A strangled sound jerked her attention back to the prince, and she glanced down to see Envy’s gaze locked on her, a tortured expression on his face.
He grasped her hips, strong fingers splayed around them, like he couldn’t decide if he should help grind her against him or lift her off completely.
Camilla boldly looked him over, pleased he was still so… affected by her show.
“Camilla.”
Her lips curved. His voice was low and slightly hoarse.
She imagined there weren’t too many people who’d ever turned the Prince of Envy’s own game against him.
“Would you like to know what I was just recalling, Your Highness?” she asked, circling her hips again, writhing up along that glorious length.
“No.”
Liar, she thought.
“The night at Vexley’s, when we fell off the mattress and landed, like this? For a moment, I had wondered what you’d do if I leaned down.” She did so now, her lips hovering so close to his she felt his sharp intake of breath. “I wanted to see if you tasted as sinful as I hoped.”
His throat bobbed and she lightly traced the outline of his mouth with her tongue. It was the shape of fantasies—full and seductive and made for kissing.
“Should I have? Tasted you that night,” she whispered, bringing her mouth to his ear, noticing the trail of goose bumps rising along his flesh.
She didn’t think he was breathing anymore. He looked pained.
Tension wound between them, so taut she wanted to pluck it like a string.
“I want you to answer two questions truthfully, Your Highness. Will you do that? For me?”
His gaze fixed to her face, scanned her eyes, then fell to her lips. His nod was a slight incline of his head, barely noticeable.
“Did you like the way I tasted?” she asked silkily.
He cursed, his grip on her hips tightening, his self-control slipping.
“Yes,” he gritted out.
“Do you think about it?”
She sank into him, hitting a spot that made them both suck in their breath. Camilla realized she needed to be careful. Her body throbbed against his.
Envy hadn’t answered her question. She leaned down, nipping at his lip.
“You promised to answer.”
“Yes. I fucking think about it.” He gave a tortured laugh. “Constantly.”
“Thank you for your honesty.” Abruptly, she pushed herself up, slinging her leg back over to settle peacefully on the bed next to him again. She gave him a victorious smile as she tidied her cloak around her, readying for sleep. “May your dreams be as wondrously sinful as your tongue, Your Highness.”
Envy’s teeth ground together, his jaw tight enough to cut stone.
Camilla thrilled, just a little, as she added, “And in the spirit of honesty, you should know, I might think about it too.”
Morning arrived with another mighty storm.
As Camilla stretched and rose, she felt tired but ready to see what more this realm would bring her.
The prince didn’t offer much in the way of conversation as he donned his cloak and broke through the fresh frost on the cabin’s door. He seemed to be wound more tightly than usual. Whether it was because of their little temptation game the night before, or because his mind was on his true game, she couldn’t tell.
They trudged through the endless snow, the landscape losing some of its appeal the colder and wetter and hungrier she got. After a few hours of endless walking, he finally paused.
“All right. We’ve gone far enough to satisfy the Corridor.” He held out his hand. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, and without uttering another word, he magicked them away. Camilla felt the power of the air whooshing around them and opened her eyes to find an enormous stone castle ahead, nestled at the top of an impressively jagged mountain.
She spun in a circle, drinking in the castle, the mountains—bruised smudges of navy and white stretching far into the distance—and the mist that had descended like a funeral shroud.
Unless Envy had changed his mind about their plan, they were on the front lawn of House Sloth.
Envy strode up the wide stone stairs powdered with fresh snow, heading straight for the arched double doors at the top, tucked into an alcove flanked by two grand columns.
Camilla, too, trudged up until, unable to help herself, she stopped before the first column, admiring the intricate flora and fauna carved into what appeared to be limestone—or whatever the demon equivalent was. Whoever had done the work was exceptional: there was not a single chisel mark, no sign at all that the stone hadn’t sprung forth already carved.
She peered closer. The scene depicted was whimsical yet dark: flowers shifting to become weapons and animals seemly engaged in battle.
Camilla understood. Nature was a violent mistress, her beauty a mask to hide her cruelty.
Camilla slowly circled the column, pausing on the most fascinating scene yet. A scorpion, vulture, and ibis, all dancing around a sphere. More animals and geometric shapes were spread throughout, but this grouping seemed different.
She laid her hand on the cold stone in reverence, wondering if magic had been involved in its creation.
Envy paused, glancing over his shoulder, his expression inscrutable.
“Stay there, Miss Antonius. No matter what.”
The fine hair along her arms stood on end and she instantly became more alert.
He hadn’t asked her to wait, there was steel in his command.
Now the carvings didn’t seem so much enchanting as ominous.
“Is this not your brother’s estate?”
Envy’s hand flexed toward his right side, to the place where she knew he hid his dagger.
“In this realm it’s considered an act of war if a prince shows up in another’s circle uninvited.”
“Yet you continue to waltz in, brother.”
Before he could turn back around, the point of a blade erupted from Envy’s chest.
It happened so fast Camilla’s scream was ripped from her throat at the exact moment the blade was yanked back out of the prince.
Envy dropped to his knees, his expression one of cold fury as gold blood spurted from the wound, splattering brutally across the snowy steps.
“Touch her”—his voice was laced with malice, even as it faded to a mere whisper—“and I’ll annihilate you all.”
Even bleeding as horrendously as he was, Camilla felt the promise in his words.
Keeping one eye on his attacker, Camilla rushed to the fallen prince’s side, but as she dropped before him, Envy vanished.
She frantically patted the ground where’d he’d been—had he been cloaked by some invisible force? But he was truly gone. Only a small pool of blood remained carved into the snow, its color a harsh reminder that he was Other.
She glanced up at Envy’s killer, taking stock of what she might use to defend herself, quieting the voice that said she’d never stand a chance against him. She’d have to try.
His hair was a unique shade caught between silver and gold, his eyes the palest shade of blue she’d ever seen. They were like two diamonds gazing back at her, hard and cold. Utterly without emotion.
The demon was studying her closely too.
After an uncomfortably long stretch of silence, he slowly returned his dagger to its sheath. He’d said Envy was his brother, so…