuck it’s possible for you to lie?”
“Not particularly.” Envy wasn’t in a giving mood. “Aren’t you supposed to be searching for clues to Lucia’s whereabouts?” he asked instead. “Perhaps you aren’t as heartbroken as you’d like everyone to believe.”
It was a low blow, but Envy needed to be left alone before Pride noticed the cracks in his armor. If he could have risked the power needed to summon his wings, he’d have catapulted into the heavens, leaving his brother behind. As it stood, Envy had to remain grounded until he won the gods-damned game and fully restored his magic.
All levity vanished from his brother’s face at the mention of his missing consort. Pride’s lips pressed together tightly, revealing the ancient scar that still carved a path across his lower lip. For most, Pride pretended to be a drunken rake, obsessed with all that glittered. Frivolous, egotistical. Unconcerned with anything aside from pretty lovers, parties, and baubles.
But Envy, king of masks, knew these were false identities his brother wore. Pride was much more calculating than he let on. His secrets were so vast, even Envy’s best spies hadn’t unearthed them all yet.
“Don’t get pissy because I was right,” Pride snapped icily. “I told you to court her first, then ask her to paint the throne for you. Why else would she help a stranger do something so dangerous? Put yourself in her position—would you risk yourself?”
Envy grunted, and Pride studied him more closely.
“Wrath said you’re abysmal at strategy, and you’re proving him correct.”
Envy swallowed a retort. Wrath and Emilia had visited his House of Sin a month or so previously, and he’d narrowly avoided them discovering the slow decline of his court. Thankfully the worst symptoms had been held at bay by a curse that was recently broken.
Pride mistook his silence for quiet contemplation.
“If you’re that repulsed by Camilla, perhaps one of our brothers might seduce her in your stead. I’m sure Lust or Gluttony would be willing to help,” he said. “Perhaps they’d even team up if she asked them nicely.”
“You’re not offering,” Envy pointed out, watching his brother’s face carefully.
Pride glared at him but finally shut up.
Envy glanced back at the gallery, annoyance rocketing through him.
Even in the dreary storm there was something otherworldly about the building, something enchanting. Much like the vexing woman who owned it.
Pretending to court her wouldn’t be a hardship. But he had enough to focus on without adding another distraction, and mortal courtship was rife with inane rules and tiresome ballroom dances. He had no patience for promenading around for others to gossip about.
He had a game to win. And he’d wasted enough time.
“I’m quite through with your ego for one night.” Envy yanked his House dagger from its sheath, the emerald in its ornate hilt winking in the growing darkness. Princes of Hell couldn’t be killed by one another’s daggers, but they could be sent right back to their circle of the Underworld, whether the prince wished to travel or not.
“Go home, Pride. Unless you’d like a matching scar on the other side of your face.”
“Stubborn prick.” Pride held up his hands and stepped back. “Why won’t you just ask for help?”
Envy pressed his lips together, remaining silent.
His brother gave him a disgusted look.
“With Camilla’s first refusal, you’ve now got two chances left to unlock the next clue, right?” When Envy still refused to speak, he added, “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing.”
THREE
“HONESTLY, HAVE YOU considered selling the gallery and moving to the country?” Lady Katherine Edwards asked, handing Camilla a glass of sherry. “Vexley would surely lose interest with time, especially if a buxom theater singer caught his fancy. Again.”
“Mm. If only I could be so lucky.”
Camilla sipped her drink as she warmed her slippered feet by the crackling fire in Lady Edwards’s finely appointed drawing room. A beautiful redhead with dark brown skin who didn’t believe in holding her tongue, but who could certainly hold her own in society, Katherine had been Camilla’s dearest friend since they both debuted ten years prior.
Katherine had been new to Waverly Green herself then, and she’d bonded with Camilla immediately over their both being outsiders of a sort. Even after she’d married, Katherine had kept their weekly dinner plans, becoming like a sister over the years, someone Camilla confided almost all her fears in.
With a few exceptions…
While Katherine might be Camilla’s dearest friend, even she didn’t know the full truth behind Vexley’s proposal.
“Well, if he’s hell-bent on courting you, why not consider his offer?” Katherine asked, settling back into her velvet chair as Camilla took a generous sip of her sherry to drown out the absurd idea. “He is the son of a viscount. Grandson to an earl.”
The door creaked open as a large gray-and-white feline nosed its way in.
“Bunny!” Camilla immediately brightened, and Katherine snorted.