Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (112)

And I hated myself.

I exhaled a shaky breath, needing a moment to fully digest what I’d discovered. Wrath sensed me tunneling inward and reluctantly dropped his arms and stepped away, putting much-needed space between us. He said nothing, only waited patiently for me speak.

Blood and bones. This was hard. But I’d been through worse, and I’d survived.

No matter what happened next, I’d survive that, too.

“When you brushed off the name I’d called you in the monastery, I’d wondered if there was a reason why you didn’t react more strongly.” I swiped at my eyes, still not looking at him. “You acted as if it meant nothing, that I simply irked you.” I smiled down at my hands. “Because, according to Nonna, a prince of Hell will never reveal their true name to their enemies.”

I could feel his attention boring into me, but I still could not meet his gaze.

“I know witches and demons are enemies. But there’s more to our story, isn’t there?”

“Emilia…”

“You are temptation. Seduction.” I finally dragged my focus to his arm, nodded at the intricate snake tattoo. “The serpent in the garden. The one who’d encouraged mortals to sin.”

I pulled my attention higher, finally settling it on his eyes. I took him in, really looked at him objectively. His face, his body, his entire presence and how he carried himself screamed authority. Domination. And was designed to seduce. He was temptation made flesh.

His expression shuttered as he waited. Now, more than ever, I desperately wished I could sense his emotions. Though I suspected he was sensing mine, and that was why he’d grown so distant. His armor was firmly back in place. And he was shielding himself from me.

“I don’t know how you’ve fooled humanity for so long, but it’s as Envy said. You are the most skilled liar of all. Samael.”

His true name seemed to unsettle him. It didn’t look as if he’d taken a breath since our conversation began. He exhaled now. “Prince of Darkness. King of the Wicked. I have been called many things, but I am no liar.”

I searched his face. I’d been right. I knew it the moment the tree did not collect its due, but the truth was hard to digest. Wrath was the devil. The evil feared the world over.

And I’d stupidly fallen for his seduction. For his smoldering gold eyes and keen wit. His pride in his appearance. The way he protected those under his care and chose justice over revenge. No wonder the mortal world confused the two princes so easily—Pride and Wrath certainly shared a lot of similarities.

“You had plenty of opportunities to tell me you were the devil. You were the one cursed by La Prima. Did Pride’s wife even die, or was it your consort?”

“I have not directly lied to you.”

“Stop omitting things.”

“Unlike Pride, I’ve never had a consort. But yes, I was cursed by the First Witch. As were all of my brothers. My penalty for not aiding her was steeper—she stole something very important to me. Something I will do nearly anything to get back.”

“The Horn of Hades,” I guessed, thinking of the devil horn amulets.

I hadn’t missed them. If anything, I felt… relief at my charm’s absence over the last few weeks. It was completely at odds with how I’d felt when he’d first taken them back. Though I suspected it had to do with my painful experience in the Crescent Shallows.

I recalled my worry over the devil being mad at Wrath for letting me borrow the cornicello that night. How foolish I must have seemed to him.

“You were the only one who didn’t seem to want them. Which I suppose indicates you wanted them more than the others, and didn’t want to appear too eager and raise suspicion.”

“They are my wings, not horns. Your first witch cursed them into a mockery of mortal lore, then hid them from me.” He seemed to be lost in a memory. One that had his hands fisting at his sides. When he looked at me again, a cold fury burned in his eyes. “In order to restore them, I need a spell found in her grimoire.”

“You have wings.” Because he was an angel. Goddess above. It was one thing to suspect it, and another to have that suspicion confirmed.

“Had.”

There was a world of anger and pain wrapped in his voice. Part of me wanted to go to him, soothe the emotional wound that was still raw. Instead I remained where I was, reeling.

His wings were a connection to the angelic world. The realm he’d left behind. It was hard to believe the devil mourned something that tied him to the place he’d hated enough to be thrown out of for eternity.

Or maybe none of that was true. Maybe those were just more mortal tales, twisted and slightly wrong through the passage of time. Wrath didn’t seem like evil incarnate. Or some grand seducer. Except… he had slowly worked himself into my life. And my heart. Was that not proof of seduction? Of a slow scheme unfolding?

“Emilia.” He reached for me and I flinched. His hand dropped away. “I can sense your basic emotions, but I want to know how you really feel.”

“You’re the devil.”

“So you’ve reminded me.”

“But Lucifer… Pride… I don’t understand.”

He heaved a great sigh. “My brother’s sin of choice makes it nearly impossible for him to deny being the king of demons. Mortals assume that’s who he is, and his pride keeps him from admitting the truth. He’s only too pleased to feed his ego. I harbor no emotions one way or the other about my true title. It is a duty to me. An obligation thrust upon me. Nothing more. If anything, with Pride soaking up the prestige, it allows me to complete my job without posturing.”