Answers weren’t going to present themselves by staying locked away in my chamber.
I removed a scarf from the wardrobe and picked up the skull, careful to avoid touching it without cloth. If Vittoria were here, she’d have plucked it up and danced it across the room without a moment’s hesitation, fueling Nonna’s worry about her affinity with the dead. A smile almost tugged at my lips before I banished it. I glanced around, searching for a hiding place, then knelt down and shoved the skull deep inside the wardrobe and shut its doors.
Situation resolved, I dusted off my hands and went to search House Wrath.
I stopped counting how many stone staircases I’d descended somewhere around a dozen. Each magnificent landing ended on a floor that spanned what seemed like thousands of meters. Which must have been deception magic—Wrath’s castle couldn’t be that large.
On the next landing, I stopped to look out a trio of arched windows. A large body of merlot-colored water pooled at the bottom of a valley, smoke rising in lazy tendrils from its surface. A branch from a nearby tree fell into the water, immediately bursting into flames.
I made a mental note to never get near the cursed lake unless I wanted my flesh to burn off my bones. I left the windows and wandered down the corridor.
The castle was mostly built from pale stone, similar to limestone, and there were some wings that had been richly fitted with large, colorful tapestries. This particular wing had an image of angels in battle with monstrous creatures.
It reminded me of art created during the Renaissance; the colors deep and dark against the pale walls and columns. Doors carved from bone opened to ballrooms, and unused bedrooms, and sitting rooms. I stopped outside a towering set of double doors and traced the delicate carving. A tangle of vines with flowers and stars crawled up the edges and top, while the same vines twisted into roots that plunged into the bowels of the earth at the bottom of the doors.
Skeletons and skulls and things left to rot and ruin adorned the lower portion.
I pushed the door open and swallowed a gasp. Inside was a library unlike anything I’d ever dreamed of. Excitement rushed through me as I stepped into the room and stared at rows and rows of glass shelves. They went on for an eternity.
My face split into a wide grin. The goddesses must have been smiling down on me; this was the perfect place to research magic and myths. I marveled at the jewel-toned vellum spines of thousands of books. Someone had arranged them by color, their bindings ranging from the most brilliant shades of yellow to the palest butter creams and pure snow-whites. Reds, purples, blues, greens, and oranges; it was a rainbow of beauty set against a backdrop of ice.
I couldn’t picture Wrath being serene enough for a quiet night of reading, and if he did, I never would have guessed he’d do it with a riot of color surrounding him. Maybe ebonies and gold—dark gleaming wood and leather. Masculine elegance at its finest. This was…
“Haven. Close to Heaven but not quite as boring.”
I spun around, a hand pressed against my pounding heart. “Sneaking up on people is rude. I thought demon princes were supposed to have impeccable manners.”
“We do. Mostly.” Wrath’s gaze traveled unapologetically over my strapless gown, and I became excruciatingly aware of each place the silky fabric slid across my skin. I suspected his perusal had more to do with ensuring I’d dressed the part of future queen, and would not embarrass myself in front of any members of his court, rather than anything else. “My personal library is one level down.”
“Let me guess… Hell? Blacks, leathers, gold?”
“Lots of fire and chains and torture devices, too.” His smile was a quick flash of teeth. Dangerous, disarming. A different sort of weapon he’d honed to perfection. Possibly the most perilous in his arsenal. Especially here. “When you’re feeling brave enough, I’ll show you.”
My stomach did a tiny flip at the thought of chains and dark spaces and Wrath. “Naming your libraries Haven and Hell is dramatic enough to suit you, I suppose.” I walked down an aisle filled with various shades of blue books, the demon trailing me. I needed to stop looking at that smile, or this realm would pounce. “Have you heard from any of your brothers?”
“Envy, Lust, and Greed have all shown interest in hosting you. We received their House cards earlier.” His tone remained light, almost suspiciously so. “They’ve specifically requested your presence at their Feast of the Wolf celebrations. I imagine Sloth and Gluttony will eventually stop overindulging enough to send invitations, too.”
Lupercalia was a pre-Roman holiday that roughly meant “Feast of the Wolf,” where humans sacrificed goats, then anointed foreheads of the wealthy in the spilled blood. Some cut pieces from the creatures then ran naked through the streets, smacking bystanders with the flesh. If the demon celebration was anything similar, I’d prefer to avoid it.
Without turning around, I said, “Will you be hosting a feast?”
He appeared before me, leaning casually against a shelf. Supernatural speed on full display. I couldn’t help but run my gaze over him. His suit was the deep charcoal of shadows. It made me think of nighttime and silken sheets and secret rendezvous and things I shouldn’t.
“No. I’m waiting to see what Pride does.”
“Has he sent a summons yet?”
“No.”
“Why are you waiting to see what he does?”
“It’s one of the few times all seven princes are invited into the same royal domain. Then it’s three days of pomp and circumstance—dinners, hunts, a masked ball, then the feast. We decide where it will be held based on two factors. Where the guest of honor chooses to go, and which prince with the highest rank decides to host.”
“Aren’t you all of equal power?” Wrath shook his head, not elaborating. I locked my frustration away. “What if the guest of honor doesn’t pick the prince with the highest rank?”
“They always do. And if they don’t, they’re strongly encouraged to from whichever House they’re from. Refusing is a grave insult and has caused more than a few bloodbaths over the centuries.” For a fleeting moment, he looked hungry for battle. Then his expression turned contemplative. “Princes all suffer from surges of other sins, it seems.”
Our gazes locked. I understood what he really meant. Wrath was apologizing for our argument earlier. This information was an olive branch laid at my feet. I could kick it aside and continue our fight, or I could accept it and move on.