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.”
“Has anything been real between us, or has it been a careful seduction? A bit of truth sprinkled in with the lies.”
“Tell me.” His eyes narrowed. “When you agreed to marry Pride, thinking he was the devil, did it matter then?”
Unbidden, a memory came back to me. “In the Crescent Shallows, the night we… you called me your queen.”
“You came here, believing you’d be Queen of the Wicked. That is all true. If you choose to complete our marriage bond, you will be not simply my queen, but the queen.” He searched my face, his expression turning remote. “The only change is which brother you will be marrying. Everyone in this realm knows who I am. My true title. It’s only mortals who assume otherwise. So, I ask once more, does it truly matter now that you know who I am?”
“I’m honestly not sure. It’s a lot to absorb. You are the devil. Evil incarnate.”
“Is that who you know me to be?”
“Outside of this realm, it’s what the whole world thinks of you.”
“I am not interested in what others think. Only you.” He stepped back and inclined his head. His movements stiff. “Thank you for your honesty. That is all I needed to hear, my lady.”
“Wrath, wait. I—”
He vanished in a glittering cloud of smoke.
THIRTY-FOUR
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to the empty room. Smoke hung in the air several long moments after Wrath left. I stared at it, eyes burning, wishing I could cast a spell to reverse time. It would be so much easier to simply forget what had happened. Or, better yet, forget the truth of his name. His title. And the way my heart ached at the thought of any or everything between us being part of some larger game.
I leaned a hip against a table, surveying the mess on the floor. It seemed a fitting metaphor of my life. Each time I thought I was closing in on the truth surrounding my twin’s murder, something new got added to the heap, distracting me with more trash to pick through.
Thanks to the curse being sentient and having an active role in keeping its secrets, it was nearly impossible to fit the puzzle pieces together.
An old worry crept back in. I’d started to think I’d been experiencing forgotten memories, usually after or during some romantic encounters with Wrath.