illain, not your hatred?”
Antonio watched me closely as he settled back onto his chair, his gaze never once straying to the demon prince behind me. He did not know I was unable to use magic, that my threats were all bark and no bite. His fear did something to me. Made me want to strike harder.
“Do you recall my trip to the village? Where they claimed a goddess was feasting with wolves in the spirit realm, and teaching them ways to protect themselves from evil?”
“Let me guess.” My tone turned frosty. “You’re claiming a goddess actually descended upon that village and was the one who cursed you?”
“Emilia, my god.” He looked affronted. “I didn’t…”
“You expected forgiveness? Unearned mercy? You murdered my twin. You killed other innocent women. Instead of taking responsibility for your actions, you’re telling me superstitious stories. Ones you were only too happy to claim as silly and unfounded, if I recall. Own your truth, admit your wrongs, and do not waste my time with old folktales or lies.”
I spun on my heel and headed back to the door. I didn’t trust the growing darkness of my temper. Wrath moved aside and let me pass, his expression still unreadable.
I turned at the threshold and looked at the man I’d once believed I’d loved. How young and foolish I’d been then. Antonio had devoted his life to the holy order and would never be half as honorable as the prince of Hell standing beside him.
“When you regain all of your memories, or whatever it is you’re claiming the matron is helping you with, send for me then. But if you lie to me again, I will come for you. I will rip out your heart and feed it to the hellhounds. Wrath cannot stand guard and protect you forever.”
Antonio pressed his lips together. “I know I must earn your forgiveness. Please, Emilia. Please visit me again soon. Let me prove I am trustworthy.”
Hell was already frozen over, so I didn’t point out it would take it thawing into the Garden of Eden for me to willingly seek out his friendship again.
I left Wrath in the tower and rushed back to my chambers, heading straight into the bathing room. I needed to soak away the experience of being in Antonio’s filthy presence. I’d made it to the glass stool near my vanity when I heard the faint knock. “Come in.”
“My lady, I’m Harlow. I’m to tend to you when you need assistance.”
I glanced up from where I sat, pinning up my long hair. A young demon maid—with lavender skin and snow-colored hair—nervously stood in the doorway. I took a deep breath and released it. I refused to let my bad mood taint the rest of my evening.
“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.