“House Greed thanks House Wrath for its assistance.”
Assistance. I’d ended a battle before any true war could begin. I looked at the uninjured guards—aside from the first guard who’d looked over the ledge, none had lost their lives. My fury hadn’t receded enough, and between the needles of fear stabbing me and the annoyance of male arrogance, I unleashed a bit more hell.
“Why is House Greed continually being targeted? I find it odd that both the witches and werewolves decided to attack your circle. No matter what match my sister keeps striking, they come to you. Not House Wrath or Envy or Pride. You. What have you done to make so many enemies?”
Greed lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps they’re after my wealth. Coins from one gaming hall alone could help fund a war.” He offered a bland smile. “Please see yourselves to your guest suite. I’d be remiss if I didn’t throw a celebratory ball to honor you both.”
With that, Greed and his guards marched back into the castle. I thought about tossing a few fire buds at their heels, the idea of watching them hop into the castle slightly amusing, but refrained. Wrath was still watching me as if I might lose control and burn the realm to the ground.
“I told you,” I said quietly, “you have nothing to fear from me.”
“I know that.” Wrath’s gaze shifted to the grounds. “But do you?”
I glanced over the parapet, staring down at the smoldering lawn, the bodies of our enemies were nothing more than a smudge of ash now.
It should disturb me, holding enough power to obliterate two dozen witches without breaking a sweat. Nonna might be down there among the dead. And yet I felt nothing. Except perhaps satisfaction that I’d protected the one I love. Which made me understand why my husband had been cautious with setting the vengeance goddess in me free.
I turned my attention back to Wrath. “I’d like to bathe off the scent of smoke before we dress for tonight.”
Unsurprisingly, Greed’s ballroom was bronzed decadence. As was true in his gaming halls, everything felt rich, luxurious, the best his coin could buy. Rich colors, an abundance of fine metals, silks and velvets, and an overwhelming amount of art showcased in gorgeous frames. It was a room meant to show the prince’s greed for material riches.
Wrath and I casually strolled around the expansive dance floor. He hadn’t said much when we’d bathed then changed into our formal attire, his mood nearly impossible to read.
But I wasn’t a fool. I understood seeing me in all my glory, allowing my fury to run rampant, was troubling. But he knew what our strategy was; he’d helped to come up with it before we left House Wrath. Unlike his brother and Greed’s army, Wrath hadn’t been taken by surprise this evening. He knew if I felt like either one of us were threatened, I would unleash my power without mercy. I vowed that no one would ever take us from each other again.
And I meant it.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d regretted any part of our approach. If the general of war preferred to do battle in a more literal, hand-to-hand manner; my willingness to toss that civility aside and annihilate might have disturbed him.
Wrath had used his magic as an added weapon when we’d fought the wolves, but he’d used his dagger equally. A prickle of unease ran over me. It was impossible to tell if it was my mortal conscience resurfacing or if it was spikes of fear from nearby lords and ladies.
“Lady Emilia.” A footman approached with glasses of sparkling wines in pale golds and pinks and plums to choose from. Gold flakes swirled within each glass, another form of greed. I chose a pale pink wine and sipped from it carefully. Wrath chose a plum-colored wine, and we continued our slow stroll around the ballroom.
Harder prickles ran along my arms with each group of lords and ladies we walked past. The bolder demons inclined their heads, muttering a polite, “Prince Wrath. Lady Emilia,” before quickly finding somewhere else to be. Something unpleasant wedged itself under my ribs.
I didn’t expect their thanks, but averted gazes and spikes of fear were a surprise. An unwelcome one. It was difficult to discern if their fear was directed entirely at me or if they were also wary of Wrath. The last time he was here, he did destroy a gaming hall with his legendary anger. Perhaps we were both targets of fear.
Though my husband had no difficulty drawing other males to his side. A few lords chatted politely about the battle that wasn’t and took sips of their drinks, giving themselves a reason to rush off once Wrath reminded them how my fire magic saved them.
Wrath squeezed my hand gently. “Would you care to dance, my lady?”
“Yes.”
My husband led us onto the dance floor; it was a lustrous bronze that reflected our images in a fuzzy, distorted manner. It matched how I felt internally: distorted and fuzzy. I was unused to trying to incorporate mortal emotions into my immortal sensibilities. It felt like two halves of me were trying to come together, but one half was oil and the other was water. No matter how hard I tried to blend them together, they remained separate, almost warring with each other.
Wrath held me indecently close as the musicians struck up a waltz, his hand sliding low enough on my back to cause a honeyed warmth to ignite in my veins. If he was attempting to distract me from the needles of unease crossing the room, it was almost working.
Until I set my attention on the Duke of Devon and felt the heat of his anger. He promptly turned to the male he’d been dancing with and said something that made the demon chuckle. At my expense, most likely. Though I refused to allow that to sting. I, too, would have been upset if I’d been caught in Wrath’s sinful storm with my cock out and ended up pissing myself.
Couples that had been seemingly unaware of anyone aside from each other stiffened as we passed. This time, I heard the whispers. They spoke of the rise of the Feared. How the goddess of death was wanted for murder and how Fury had come to settle my sister’s debts. It wasn’t my wrathful husband they were scared of—it was me.
I rested my head against Wrath’s shoulder and ignored the murmurs. They could talk and gossip all they liked; none of them knew me or what I felt. How I wanted to help them all by finding the Blade of Ruination and breaking the curse. Even then, I imagined nothing I did would ever be good enough for some. They’d always find cause to hate or fear me if that was the path they chose to wander. The murmurs turned more pointed, crueler.