She stepped over what appeared to be a smear of blood, strikingly similar to how it would look if a body had been dragged down the corridor.
Bits of broken glass crunched under her boots, the artful sconces smashed and hanging from the wall. If the blood hadn’t been dry, and if the dust hadn’t settled over the mess, Camilla would have thought Envy had encountered something horrible here earlier.
Is this why the game is so important? She imagined so. If his court was failing, she understood exactly why he was so driven to win.
The butler kept glancing over his shoulder, seeming to grow more concerned by her pursuit, as if he couldn’t remember speaking with her. And worried she was stalking him.
This was why Envy had kept her in the cottage. And it was why he’d kept his indifferent act up so insistently. Envy had been playing another role. Wearing the mask of someone who needed to hide his desperation, who needed to plot and scheme and save his people at any cost.
She rushed around the corner of the next hallway after the butler, who’d finally paused by a set of arched double doors. Two guards stood to either side, ignoring the demon as he spun to face her, brows tugged close.
“May I help you, miss?” he asked.
Camilla was unsure how to reply.
“The prince,” she said delicately. “You were taking me to His Highness.”
“I was?”
The butler screwed his eyes shut, then blinked them open. Without uttering another word, he darted down the corridor, disappearing.
Playing her own game of pretend, she smiled warmly at the guards.
“Hello, I’m—”
“No one is permitted inside.”
“Is the prince here?”
“No one is permitted inside,” the guard repeated, his tone unchanging.
Camilla glared at the barrel-chested demon barring her from the throne room.
“This is a matter of urgency.”
“No one is permitted inside.” The guard flicked his attention over her, a tiny furrow appearing in his brow before smoothing away as quickly. “Order stands. For everyone.”
“He is inside, though, correct?”
“No one is—”
“—permitted inside,” she finished. “I heard you the first three times, sir. Please. I need to know if the prince is here; I assure you he will want to know what I’ve come to say.”
The guard pressed his lips together. This was ridiculous. Envy wanted to win the game and Camilla had the location of the next clue. What on earth could he be…
Soft, feminine laughter spilled out from the other side of the door.
Camilla shot an accusing look at the guard.
“I thought no one was permitted inside.”
The demon averted his gaze, square jaw set. He would no longer answer any questions. Not that he’d answered any before. He seemed only capable of repeating that one phrase. As if it was the only thing he’d been trained to say and he refused to deviate from his orders.
Why would Envy keep me locked out…
A sick feeling burned inside her.
Envy hadn’t lied. He hadn’t changed tactics. He was entertaining someone else.
Someone who had a sensual laugh. Who probably wouldn’t balk at spending only one night with him, who didn’t selfishly desire more than he wished to give.
It could have been her. It should be her.
Envy had wanted Camilla earlier and would have given her a night of pleasure she’d never have forgotten. But it hadn’t been enough. For that one confusing moment earlier, she’d wanted more than just his body.
And he’d made it clear his heart was strictly off-limits.
It hadn’t taken him very long to find another willing bedmate. Camilla almost doubled over.
There it was again, that uncomfortable dark feeling she refused to acknowledge, bubbling below the surface, a scalding geyser preparing to erupt.
Pretty, husky laughter sounded again, farther away this time, still as sultry as a summer evening. Inviting and warm, like sweat-dampened sheets and whispers spoken against pillows.
The prince was being charming, funny. How wonderful.
Camilla hadn’t yet seen the throne room, but she imagined they were slowly making their way to the dais, dropping pieces of clothing faster than their inhibitions as they disrobed each other, hands frantic, searching, kisses searing, messy. Tongues and teeth clashing, fighting for dominance.
Or would Envy kiss the woman like he’d kissed Camilla earlier? Sweet enough to make her dizzy, slow enough to make her believe it could last forever.
More likely he’d have her skirts bunched in one fist, hair wrapped tightly around the other, bending her over the throne.
Jealousy, pure and unending, barreled through Camilla.
She blamed being in this circle, this court, blamed the whole damn demon realm for its proclivity to induce sin. But mostly, she blamed the prince for daring to take another lover while she was sequestered.
Did he think he’d come back, sated, and Camilla would be waiting?
She would not be so easily dismissed.
Camilla turned away, noting the moment the guard relaxed his stance, then spun back and darted past him, shoving the double doors hard with both hands. Luck was with her; they were unlocked. They crashed against the wall, two cracks of thunder, warning of her impending storm.
She rushed in and ran hard, halting at the base of the dais, staring up at the prince.
Envy was indeed on his throne, his expression pure, glorious indolence as he casually lounged back, eyes closed. One leg was kicked over an arm of the chair, the other was planted firmly on the floor. His trousers were tented in the front, his arousal straining against the material. His hair was mussed, as if someone had run their fingers through it.
That someone being a stunning brunette standing behind him, playing with the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, whispering something in his ear.
Her gown was blush, ethereal, and practically nonexistent. Her eyes, a light purple hue, glowed softly as they flicked up to drink Camilla in. She looked like she ate lovers alive and picked her teeth with their bones.
Recognition slammed into Camilla. It was the female from Envy’s memory.
Whoever the female was, she wasn’t human. Power churned in the space around her, not visible, but Camilla sensed it there. Her mouth twisted into a delighted smirk, her hand disappearing under Envy’s shirt, exposing a triangle of the prince’s smooth, bronze skin, which she leaned over to slowly lick.
Perhaps she thought Camilla was here to join them.
Camilla cleared her throat.
Envy’s eyes opened, his attention sharpening when it landed on her, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. Maybe he was furious about the interruption. Or maybe he’d scented her envy. Too late she recalled what he’d said about showing that sin to him again.
The guard had her in hand at once. “Apologies, Your Highness. I—”
“Leave her.” Envy motioned to the guard. “Get out.”
Camilla didn’t turn to watch but heard the hasty retreat.
“Miss Antonius. We seem to have a problem.”
No warmth was present in Envy’s voice or his expression.