Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (49)

Past or future or pure illusion crafted of this sinful world, I couldn’t discern. We were in Wrath’s bed, hundreds of candles flickering across the glossy surface of his silken sheets, his dark colored walls, and the sheen of sweat coating his bare chest.

I was astride the demon prince, my thighs spread wide to accommodate the breadth of him. He watched me with a primal sort of possession, his half-lidded gaze drinking in every inch of my body while my hips undulated, seeking pleasure but not fully. I teased us both by not quite closing the slight distance between our bodies.

He reached for me, but I pinned him to the mattress, nipping playfully at his mouth before losing myself in his slow kisses. Soon he was no longer content with being a spectator; his hands clasped on to my sides, guiding me down onto his fierce arousal. With a whispered word of endearment and a quick upward thrust, we were joined in all ways. For eternity.

I managed to draw in a deep, ragged breath, banishing the vision. Some denial slipped back in. “We are still betrothed.”

Wrath’s eyes momentarily glazed, as if he’d been in that seductive illusion with me and still felt the tremors of pleasure rocking through him. His cool tone did not match the heat lingering in his gaze. “Yes. I am to be your husband.”

“My husband. You, not Pride.”

“Emilia…”

“Please.”

I held up a hand to stall him. Something ancient rattled my bones. I ignored the feeling, instead focusing on the anger unfurling in fiery tendrils, replacing any lingering sense of shock or denial, and clearing my head. This could not be happening. It was a complication I could ill afford for several reasons; the largest being my vow to avenge my sister.

“You lied to me.”

He fell silent for a few moments, then said quietly, “Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances of our union, we are well suited. Enough.”

I stared at him, unblinking. With such a wildly romantic declaration, who needed love or passion? If I wasn’t marrying Pride to carry out my scheme, I was going to marry for love. “Well suited enough” was also grossly misrepresenting the situation. I still wished to strangle Wrath more often than I wished to kiss or bed him. I had a feeling he felt the same way. Which perhaps was an indication of being well suited enough. Ours would be an unholy union of fury.

“Your brother is aware of this?”

“Of course.”

The demon prince seemed braced for a violent outburst; his feet were subtly planted shoulder-width apart, his body angled forward. He deserved a good slap for keeping this from me, but I could hardly wrap my mind around his confession and the strange way his words—innocuous though they were—suddenly heated my blood.

My whole body hummed with awareness, almost preternaturally. I was aware of every one of his movements, from the slight shifting of his feet to his steady breath. My new awareness of him did not alleviate my anger. If anything, it only stoked it more.

New realizations clicked into place. If I was a member of House Wrath, other royal houses—such as Pride’s court—would never share gossip regarding their prince. Any hopes and plans I had of gaining information I needed about Pride’s first wife were ruined.

“This is madness.”

I had taken the chaos my world devolved into after Vittoria’s death and had created a tiny semblance of order by coming here. And I’d only accomplished that because of my vow to her.

Now… now my life was once again spinning out of control because of the Wicked.

Wrath in particular. My fury finally exploded.

“You keep telling me I have a choice. When does that actually happen? Certainly not when it comes to which demon House I choose. Or which prince I thought I was betrothed to. Let’s not forget my personal favorite, back in Palermo when I asked if you’d make me come here. To rule in Hell. You said you would never force me. Apparently tricking is a perfectly acceptable substitute. Congratulations.” I clapped slowly. “You truly know your way around bending the truth. I must admit, I’m impressed.”

He didn’t look relieved, but he did relax his stance, marginally. I saw the exact moment he recalled the night I was talking about, when I thought I’d broken our betrothal with a spell of un-making. He’d sworn he wouldn’t force me into a marriage or take me to the underworld. Apparently, more half-truths if not full lies.

“You still do. You do not have to complete our marriage.”

I pointed a finger in accusation at the summoning Mark.

“And what about this unbreakable bond? It doesn’t feel like a choice. I realize you had much to sacrifice, too, but at least you were aware of what you were deciding. Regardless, you should have told me before now. I had every right to know.”

“The Mark was the best alternative I could come up with at the time. And thanks to the venom, I didn’t have many other options to explore before it stopped your heart. I asked you to grant me permission to help that night. There was your choice. You betrothed us. I accepted.”

As if I needed a reminder of that grievous error. “Alternative to what?”

“To delay certain urges the acceptance creates.”

“Urges.”

My mouth shut with an audible click as understanding sank in. All of my lust-filled thoughts and feelings toward Wrath had slowly been intensifying. They’d been eroding my distrust and the betrayal I had felt. I’d thought it was only this realm, its tendency toward desire, fueling my emotions, nudging me toward that almost primal frenzy to bed him. But it wasn’t. It was also an ancient need to claim my husband. To secure our marriage.