“There’s a bedroom suite set up with refreshments for you,” Wrath said.
With a jerk of his chin, the king of demons dismissed them.
Hours later, with still no word from his gods-damned brother, Envy was practically crawling up the walls. Camilla sat perched on the end of a settee, sipping tea, lips curved in obvious delight.
Envy shot her an exasperated look.
“Am I amusing, Miss Antonius?”
“Wildly so.”
“Glad to be a diversion,” he muttered, feeling downright ornery.
“I can think of more stimulating ways to pass the time.”
Envy drew up short, breath catching.
One look at Camilla confirmed she was playing with him, testing the truth of his one-night rule. He paced around the perimeter of the room, jaw locked.
Now that she’d said it, he couldn’t stop thinking about all the stimulating ways they’d distracted each other last night and a few hours ago this morning.
His frustration grew. He damn well should not be considering touching her again. Ever.
“You are twisted, pet.”
“What can I say?” Amusement laced her tone. “You bring out the very best in me.”
He expelled a breath, part huff, part laughter. The problem wasn’t his one-night rule, the issue was that Envy liked Camilla. Far beyond her body. Her clever mind, her wit… she challenged him in ways that stimulated his need to solve riddles, to strategize. To win.
And now she was using those same tactics to toy with him.
“Fuck.”
Envy caught his reflection in a mirror hanging between two towering shelves of weapons. His eyes were bright, cheeks flushed, and his hair was a complete and utter mess. He’d raked his hand through it so many times he looked on the verge of madness.
Or maybe he looked feverish.
“That was the suggestion,” Camilla mocked, her tone silky.
His eyes squeezed shut. He wondered what he’d done to deserve such sweet and vicious punishment. This new game Camilla was playing was downright dirty.
John Lyly, a mortal author of the 1500s, once wrote, “The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war,” making Envy believe he must have battled Camilla at one time.
The poor bastard never stood a chance.
Finally, a sharp knock came at the door.
Envy almost wrenched the door from its hinges as he tugged it open.
Instead of a royal guard or servant, Emilia stood there, brow arched high.
“Are you all right?” she asked, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“Do I still have your favor or not, Emilia? Time is one thing I cannot steal more of.”
She pressed her lips together, rose-gold eyes studying him carefully. He knew she was concerned, that she’d sensed there was more happening below the surface. His sister-in-law always seemed to see through some of his masks. But not all.
He kept his expression impassive, waiting. Camilla came to stand beside him, and he fought the urge to reach for her hand. Emilia’s gaze fixed on him before she nodded.
“Yes. You still have my favor.”
Her rose-gold gaze shifted to Camilla. Something soft flashed in her expression, something that looked like hope. Or perhaps happiness.
“I grant permission for you to seek out the Pillars.”
“You’ve always been my favorite sister-in-law.”
“I’m your only sister-in-law.” She rolled her eyes. “But… Wrath had one condition that wasn’t negotiable.”
Envy’s smile froze on his face. He knew, before she twisted the knife, what his meddling, gods-damned brother would have demanded.
“You must use the path that cuts through the Crescent Shallows.”
Envy silently called his brother every cursed, foul name he could think of. In every language he spoke. Twice. The Crescent Shallows were precisely what he’d wanted to avoid.
The water was magical—it forced whomever entered it to speak only the truth.
Nothing made could enter the water without causing death. Which included clothing. Envy would need to wade into the magical water nude with Camilla. And if she asked any question, he’d be compelled to offer truth.
As if this journey weren’t hard enough.
Emilia clasped Envy’s hands in hers, squeezing gently.
“Don’t be an ass to your lady. Or there will be no more cannoli in your future.”
He scoffed but didn’t remark. They had been delicious. And he couldn’t deny liking that Camilla was seen as his. Even if it was fleeting, or untrue.
Emilia smiled warmly at Camilla.
“I hope to see you again, Camilla. Next time we’ll leave the demons to brood and battle on their own.”
“That sounds wonderful; I look forward to it.”
Envy kept his mouth shut. After the game ended, Camilla would return to Waverly Green. There was no point ruining the moment with the truth, though, so he silently watched Emilia and Camilla make plans, knowing it would never be.
Emilia turned to him, then pulled a vial from saints only knew where.
“Here. You’ll need this.”
He looked it over, then smiled at the goddess. She’d given him a gift for Abyssus.
“You really are my favorite.”
“Go. Before my husband levels a mountain. Again.”
A guard escorted Envy and Camilla down to the cavern far below House Wrath.
It would have been much faster and more efficient if Envy could have magicked them there, but Wrath’s generosity had been pushed to its limit.
Once they reached the tunnel, the guard stopped and stepped aside. “You may go the rest of the way on your own. Orders of the king.”
“How magnanimous,” Envy muttered, tone dripping with sarcasm.
Camilla strode ahead of him, silent since they’d left the suite. He didn’t note any lingering jealousy, nor did he sense any anger. Her emotions were tightly wound, flickering too quickly for him to get a solid understanding of what she was feeling.
Perhaps she was just taking everything in, cataloguing each aspect to use as inspiration.
A moment later the tunnel opened to the cavernous lagoon.
Black sand glittered, and pale blue water lapped lazily at the shore. Mist hung low, inviting and unassuming. Its entire appearance was designed to entice, then entrap.
The phases of the moon were painted along the far wall, indicating the next tunnel hidden behind a large stalactite.
“It’s so beautiful. The water sounds… it’s fizzing.”
Envy grabbed Camilla’s hand, tugging her back before she stepped into the water.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why?”
He nodded toward the bones she’d missed, jutting up farther down the sand.
“Nothing made can enter the water.”
“Nothing made?” she repeated, brows knitted. “You mean…”
“We need to disrobe to cross it. And remove anything else that isn’t natural. Like your jewelry.”
“Oh?” Camilla asked, slowly raking her attention over him.
His hands fisted at his side as he drew up an image of his court, of the bodies. Shame burned through him, more potent than any temptation or desire. No matter that he was a being fueled by and created for sin, he wouldn’t allow the Shallows to tempt him.
Or Camilla.
He decided against sharing the fact that the lagoon’s waters compelled anyone who entered—and survived—to tell only the truth.