Throne of Secrets (Prince of Sin #2)

Two Adriana

“Y OU REALLY SHOULD smile more, Adriana, my love.”

Given Jackson’s words were a soft slur, and his steps were almost as heavy as the hand he’d been inching lower on my hip, it was mildly impressive he recalled my name.

As an initiate hunter in House Gluttony’s elite tracking forces known as the royal hunting guild, Jackson was my assignment tonight, which meant I needed to play nice to unravel the secrets of his last mission.

Rumor had it the ice dragons were growing restless in the north.

If proven true, it would be the story of the century. Breaking a story like that first could generate a lot of public interest, completely changing my family’s circumstances.

Not because dragons were both feared and revered in our circle, but because public safety would be at stake.

I couldn’t just let the story go and hope for the best. My family lived here. My friends. And all the citizens who deserved to know the truth before something terrible happened.

If the peace treaty was no longer being honored, there had to be a reason for it.

And I fully intended to discover what that reason was.

Jackson waltzed us around the ballroom, his hand continuing its downward path, his drunkenness becoming painfully apparent with each misstep and stumble.

We were drawing unwanted attention.

And not simply because we were waltzing during a minuet.

We bumped into several lords and ladies, earning glares and harsh whispers. When we careened into dowager duchess Oleander, I worried she’d have us tossed from the party. Her icy glare followed us as we continued to spin across the floor.

I grimaced as she leaned into her companion, Lady Violet Gunner, the host of the event, and undoubtedly demanded justice for her crushed toes.

The idea of accidentally knocking Jackson into the hot chocolate station warred with my need to draw him closer, my jaws clamped so tightly they ached.

I’d made two mistakes tonight.

The first was listening to Miss Ryleigh Hughes. My best friend and coworker had instructed me to use our circle’s sin of choice to my advantage and encourage overindulgence.

“Loose lips cause delightful slips” was a motto she lived by.

Now I had a drunken hunter causing a scene, a headache starting at my temples, and I was no closer to unraveling his secrets before my next article was due.

I couldn’t afford to miss turning in a column. If I didn’t get information on the ice dragons soon, I’d need to embellish another rumor involving my nemesis. But if I reported on it first, the ice dragon story would catapult my career—and in turn my salary—more than another scandal sheet would, so I wasn’t admitting defeat just yet.

My second mistake was attempting to use my feminine charm to wheedle information out of Jackson. Holding my tongue often proved difficult, and with the clock ticking ever closer to my deadline, my patience was quickly fraying.

Flirting was hard for me under the best circumstances.

And these were not the best circumstances.

All at once, I remembered a porcelain doll from my childhood.

Eden, my younger sister, had wanted it desperately, the bright pink dress sparkling in the rare sunny afternoon, catching her fancy.

As the eldest by ten years and already painfully aware of our circumstances, I’d been suspicious of the doll. The dull expression it wore like a shield made me wonder what it was hiding.

Perhaps I should have considered the possibility that the toymaker had been baring their soul and the doll simply represented society’s cage for young women.

Be agreeable, pleasant, and beautiful, even if it drains the life from you.

Against my quiet warnings, my stepmother used the coins we’d saved for food to buy the doll, leaving our bellies empty that week.

Eden had cried every night, the doll all but forgotten as the harsh truth settled in: the fortune our father had saved before he died was gone. Spent in its entirety by my stepmother, on one useless indulgence after another. Not that a doll for a child was frivolous. I never scorned my sister for wanting a toy; even then I wished to give her the moon.

Sophie Everhart, my stepmother, was the only one who wouldn’t accept our fate, as if her refusal to acknowledge our change in circumstances would prevent it from happening.

Even when we’d been forced to give our town house to debt collectors and moved into the crumbling building we now called home, Sophie Everhart found ways to spend coin we didn’t have. Her sin was gluttony and her need to overindulge surpassed common sense.

I’d vowed then and there to make sure we’d be taken care of and would never fall prey to those same sins. Gluttony wasn’t simply overindulgence in material things.

Sinners like me often indulged in adventure. And I found no greater thrill than solving a mystery and reporting on it first.

Which made dancing with Jackson and his straying hands tolerable.

Somehow, I managed to muster up the same bland smile the doll had worn, determined to encourage him into carrying on a decent conversation about the dragons.

He gave me a lopsided grin, his attention dropping southward, just like his cursed hands.

Normally, I preferred my romantic partners to take a direct approach rather than bore me with false declarations of love, but some attempt at conversation was necessary.

If someone didn’t try to seduce my brain, they didn’t make it to my bedchamber. Not that I’d entertained a lover in the last two Seasons. Much to my dismay.

“Elite hunters such as myself prefer a female who simpers. Can you simper?”

No better than he could use proper grammar. “No, my lord. I daresay I can’t.”

“Shame. You’re rather pretty when you’re not scowling. That ice-blue hair…”

I drew back in time with the crescendo of the string quartet, narrowly avoiding another unwanted touch, his fingers sliding through empty space instead of my unbound hair.

Jackson’s gaze turned hot and hungry.

Initiate or not, he was like most members of the royal special forces: he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt.

“You were telling me of the north, my lord. The ice dragons that roam just outside House Gluttony’s territory. I’ve heard there was an attack.”

“Mm. Was I? I can’t recall.”

I couldn’t tell if he was stealthily dodging the question or if he was so caught up in trying to seduce me, he didn’t particularly care to listen to a single word that came out of my mouth.

“What were the specifics of your assignment?” I asked, hoping his inexperience with the guild would benefit my investigation. “I can’t imagine being stationed up there for long. I’ve heard it’s quite isolated.”

“Ah. Merciless Reach. The end of the civilized continent and the Seven Circles. Best known as the outpost of nightmares because of how far from here it is. Until the sweetest sinners sneak into the barracks. After that, acting civilized is the furthest thing from anyone’s mind.”

Internally, I screamed. “Did His Highness travel with your hunting party? Reports suggest another Prince of Sin was involved in the incident.”

Surely I could steer this conversation back to safer ground.

“Everyone always wishes to gossip about the princes. But there are more interesting things to discuss. Did I tell you how we keep warm during those frigid borderland nights?”

His attention dropped to my bodice. Where it remained. Apparently, he was under the impression my breasts would magically answer his question if he stared at them long enough.

“By carving open your enemies and sleeping inside their steaming innards?” I asked sweetly, batting my lashes.

His gaze shot upward, the fire in his dark eyes banking at once. “Pardon?”

“No steaming innards.” I sighed dramatically. “I rather liked the idea of brutal savagery. Lust and violence. Such a sinful combination to indulge in, isn’t it?”

He slowly blinked down at me. Part of him was clearly still interested, if only for the wild, untamed bedroom antics I might provide, but part of him also looked wary.

I suppose I looked like the sort of female who could just as easily carve him open as give him an intense orgasm; he appeared to be weighing the risk.

Blessedly, the music came to an end and so did our time together. My mission failed, but at least Jackson wouldn’t have to struggle any longer with deciding which head to listen to.

I gave a polite curtsy, then made my way toward the far side of the ballroom. Unsurprisingly, Jackson didn’t follow. He turned his sights on a beautifully coiffed noblewoman.

Ryleigh leaned against the wall, mirth sparkling in her amber eyes as I joined her in the shadows. We were both commoners, only invited to these events to report on them, though most nobles forgot our station since we did our best to blend in.

“Jackson looks half in love and half terrified. You really need to work on honing your flirtation, Miss Saint Lucent,” Ryleigh teased. “Practice will do you a world of good.”

“He’s either too drunk to focus on my questions or won’t talk unless I take him to my bed.” With his new partner, Jackson trampled another unsuspecting couple. Completely drunk, then. “And why is my flirtation always to blame?”

Ryleigh gave me a long, lingering look. “Did you get anything useful from him?”

I swiped a flute of demonberry wine from a passing tray, downing it by half. The sparkling demonberries caught the light, looking like miniature stars.

“Nothing that will help tear down Axton or prove the ice dragons are a threat.”

“It’s Axton today, is it?” Ryleigh said playfully. “Prince Gluttony would be flattered you’re finally using that moniker.”

Gabriel blasted Axton, Prince of Sin.

His preferred alias, though not his full true name or else the witch I’d scrimped and saved to pay would have successfully hexed him long ago. “Gabriel” was known the realm over as the Prince of Gluttony, one of the seven wicked princes of the Underworld.

I knew mortals had myths and legends of all the gods and goddesses who ruled the expanse known as the Underworld—my contacts who’d been granted entry to our kingdom told me as much. Although even they had only made it as far as the Shifting Isles.

In truth, the Underworld was broken down into seven circles, each governed by a different Prince of Sin. There was an eighth circle that spanned closer to the southern edge of our realm, but it was forbidden and often ignored by denizens of the Underworld.

On a larger island, due west, were the Fae lands. And near the southern tip of our realm was Malice Isle—home to the vampires. House Gluttony, where I resided, was the northernmost territory, bordered above by wild land inhabited by dragons, lesser demons, and other creatures too dark and twisted or solitary to choose a House of Sin.

Within the Seven Circles, demon princes needed sinners to stoke their sin of choice and thus their power, ensuring they remained strong enough to protect us from outside threats, so denizens were sorted into the House they best aligned with.

Unlike most in the realm, who were utterly charmed by Axton, I despised the prince.

There was no rule stating that just because I aligned with his sin I needed to like him personally. Which meant at least one of the old, major gods was indeed petty.

Not many other circles believed in the old gods, who mostly ruled the seasons, but in the north, some still paid tribute to them. I’d need to figure out who to bribe to take down the prince.

I refused to call him Prince Gluttony in private, and “Gabriel” was too regal sounding for the rake. Axton might be his preferred alias, but that made little difference since it reminded me of a weapon. The prince was far too charming in public to be believable, and everyone ought to associate him with an ax. He’d certainly hacked apart enough hearts throughout the years.

“He’s not attended a party in nearly a week, which coincides perfectly with the first rumored dragon attack to have taken place in over a century,” I said. “Have you known him to miss any opportunity to feed his sin?”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve been marking the events he’s missed in a calendar, Adriana.”

I didn’t deign to respond. The music ended and dancers exchanged partners as the next song began. We watched silently for any hint of scandal, any refusal or snub.

Men twirled their companions across the polished marble, the noblewomen’s skirts unfurling like colorful blossoms. I made a quick note of who was dancing with whom, who stole onto the balcony, and who returned from the gardens looking tousled.

Dowager duchess Oleander continued to glare in our direction, clearly holding a grudge over the accidental toe stomping. Her hair was a deep plum that looked pretty with her complexion but did nothing for her sour disposition.

She was young for a dowager duchess, not too many suns older than me and Ryleigh. Everyone knew she’d married the Duke of Oleander for his title, not his heart. A depressing but common practice among the nobles in both our world and the mortal land.

Her attention shifted to Ryleigh and turned colder. Years back there were hints of scandal involving my friend and the former duke. It would have been the type of news splattered across every gossip column if another more scandalous event had not taken place shortly after.

I quickly averted my gaze.

I spotted Anderson Anders, a journalist from one of our rival papers with a ridiculously haughty nom de plume, lurking on the opposite end of the room, watching everyone with a hawklike gaze. He liked to believe his pieces were destined to win awards.

“Why aren’t you concerned about the implications of a dragon attack?” I finally asked.

Ryleigh heaved a sigh. “Your source was unreliable at best. If he had proof, he would have gone to the highest-paying scandal sheet by now. Instead, he disappeared.”

“He didn’t feign the terror I saw, Ry.”

“Perhaps not, but there are plenty of other explanations for his fear.”

“Such as?”

“Hexes. Curses. Dark magic. Glamour.” Ryleigh ticked each one off. “Hells, someone could have used the Hexed Quill and rewritten his memory. Shall I go on?”

I hadn’t heard any whispers of the Hexed Quill aside from rumors Ryleigh uncovered during one of her earliest investigations centered on it, but I knew objects of untold power existed in the dark markets and personal collections across the realm.

My friend had a valid point, but I couldn’t rid myself of the feeling that the informant had encountered something that terrified him. Something more powerful than glamour.

Ryleigh didn’t agree—she felt it was a nefarious plot devised by a rival paper. But there was no need to rehash my theories again tonight. The ball was almost over, and I had much to do before turning in for the night.

I scanned the room again. No scandal in the making other than Jackson’s two left feet and too-bold hands.

“Did you get what you need for your article?” I asked. Ryleigh nodded. “Wonderful. Let’s go, then. I want to go home and crawl into bed and stay there forever.”

Ryleigh sighed but looped her arm through mine and started for the door. “If you’re not careful, your eulogy will be ‘she whittled away her days with work and sleep, boring her friends to untimely deaths.’ I’m destined for much more than ‘death by boredom.’”

I couldn’t help but snort. “You poor thing. Your reputation will be destroyed by my need to provide food and shelter for my family. However will you carry on, being tarnished so?”

“Precisely, so you should come to the night district with me. Let’s get a drink and gossip about Jackson.”

“I’d rather offer myself up for a lobotomy.”

“You know, it wouldn’t be the worst thing for you to come out with me. We could go dancing. Flirt. Make terrible decisions we’ll regret in the morning. Maybe you’ll even meet a mysterious stranger and receive an invitation to the Seven Sins.”

That was as likely as me publicly professing my love for our prince, but my friend was ever hopeful.

“Maybe another time.”

Ryleigh didn’t press the issue, though I knew she was disappointed.

I wanted to indulge in fun but couldn’t. I saw what happened when my stepmother put herself above our family’s well-being. My focus was on work and providing, and it was… not adventurous or exciting, but it was enough. Because it had to be.

As we worked our way toward the exit, the rake of rakes at last made his grand appearance on the opposite end of the ballroom, a buxom lover tucked beneath each arm.

The Prince of Gluttony tossed his head back, laughing in that bold, annoying way that crinkled the corners of his eyes at whatever the lover on the right whispered in his ear.

Watching the nip he gave her neck, I could only hope she’d admitted to genital pox.

I didn’t realize I’d stopped walking until Ryleigh snapped her fingers in front of me.

“See?” she said, nodding to the prince. “Does he look like he was recently attacked by dragons?”

No. He did not. But that little voice named Intuition told me to dig deeper.

After a long, cold trek through the city, with my gown and fur-trimmed cape hiked up to my knees to avoid ruining the hems, I slipped into our small home and closed the exterior door as quietly as I could manage, taking a moment to orient myself in the dark.

We’d run out of oil for the main room’s lanterns days before.

A problem I needed to rectify soon, as my livelihood depended on it. Writing my articles in darkness was difficult at best, and any moonlight was almost always obscured by the heavy snowfall this time of year. The Wicked Daily was miserly with supplies and only granted us one piece of parchment per article, so any mistakes I made that caused me to use a second sheet came out of my nearly empty pockets. Drafting in the dark usually stole any spare change I might save if my stepmother or informants didn’t take it all first.

“I need money for a new gown.”

My stepmother’s voice startled me.

I turned the key in the lock and slowly pivoted to face her. She sat on a threadbare settee we’d taken from our former life, spine straight, chin notched up to stare down her nose at me. Her pale blond hair was plaited and pinned as if she’d come from some grand event.

Even in the shadowy room I knew the expression she wore: disdain.

As if I were responsible for her poor choices.

I felt her attention drift over me as I took off my best cloak, and the tension in the small room grew.

She despised when I attended a ball, even knowing I only did so to report on them. Sophie Everhart felt it ought to be her waltzing and drinking with her former peers.

Demons aged much more slowly than humans, so Sophie still very much looked to be no older than thirty. I knew she was at least twice that. And, unfortunately, none the wiser.

When she’d met my father, I was just eight and my mother had only been gone for a month and he’d been in deep mourning. Sophie had loved his wealth, liked him, and barely tolerated me for reasons I’d never gleaned. Perhaps it was simply because I reminded her that she always came second in my father’s heart, and Sophie didn’t like losing to a commoner.

“We don’t have any more coins to spare,” I said, mindful to keep my tone pleasant. “I need to pay our rent this week. And we need oil. I can’t afford to keep going through so many pieces of parchment and put food on the table.”

I didn’t bother pointing out that we’d be fortunate if we could purchase potatoes at the market this week; most everything else was out of the question.

Though I supposed Sophie didn’t care much about that—when it came down to it, she knew I’d give up my rations for her and Eden, like always.

“You’ll give me the coin for the gown, dearest. Or I’ll have to sell off more of your father’s trinkets.”

Anger burned deep within me, but I swallowed it down. My father’s belongings were my most prized possessions.

Really, all that was left was a small journal he’d used to tally items he’d sold, worthless aside from the sentimental value of his handwriting. And an earring and bracelet set he’d given my mother upon their betrothal, then passed on to me. Of which I’d had the misfortune of losing the bracelet years before. Plus a few other items that held little value to anyone but me.

I tried a new approach, one that had the only chance at breaking her selfishness.

“Eden needs shoes. I thought we agreed that after our rent and basic needs were met, that would be our one indulgence this month.”

My stepmother slowly rose from her seat, looking far too innocent as she fingered the diamond necklace at her throat. I tried to keep my gaze from lingering on the enormous stone.

She could sell the necklace and earn us enough coin to not worry about food or shelter for the entire year. We’d probably have enough to even purchase a small house of our own outright, and we would no longer be indebted to any landlord.

But that would require sacrifice on her part.

Instead, she wore the diamonds around our home, showing them off to the mice and other vermin that chewed through our walls, only to quickly scurry away, disappointed by the lack of crumbs in the pantry.

She caught me staring at the diamond and her lips curled up in a poor imitation of a grin.

“You misunderstood, dearest. The gown has already been ordered. Come up with the money this week, or I will. And it won’t be my trinkets that get sold.”