TWENTY-SEVEN
The Prince of Gluttony was not at all what I expected. He wasn’t perched on a throne, or giving off the appearance of cool boredom, or exuding royal arrogance. There wasn’t anything particularly dangerous looking about him, either. Except for the threat he posed to hearts.
He stood, arms full of buxom ladies, near a fountain of spirits, a secret smile pulling at the corners of a luscious mouth. The prince leaned in to whisper something in each of his companions’ ears, their laughter sultry and filled with wicked promises.
I arched a brow as he took turns nibbling at their necks. He was a rake through and through. And he seemed adored for it.
He was not quite as tall as Wrath, but his shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, and the width of his thighs suggested a fit body hidden beneath his blackberry-colored suit.
His slightly ruffled brown hair had strands of gold and red in certain light, though the darkness never relinquished its hold for long. He wore a bronze crown, fitted with multicolored gemstones. Gluttony’s hazel eyes were a mixture of brilliant shades of green and gold and brown. All vying for dominance, all indulging in their own beauty.
And they were now trained on where Wrath and I stood. One brow quirked up.
“Brother! Come meet my newest friends, Drusilla and Lucinda. They were just telling me the most interesting story.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Wrath’s lack of decorum didn’t seem to surprise anyone but me. He placed a hand at the small of my back. “My wife, Emilia di Carlo.”
Gluttony’s attention shifted to me. His nose looked as if it had been broken once or twice, but that imperfection only succeeded in making him more interesting. His gaze raked over me and a spark of mischief flared. “Soon-to-be wife, from what I understand.”
“Actually,” I cut in, “I haven’t decided to accept the bond.”
“Hear that, brother?” Gluttony stepped away from his companions and tossed an arm around Wrath’s shoulders. “There’s hope for me yet.”
“Breathe in her direction without her expressed permission, and she will disembowel you.” Wrath swiped a glass of demonberry wine from a passing tray and sipped it, the picture of casual elegance. “I’ve already requested that she refrain from violence for our visit, but if I were you, I wouldn’t tempt her fury.”
The brothers exchanged a long look. Wrath had basically come in and set his own rules at his brother’s royal court. Just as he’d done in Envy’s House of Sin. It was a wonder that Gluttony didn’t so much as lift a brow at Wrath’s impertinence. “You’re a violent little vixen, then?”
“I have my moments, your highness.”
His laugh was full and rich.
“Explains how you’ve captured this one’s attention.” He leaned in and spoke in a mock whisper, his tone serious, as if sharing a grave secret. “Wrath has an unquenchable taste for fury. Though he never overindulges in it. Much to everyone’s dismay.” Wrath did not return his brother’s smile, which only succeeded in delighting the prince of this circle more. “Perhaps you will surprise us all, dear brother. This may be the year you let loose after all. Live down to our expectations. Gorge yourself on some fun for once.”
“Be grateful I limit my idea of fun, brother.”
“Well, the hunt begins at dawn, so you can saddle up a hell horse and unleash your warrior spirit then.” He glanced to me, troublesome smirk in place. “You, too, Lady Emilia. Let us see if you’re equally inspired by bloodlust.”
“I don’t ride.”
“No?” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Then I shall stay and keep you company. While they’re getting into trouble, I’m sure we can find some of our own.”
Whatever levity Gluttony had been feeling was gone in an instant, replaced by an icy glare. I followed the direction of his gaze, surprised to find the object of his loathing was a beautiful, prim noblewoman. Her pale blue hair was coiffed in the style of proper English ladies and her elegant dress buttoned up to her neck.
She wore kidskin gloves that ended past her elbows and an expression of revulsion as she spied the host, her gaze cutting from across the room. She leaned next to her companion and whispered something that sent the other noblewoman tittering.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Gluttony’s mood darkened further. “There’s a party crasher in our midst.”
Without uttering another word, Gluttony strode off toward the giggling ladies.
I turned to Wrath. “What was that about?”
“She’s a journalist from the Shifting Isles. And she rarely has anything flattering to say about the royals in this realm. She’s been particularly vicious with Gluttony.
”
I thought back to the lovers on the table. “She doesn’t enjoy his displays of overindulgence, I take it.”
“On the contrary.” Wrath’s mouth edged up on one side. “She called his last gathering ‘perfectly ordinary and utterly contrived. A predictable, uninspired evening.’”