Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked #2)(47)

Celestia glanced between us. “This is a conversation best carried out between you two. Alone.” This time her grin was pure trouble. “Though you may want to take her to the Temple of Fury, far from where you can be overheard. I have a feeling you two will wake the entire castle.”

With that she ushered us out of her chamber of tinctures and slammed the old oak door at our backs. I stared at the prince. One way or another, he would tell me the truth. I couldn’t fathom how Celestia knew his secret when I didn’t, and my annoyance was giving way to anger. And that emotion was not brought on by this House of Sin.

How many others in his court were privy to the information he kept from me, that pertained to me? It was unacceptable that I was the only one kept in the dark.

“I want the truth. No more lies. You owe me that much.”

He seemed to be very much on the verge of finding a weapon to swing. Though his frustration didn’t appear to be directed at me or even the matron.

Perhaps he was angry with himself. Whatever game or scheme he’d been planning was clearly over. And hadn’t played out the way he’d hoped it would.

“Fuck.” Wrath shoved a hand through his hair and paced away from me. “I thought we’d have more time. But after tonight, it obviously can no longer wait.”





Wrath brought us to his personal library and magicked the room to contain our voices within it. I stood before the giant fireplace, warming my hands. Between the cool temperature in the castle, the exhaustion that swept in following the pain, my thin nightgown, and the dampness of my hair, I was chilled to the core.

Fear was also playing a role with my shudders. Was it possible something happened to my family? If they were harmed—or worse—I wasn’t sure Wrath would tell me.

He knew they were my weakness as much as my strength and I’d bargain my way back to my world and break the contract with Pride. That would certainly complicate his mission and be motive enough for his not being forthright with me.

Wrath’s tense mood wasn’t helping to soothe me, either. It invaded my senses until my own nerves were yanked taut enough to snap.

He paced the room like a large animal trapped in a cage. Prior to our passionate embrace in the lagoon, and then in the corridor outside his bedchamber, I’d never seen him anything but calm; even while furious he was never so… on edge. It was disconcerting, seeing him like this. His snapping at the matron was unusual, too. On occasion he could be gruff, arrogant, or brimming with masculine smugness, but he was never rude.

“Will you sit down?” I rubbed at my arms. “You’re making me nervous.”

He prowled over to his desk and poured two fingers of lavender liquid into his glass. He tossed it back before swiftly refilling it and offered the second drink to me. I shook my head.

Waiting was unbearable. And my stomach was already tied up in several intricate knots. I wanted to know what he had to say, and why whatever it was was affecting him this strongly. Even when he attacked Makaden earlier there had been no regret or worry on his part. Only cold efficiency. He’d carried out a sentence and was impartial to its brutality.

“Is the suspense truly necessary?” My voice was surprisingly calm. It was a complete contradiction to the frantic pounding of my heart. “Whatever you have to say can’t be that bad.”

I hoped.

He finally stopped moving long enough to look me in the eye. His expression was impossible to read. A cool, unnerving calm had settled over him. Trepidation slid down my spine. His demeanor reminded me of when a midwife delivered fatal news.

“Earlier this evening, you asked why I Marked you. I’m not sure you fully understand what it does. Why it is something given so rarely.”

I stared at him, momentarily taken off guard by his sudden shift in topic and how the summoning Mark played a role in this. At least I understood how Celestia had known about this secret; her attention had briefly shifted to my neck. I’d mistakenly thought she was looking at my devil’s horn charm.

“Well?” he prodded, drawing my attention back to him. “What do you know of it?”

“Nonna said it allows someone to summon a prince of Hell without an object that belongs to them. That it’s a great honor not many are given. And that, as long as he draws breath, the demon prince must always answer the summoning. Except, of course, when I tried to summon you and you didn’t show.” My tone turned frosty. “I thought you were dead.”

He stepped back, his focus quickly roving over me in quiet calculation.

“After being injured with Envy’s House dagger, I hadn’t healed enough to travel between realms. I didn’t realize you were upset by my absence.” I gave him a dirty look that seemed to bring out a mischievous tilt of his mouth. The look faded almost instantly. “Do you know why it’s given so rarely?”

“Because princes are ornery bastards and don’t like being summoned at will?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips again before he banished it. “Because it is a magical bond that can never be broken.”

“Impossible. All magic can be undone.”

“Not this bond. Not even in death.”

“But you are immortal.”

“Imagine then, how long that bond lasts.”

We stared at each other as the weight of that truth settled between us. I was struggling to absorb the information, the implications of it. Wrath didn’t speak, his expression turning grim as I sorted through the shock. If the bond lasted even after death, I couldn’t fathom how that worked. Our souls would forever be linked. Except I’d sold mine, and had no clue what that meant for the bond. Or for him.