Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (16)

I swept my attention around the chamber. It was enormous. Elegant.

The walls were a pure snowy white with panels of decorative molding and trim, and the massive fireplace across from the bed was edged in silver that reflected the flames in its shiny surface. A giant, ornate mirror hung above it. Silver sconces sat to either side of the mantel. Another identical set was on the wall behind the bed. I was surprised to see silver and not Wrath’s signature gold, though I had a suspicion the metal was actually white gold.

A dark blue rug exactly matched the hue of the ceiling, and the bed seemed to be carved from the same gemstone that surrounded the gates of Hell. Layered on top of the dark carpet was a yellow rug woven through with gold thread.

All of the fabrics looked soft, luxurious, and smelled faintly of crisp winter air and musk.

On the far side of the room, a set of glass chairs and a matching table were tastefully placed in a nook. If not for their edges glinting in the blazing fire, my attention might have skipped over them entirely. Next to the fireplace an enormous armoire made from dark wood stood tall and imposing. Little flowers and stars and snakes were carved into its doors. Crescent moons formed the handles. They reminded me of an incomplete triple goddess symbol. Beside the wardrobe was a door that either led to another chamber or a corridor.

This was a far cry from the abandoned palace Wrath had commandeered in my city.

I twisted around. On my left another door led to a bathing room, if the splashes of water were any indication. A large canvas painting hung beside it. The frame was silver, as ornate as the mirror above the fireplace, and must have cost a small fortune.

The painting itself looked like an enchanted forest taken straight from the pages of a fairy tale. Deep green and rich brown oils brought the landscape to life. Flowers in a riot of dark colors dotted the foreground. Vines of ivy wound around massive tree trunks.

Fruit trees offered ripe treats from apples to fat pomegranates bursting with seeds, to various citruses. Mist floated above soil near the center, and frost coated the petals of the flowers on the right. The artist’s palette was dark, yet muted. The scene alive, yet frozen. Summer inhabited one side and it was ice-kissed with winter on the other.

It was a seasonal garden unlike any I’d ever seen in real life. I had a sudden urge to find the artist who painted it at once, curious about the inspiration behind such a unique piece. If it was based on a real location, I wanted to visit it. But first…

I glanced down at myself. The only clothes I had had been ripped from my body in Wrath’s frenzied attempt to get me warm, and discarded the goddess knew where. I sighed and yanked the sheets up, attempting to tie them into a makeshift dress.

Someone cleared their throat.

The uptick in my pulse indicated who it was before I brought my focus up to his. My heart rate spiked impossibly higher the moment our gazes connected and locked.

Wrath leaned against the doorframe, dark hair tousled and damp, new suit pressed to perfection, his expression bordering on contemplative. He scanned me slowly, his gaze sharp and clinical in its assessment. An ebony robe embroidered with wildflowers dangled from his fingertips. “You’re awake.”

“You’re observant.”

“Play nice. I’m the one with your robe.”

My attention slid to the clothing in question. I was at a clear disadvantage, one I intended to remedy at once. “Where are we?”

“A bedchamber, from the looks of it.”

Interminable ass. “Yours?”

He shook his head, not elaborating further. I silently counted to ten. Wrath waited, one side of his mouth tipped up, as if irking me was his most treasured diversion.

If he desired an argument, I was more than happy to oblige. Until I recalled what he’d said about anger being an aphrodisiac and bit my tongue. “Are we at Pride’s royal House?”

“No. This is House Wrath.”

“The contract…”

“Do you want to go there?” His tone was carefully neutral.

Something about the question felt like a trap, and I did not wish to find myself in any demon’s snare so soon, if ever. I swallowed hard. “I made a blood vow.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

As if he answered all of mine. I took a page from his book of secrets and lobbed a question back at him. “What does it matter? I signed it. It’s done.”

“Do you want to go there?” he repeated. Of course I did not want to go there or stay here, for that matter. I wanted to do what I came here to do and go home. The faster, the better. I pressed my lips together, unwilling to answer aloud, and forced myself to think of something pleasant. He sensed emotions and lies. And I had a theory I needed to test. His eyes narrowed as he scanned my face, searching for the truth hidden in it. “Is that a yes?”

I nodded.

A rare bout of emotion flashed in his face, but he recovered quickly and crossed the room in a few long strides. If I hadn’t been studying him, I would have missed the lightning-fast reaction. Now rage flickered in his eyes. A mask to cover his hurt.

“Don’t worry. When my brother rouses himself from the near-constant parties and debauchery, and when his cursed pride finally surrenders enough to allow me entry into his hateful domain, I’ll hold up my end of the bargain.”

I was fairly confident each of their domains were hateful in their own way but didn’t bother pointing that out. “We need to be invited?”