“You cannot honestly be annoyed that I might have a secret. You. The Prince of Secrets. Why not tell me about the prize you’re after? If you’d like to have an open and honest conversation, we’ll start there.”
She folded her arms across her chest, waiting. If he gave her one secret, she’d return the favor. But he would never get something without sharing in equal measure. If she caved now, it would set up a disastrous dynamic where he expected her to give while he withheld.
Sure enough, the demon remained stubbornly silent.
“I didn’t think so.” She was frustrated beyond measure now. “Since this conversation is traveling down an avenue I’m sure you’ll regret, I am removing myself from it.”
Camilla headed for her suite, and Envy had the audacity to follow her into her private bedchamber.
She whirled on him, truly annoyed. “What are you doing?”
“You wish to relax. I can assist.”
“How are you proposing to do that?”
“Take off your clothes, put on the robe. I’ll rub your back down with oils.”
“And you are so altruistic that you’re offering to do it for me without ulterior motives?” She laughed humorlessly. “Tell me, what exactly were you and Lo discussing before I entered the room?”
Envy scrutinized her.
“Eavesdropping is unbecoming.”
“So is scheming.” She smiled sweetly. “If you have a question, asking is usually the easiest route. Don’t you tire of all the plotting?”
He looked at her as if she were an alien species.
“You hate the Fae so much, yet you play just as many games, Your Highness.”
“Mostly just the royal Unseelie’s,” he interjected, a poor attempt to break the tension.
That admission didn’t help at all.
“What is the second thing Lennox took from you? Is that what makes this game worth winning at any cost?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Camilla shook her head.
“You are so tangled in Fae and the game that you cannot see straight anymore. Of course that matters. You withhold information, tell me half-truths and partial stories, yet demand I lay myself bare at your feet whenever you wish me to. And you give nothing in return.”
She waited for him to say something, to share one small piece of himself. Instead, she saw his expression shutter, saw the mask slip back into place.
For once, she stuck with brutal honesty. “It’s clear you’ve been hurt. That you’re angry. I suspect it all stems from whatever else Lennox took from you. But you’ll have to forgive those who’ve hurt you and forgive yourself above all. Or else you’ll keep carving yourself open, bleeding yourself dry. And I can’t imagine that’s pleasant for an immortal.”
“They don’t deserve forgiveness.”
“It’s not for them.” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “They will never care. They probably don’t even remember. It’s for you. It’s for your brothers, your court. And it’s for me.”
She brushed past him and closed the door to her room.
Camilla would find a way for them both to win the game, and then she’d go back to her quiet little life in Waverly Green, no matter how difficult that might prove to be now.
THIRTY-SIX
ARUSTLE OF FABRIC from the other side of Camilla’s door stopped Envy from chasing her.
Wonderful. Just what he needed to complete his night. She was disrobing and now his mind was envisioning the slow, seductive removal of each garment instead of focusing on methodically uncovering her secret layer by layer.
Even through a thick wooden door she knew the best moves to use on him, knew how to get his mind focused on her, teasing and distracting.
The same way you tease and distract her.
Camilla had not only figured out his game, she was playing it better than he was.
He strode into the sitting room between their two suites and made himself a Dark and Sinful. Double. Minimal ice. Fuck the berries.
He drank it down, barely tasting the liquor he usually savored.
He poured another glass, then went to his private bedroom and dropped onto an overstuffed leather chair. Each sofa, settee, chair, and chaise in House Sloth was made to entice one to lounge, to curl up and lose oneself.
Envy was losing himself, all right, to annoyance, irritation, and a glorious woman with more secrets and puzzles than he had. Two more drinks in, part of him could admit he liked her refusal to show her hand. Camilla made him work hard for each kernel of information, giving him just enough to crave more without ever fully satisfying his curiosity.
She remained a riddle. A vexing, beautiful riddle begging to be solved. He just didn’t have as much time as he’d like to puzzle out the mystery of her.
Envy kicked his feet up onto the arm of the chair, attention straying to the clock on the mantel. Midnight. And restless.
He was frustrated. With the gossip spreading through the Seven Circles, with the twisted game, with each second that passed and his court grew more weakened.
He wanted to unfold his wings and catapult into the sky, leaving this hell behind. And that needled him too. The fact that he couldn’t. That he’d need to win to do so ever again.
Envy had to reserve as much power as he could. One thing the columnist had gotten correct: part of his circle was warded against anyone coming or going without his permission. And it took most of his magic to maintain that lock, leaving him weaker than he’d like to be.
He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the chair, emptying his mind.
Then he thought of Sloth’s attempt to stoke his sin and bolted out of his chair, pacing the bedchamber like a caged wolf.
The reporter had said two players were in the Seven Circles.
One heading toward Bloodwood Forest. Perhaps he would get lucky and find a player; then he’d have one less worry to taunt him. Sleep wasn’t going to be happening, so he headed for his door, set on hunting down his competition.
He wrenched his bedroom door open, then halted.
There, sprawled on her stomach across the chaise in their common room, half dressed in shadows, wearing nothing but her soft-looking short stays and reading a book, was Camilla.
Check fucking mate.
Camilla had upended his game board with this move. He had to grudgingly admire it.
She’d lit and arranged several candles to strategically cast shadows along her body, composing the artistic scene with impressive precision, positioning herself in a way that gave her the appearance of being fully dressed, allowing a glimmer of the truth to flicker into focus whenever she moved.
Which she did now, legs bent above her and crossed at the ankles, slowly swinging back and forth like she hadn’t a care in the universe. She flipped the page of the book propped in front of her, completely undisturbed by Envy’s presence.
Corked bottles of oil sat on a tray on the low table next to her, the robe Sloth had sent for her folded neatly on the carpet near her feet.
Their conversation and his taunting words from earlier drifted back to him.
Take off your clothes, put on the robe. I’ll rub your back down with oils.