Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (88)

I’d searched for records of Celestia, but there was no mention of the Matron of Curses and Poisons, either. If she was a royal healer as well as a poisoner, I would have thought there would be court records of her. Either mentions of her saving lives or taking them.

There was nothing.

It was as if she did not exist outside of that tower chamber. Further proof she might not be who she claimed.

I dropped to the ground, my skirts pooling around me. I was in a lovely navy and gold gown today with flowers embroidered across my bodice, elegant enough for a lady of the Royal Demon Court, and comfortable enough to spend hours on my knees in a darkened corner of the library, searching for answers.

I flipped through a rather thin journal filled with notes and sketches. It spoke of demons that had been made through unnatural sources. Not quite lesser demons, but close. These creatures ranged from human-passing in appearance to a mix between the natural world and mortals. I paused on one illustration. It was humanoid in shape, but its skin was tree bark, its beard moss, and its fingers and limbs were branches of varying lengths and widths.

The next image was of a young man with an enormous set of elk antlers. Another showed a woman with pointed ears and ram horns that curled down to her shoulders.

Notes spoke of spells and hexes that went wrong, turning mortals into nightmares. Shunned and cursed from their world, they ended up here, where they could roam the underworld without fear of persecution.

According to the book, most had scattered across the realm, ending up in the Undying Lands to the northwest, and an eastern mountain range called Merciless Reach.

One note caught my attention.


Creatures made through primordial fear often crave blood. They seek life and there is no greater symbol of life than the heart.



“Lovely.” They were this realm’s version of a vampire.

I set that illustrated journal aside and scanned the next grimoire, one ear turned toward the entrance. There were just pages of notes on spells, charms, and hexes. I dropped the book onto the towering pile beside me. Then I pulled up my knees and leaned against the shelves.

No matter how hard I tried to stop imagining creatures feasting on hearts, I couldn’t shove my sister’s mutilated body from my mind.

One night in Palermo Wrath had said that Pride’s wife had had her heart torn from her, too. He’d also mentioned that the First Witch had used the darkest of magic to remove her daughter’s power and it had unforeseen consequences.

What if her missing heart wasn’t part of the murder ritual? What if it was one of the consequences brought about by La Prima? It might have also been a way to set her free from any mortal constraints. I vaguely recalled Nonna saying something like that in passing.

If La Prima’s daughter was cursed and not dead, she might be the monster who ran around ripping out witch hearts and devouring them.

Perhaps she was motivated by revenge against her mother, at whatever humanity might have been stolen when her powers were wrenched from her. If the devil was her eternal love, maybe she was driven mad and killed any potential brides who would take her place.

Or maybe it was as simple as the illustrated journal claimed—if she was no longer in possession of her humanity, maybe she craved hearts for everything she no longer had.

“Perhaps there are too many maybes and not enough definitive answers.”

I stood and pulled my shoulders back. Now that I was alone, I would go back to the matron and directly confront her about my suspicions. If she was the First Witch, I didn’t think she’d harm me. There was a reason she’d been sending the enchanted skulls, and it wasn’t to frighten. Maybe she could tell me more about the Triple Moon Mirror and offer any ideas on where I might find it, or the Temptation Key.

I brushed my hand against the hidden sheath at my thigh. And if she did try to hurt me, I would not go without a fight.

Anticipation had me standing outside the matron’s tower chamber in what felt like mere moments. Disappointment had my jaw clenching as I tore off the note tacked to the door and read the hastily scratched message.


Gone for a spell.



It was impossible to determine if she meant it literally or figuratively. The matron would either return in a few minutes, or she’d gone in search of a spell. There was no telling how long the latter might take, but, on the off chance she’d be back soon, I milled around outside her tower until snow began falling and chased me away.

I’d taken all of two steps into the corridor of my bedroom suite when a prickle of awareness slid over my skin. Wrath leaned against the door to my chambers, his attention fixed on my face. I swallowed the surge of… whatever that feeling was and arched a brow the way he’d done countless times before. I still hadn’t seen or spoken to him after our last training session. And this visit was most unwelcome.

I paused a decent distance away. “May I help you?”

“I was here to ask the same.”

He didn’t elaborate, and I was not in the mood to play the game of ask Wrath a thousand questions and receive frustrating answers. I moved toward my door, expecting him to step aside, and inhaled deeply when he didn’t budge. I crossed my arms and waited.

Sensing my resolve, or attempting to re-strategize his battle plan, Wrath changed tactics. “The library is in shambles.”

“That’s a bit dramatic. There are a few piles of books scattered in one section. I will clean everything up this evening.”