No hint of the male who’d held Camilla a few hours before, kissing her like he was damned and willing to fall further for another taste.
“I can see you’re terribly busy,” Camilla said, not hiding the bite in her tone as her attention dropped to his arousal. “What with all the clue-finding you’re doing.”
“Allow me to introduce Vittoria, the Goddess of Death,” he said. “She is the dear twin of my sister-in-law.”
Camilla drew in a deep breath. He was trying to solve the riddle. By seducing the twin. But she knew deep in her bones that she was correct. And this goddess damn well knew it too.
“Ah. The silver-haired beauty.” Vittoria looked Camilla over with appreciation. “No wonder he’s distracted.”
The goddess toyed with a lock of Envy’s hair, then raked her nails down his chest, dropping dangerously low.
Camilla’s jealousy reared its head, a territorial snarl close to ripping from her chest.
Vittoria watched her with slitted eyes, her hands now drifting to Envy’s belt.
“Should we take turns, now that he’s… up for the challenge?” she asked.
Camilla’s jealousy was spinning wildly out of control.
Vittoria kept her attention on Camilla as she dragged her tongue along the prince’s neck, then slowly drew back, lips quirked. She knew what she was doing, was getting a perverse pleasure from it. Envy hadn’t moved, hadn’t stopped her. But his gaze was flaring with some emotion… something that burned ice-cold, not hot.
Seeming to tire of her toy, the goddess descended the stairs of the dais, walking a slow circle around Camilla.
“Perhaps we should pleasure each other.” She gave Camilla a secretive smile. “See if we can tempt him to join. Or maybe we’ll decide against it. Play with his sin a little.” She looked at Envy. “Would you like that, Your Highness? Seeing her come for me?”
Camilla’s attention drifted past the goddess, coming to rest on the prince.
Envy’s expression was hard now, his chest barely rising. He was no longer lounging across his throne, his hands gripped the arms of it, knuckles white.
Like he was trying not to launch himself off it.
“Do you think he’ll stroke himself?” Vittoria asked, shooting him a dark look. “Make himself come all over that pretty throne? Or do you think he’ll envy me as I make you writhe?”
She moved a step closer. Camilla didn’t retreat.
“What is it about you?” Vittoria muttered. “Your very presence seems to incite passion.”
That was an effect of Camilla’s true nature. And the goddess was entirely too observant. Or maybe Camilla was tired of chaining herself, dimming her light as Wolf had accused.
Perhaps she should seduce the goddess in front of Envy, give him a taste of his own game.
Envy suddenly rose from his throne, all demon. He took one fierce step at a time, closing the distance between them in an excruciatingly slow procession.
Camilla held his stare the whole time.
This battle of wills was one she could not lose; it would give him too much power, alter their dynamic in a way she’d never regain ground from. Camilla was an equal here, not a pet.
It was high time he realized that.
The prince stopped close enough for her to feel the heat of him, so close she had to tilt back her chin to hold that glittering, dangerous stare. Sometimes she forgot how large he was, how tall and commanding. He used every bit of his size now, crowding her space.
Camilla’s chin notched a degree higher; she was not cowed.
He moved so fast she didn’t register what had happened until her cloak hit the floor.
“You smell like Unseelie, Camilla.”
Vittoria laughed quietly. He tensed.
“Alexei. See the goddess out. We’re through.”
“No, we’re not,” Vittoria challenged. “Things are just getting fun.”
Jealousy had Camilla feeling downright murderous. No matter if the goddess ruled over Death, Camilla would find a way to end her if she touched Envy before Camilla did.
“Alexei.” Envy was pushed to his limit too. “Now.”
Camilla hadn’t known the vampire was there, she’d kept her attention only on Envy. But now he swooped in, ushering Vittoria out with a bitter curse and a foreboding thud of the throne room doors. Camilla heard a bolt sliding home, locking them in.
Envy was still.
It was the stillness of a predator. Of a being who wasn’t human and never had been. The sort of stillness that unnerved.
And it would have, if Camilla hadn’t been as still, mind whirling as the puzzle slowly came together.
All at once, she understood. She thought Envy had been reacting to her jealousy, his sin surging, being stoked by her strong emotion, but the stillness, the tension…
He was jealous. Of more than the goddess’s taunts. Those had been a mere distraction, a way for him to try to get his true envy under control.
And he’d failed to do so.
Wolf had touched her cloak.
Her locket.
He’d danced with her across the snow.
He’d hugged her, run those big hands along her spine, attempting a mortal’s embrace. And Camilla had sunk into it, allowing Wolf to envelop her for a moment, brief though it had been.
But Envy wasn’t human, his senses weren’t dulled.
From the second she walked in, he would have scented Wolf all over her. Had probably assumed that the Fae had sought her out once Envy went to meet the goddess.
And there was only one thing Wolf was legendary for.
A puzzle that wouldn’t have taken Envy long to solve.
Camilla imagined that Envy was vividly picturing all the things the Fae had done to her, the same way she’d just pictured what Envy was doing here. On the throne. With the goddess.
Camilla wasn’t jealous of Vittoria; she was envious that he’d dare to touch another the way she wanted him to touch her. Only her.
“I spoke with Wolf,” she said.
“I know.”
His sin chilled the chamber, frost lightly coating the walls. If she’d possessed that ability, Camilla would have iced over the chamber with her envy too.
Finally, his gaze flicked down to her locket. Or maybe he was staring at her breasts. An eternity passed in a handful of moments before he looked up, face impassive.
“Did you fuck him?”
His voice was low, but his words carried a punch.
If he expected Camilla to flinch, she refused to do so. Clarity came without warning. This wasn’t about her. Or whether she’d allowed Wolf into her bed again.
It wasn’t even about Envy’s sin, about his inability to be satisfied, like his brothers all thought. His one-night rule was about Envy punishing himself. Repeatedly.
Brick by brick he’d built a wall around his heart. His refusal to spend more than one night with a lover meant he never had to risk that wall crumbling. Never had to risk getting hurt, or falling in love, never had to risk losing. Because he had been hurt before, he’d played the game of romance and had lost; the scar ran deep, the fracture never quite mending.
And he blamed himself for a choice that was never his to make.