Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (80)

“It’s lovely to meet you, Harlow. You don’t need to trouble yourself, though. I can manage preparing for my bath.” She bit her lip, eyes darting to the sunken tub. I wondered if my refusal came across as an insult instead of an attempt at being friendly. I forced a smile. “If you could add some oils and soap to the water, that would be nice.”

“Straight away.” Harlow rushed into the room, her expression brightening. “I’ll go fetch a length of linen and leave it on the side for you to dry off after you bathe, Lady Emilia.”

“Thank you.”

The maid bobbed a quick curtsy, then exited the room. I knew Wrath had said that servants didn’t expect to be thanked for their jobs, but it felt strange to ignore anyone’s efforts at bringing comfort. She tended to the water, laid out the linen towel, then quietly left me alone.

I slipped the silk dressing gown off my shoulders and hung it on a crystal hook near the vanity. Candles in the chandelier flickered with my movements, adding a sense of serenity to the already lovely bathing room.

After the burst of fury that had consumed all rational thought brought on by Antonio, this was exactly what I needed. Time to simply breathe and soak and let go of the anger.

I stepped down into the warm water, the perfumed oils rising up with the steam. Between the aches that crept up from my lessons with Anir and the tension that had coiled in my body from Antonio, the water felt like heaven.

I submerged myself up to my neck, leaning back against the lip of the enormous sunken tub. I was trying to empty my mind and emotions. Each time I replayed what Antonio said about the goddess and the shape-shifters, I felt that unsettling murderous rage flare up.

Once the initial fury passed, I tried to pick it apart. I didn’t believe him. But perhaps he hadn’t been influenced by a demon. It was possible a witch crossed his path and pretended to be a goddess. Or was it a matter of two mortals being influenced with demon magic? Maybe the person who came to him as the angel of death had been another victim. It would be clever of the demon to never actually be seen by Antonio. Then he’d never be able to identify them.

After my lessons with Wrath, I knew how hard it was to fight off a magical attack, but I still found forgiveness and sympathy to be out of reach. Part of me hated to admit that, even to myself. When I got that furious… it felt as if I left my body and all sense of humanity was replaced with elemental rage. I sunk against the tub, drained both emotionally and physically.

I must have drifted off; the sound of the door creaking open jarred me awake.

No footsteps or sounds of the maid’s return rustled in the suite.

An uncomfortable feeling prickled along my skin. I was not alone in the chamber. Someone was watching me. Someone who was not identifying themselves.

“Harlow?”

A length of linen tightened around my neck. My fingers flew to the material as my airflow ceased. I thrashed in the tub, splashing water in violent waves. A strangled sound escaped my lips, but it wasn’t loud enough to alert anyone of the assassination attempt. My throat burned, white spots filtered in at the edge of my vision. Panic made me buck.

Then I remembered the one item I hadn’t removed for my bath.

My hand shot below the water and emerged with the slim dagger Wrath had gifted me. With one final burst of energy, I thrust my arm back and felt vicious glee as the blade sunk into soft flesh. The intruder gasped and dropped the garrote.

In the seconds it took for me to wrench the fabric from my throat and spin around, they were gone. The only sign that anything had happened was the obscene amount of blood leading to the door. I calmly got to my feet and pulled on a dressing gown. Then I called for a servant to fetch Wrath. All the while my pulse pounded in my ears. Someone had tried to murder me. And I’d stabbed them. Someplace vital if the amount of blood on the floor was any indication.

I couldn’t muster an ounce of regret. Or perhaps I was simply numb from shock.

One thing didn’t escape my notice, though. Thanks to Envy’s curse for stealing the book of spells, I had no magic to defend myself against the attack. No power aside from the physical blow I’d struck with the dagger.

Wrath appeared in a cloud of smoke and glittering black light, rage etched into his ice-cold features. “Are you injured?”

“No.” I pointed to the blood on the tile. “But the same isn’t true for the assailant.”

Wrath scanned me first, his attention catching on my neck. His expression turned thunderous. I imagined a red welt was forming. The very foundation of the castle vibrated.

“Do you wish to accompany me?”

I glanced at my hands, at the dagger I still held, coated in blood. Perhaps it made me weak, but I couldn’t bring myself to witness what was about to occur. I shook my head, not meeting Wrath’s gaze. If there were a House Cowardice, I’d probably be queen of it.

“It takes enormous strength to acknowledge your limits, Emilia.” His hand trailed from my temple to my chin, then gently lifted it so I looked at him. “A true leader delegates. Just as you’re doing now. Never doubt your courage. I certainly don’t.”

Dropping his hand from my face, Wrath finally glanced at the blood.

He prowled toward it, an almighty predator on the hunt, and didn’t utter another word before he disappeared, House dagger gripped in hand, looking like a nightmare made flesh.

And, to whoever had just attacked me in his House, I supposed that’s exactly what he was. May the goddesses grant the assailant a swift death—Wrath certainly wouldn’t.