THIRTY
This prince of Hell certainly knew how to host an unforgettable event.
Despite what negativity the columnist would undoubtedly print about the party, it was entertaining. And spectacular. The ballroom that Fauna and I stepped into dripped decadence from every square inch. In the mortal world Gluttony’s sin was thought to be food-centered, but here, in the Seven Circles, it was pure indulgence.
Last night’s opening event was a mere glimpse into how far Gluttony could push his sin of choice. Glasses made of diamonds spilled sparkling demonberry wine over tables and trays encrusted with gemstones. More than a dozen crystal chandeliers hung from curved poles set up in even intervals around the dance floor.
Garlands of flowers with clear crystals sewn onto petals were twined around the poles. It looked as if we’d walked into a winter fairy tale. If ice was made of diamonds instead of water. When the candlelight caught the crystals and precious stones, it seemed as if the flames were caught inside ice. Gluttony’s theme carried through from our meal in a grand fashion.
“This is—”
“Look!” Fauna nearly squealed. “Over there.”
Desserts—glittered with edible gold and fashioned into lifelike fantastical beasts—stood as tall as the guests. Winged ice dragons, beautiful pastel unicorns, three-headed hellhounds. It was as intriguing as it was almost unappetizing. Masqueraders did not seem to find it off-putting, carving into the flank of a unicorn, indulging in the berry-stuffed cake that resembled blood a little too closely for my tastes. My attention drifted to a platter of chocolate-covered fruits, piled as high as the night Wrath had tested me for this sin.
I swept my gaze around the room, searching for him and the other princes. None of them had arrived at this portion of the party yet. I glanced back at the ice dragon dessert sculpture. “Who won the hunt earlier?”
“I believe his highness did. He seemed intent to win at all costs.”
“Wrath did?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.” She grabbed my elbow as if to keep herself from taking off. “Look over there. The rumors were true.” Fauna’s tone filled with awe. “He has tryst chambers.”
As if we were moths drawn to the flame of debauchery, we drifted closer. The infamous glass rooms lined the west side of the ballroom. Low candlelight flickered from within them, and the drapery was neatly tied back, ensuring all who passed could look their fill at the romantic displays happening in those not-so-private chambers.
Fauna clutched my arm in a viselike grip, her gaze widening behind her iridescent mask with each room and couple we strode by. The scenes were becoming more uninhibited, more daring. Thank the goddess we were masked. No matter how often I saw such public displays of sexuality, I could not stop my initial flash of embarrassment.
I felt the heat of my blush and knew my face must be close to scarlet.
Fauna was not having the same reaction; she studied the couples, as if committing certain positions to memory. If she had pulled out a notebook, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
“Did you see that?” Fauna’s voice held a hint of appreciation. “I had no idea so many people could fit into such a small chamber, let alone do what they were all doing and maintain their rhythm. That takes tremendous skill.”
“And stamina. That is the real feat on display.”
She giggled and swatted at my arm. “To think… these are the tamer tableaus. I’ve heard the twilight garden is much more risqué than I’d originally been told.”
Unbidden, I thought of Wrath. I tried not to let suspicion claw its way back in.
What he did, and whoever he might have seen last night, was none of my concern. I internally scolded myself. If Wrath were here he’d smirk and call me on the blatant lie.
Before I could examine my feelings further, a strange hush descended like a regiment of soldiers surrounding the masquerade. I scanned the ballroom, searching for the cause of such a reaction. My breath caught. Six imposing figures wearing wolf masks emerged from the corners of the ballroom. Tall, silent, deadly. There was something about them all standing together—their inner battles and schemes forgotten as they became a fearsome unit—that turned a prickle of unease into a fight-or-flight response. Even lords and ladies of Hell seemed ready to bolt.
Tension rolled through the crowd.
My focus landed on the biggest as he prowled forward. Even with a mask covering his face, I’d recognize that confident gait anywhere. Wrath didn’t simply walk into a room, he strode in and dominated it. And he wasn’t even trying to. Everyone else could fade away and he’d be left burning brightly. A constant source of power and vitality.
The princes slowly circled the crowd, as if herding everyone. Fauna and I shuffle-stepped along with everyone else, the space between us growing smaller with each step we took. Then, once everyone was near the dance floor, the princes turned and watched the stairs.
I dragged my attention from Wrath and waited. In a well-choreographed move, a lone prince made his way down the grand staircase, his hands tucked into his pockets, shoes shining like gemstones in the flickering candlelight. Even from across the massive space, I could hear the faint clap of his steps as the leather soles smacked the marble floor.
Fauna leaned close. “That’s the Prince of Pride.”
I watched the striking figure stroll through the crowd. Like the other princes, he wore a wolf mask that covered all but his bottom lip and chin. His was silver and gold. Ornate yet retaining elegance. He did not glance at anyone, nor did he acknowledge those who curtsied or bowed as he passed. His hair was a chestnut brown with threads of gold spun in. It was cut close on the sides and stylishly longer on top. Not a strand was out of place.
Not a crinkle to be found in his swallowtail suit.
Dressed in dark navy and silver, he did not blend into the shadows. He stood slightly apart, as if he wished for them to remember who owned them.
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath, openly staring at him behind the safety of my mask, until I exhaled. The devil stood only a few feet away. A figure reviled and loathed by almost all. If the stories were true, here was a rebellious angel, cast from Heaven.
Now the king of demons. So corrupted by sin, so monstrous, that he ruled over the worst denizens of each realm. His silver gaze collided with mine, flashing like a star streaking across the sky. A chill rolled down my spine. If I hadn’t accidentally betrothed myself to Wrath, and if he hadn’t accepted the bond, I’d be staring at my husband now.
Pride scanned me from mask to toe, his head tilted to one side. I had an awful feeling he was sizing me up, debating how to best show off his skills as he took down his prey. If Wrath reminded me of a caged panther at times, Pride was a golden-maned lion.
Both princes ferocious. Both deadly. But only one could blend into the night, strike hard and fast under the cover of darkness, then slip away, undetected. I tore my attention from the devil and searched for Wrath. He’d disappeared.
“Hello, Lady Vengeance.”
The low, slightly gravelly voice was at my ear. It took all of my effort to not show surprise or tension. I hoped he didn’t sense the item I’d smuggled on my person. I slowly brought my attention to the prince at my side and offered a slight incline of my head. He was not my king. And I’d never been instructed to bow. “Your highness.”