Throne of Secrets (Prince of Sin #2)

Three Prince Gluttony

A N INCESSANT POUNDING at my bedroom door roused me from the most sinful nightmare I’d ever had. I rolled onto my back, breathing hard, cock standing painfully erect as I stared at the silk-covered ceiling, trying to orient myself.

I couldn’t decide if I was relieved by the interruption or annoyed to wake up right as I’d tied my lover to my bedposts and spread her milky thighs wide.

A shiver rolled down my spine. The things I’d do to punish that sweet, tight—

“Your Highness?”

Val, my second-in-command, knocked louder. As if I’d missed the first small seismic event she’d unleashed on my poor bedchamber door. Her tone was curt, annoyed. Which meant she’d had to track me down and was losing patience.

I glanced at the decadent cobalt silk covering the walls, the excessive number of silver pillows spilling onto the floor, the plush fur blankets. Not my chamber.

A foggy memory came back; I’d tumbled into the guest suite I reserved for lovers sometime after the Gunners’ ball and before sunrise.

But not before I’d indulged in one too many bottles of demonberry wine, giving the demons of my circle the debauched prince they craved. It was best, I had decided after secretly visiting Wrath’s circle to monitor his recovery, for me to make a public appearance to quell any more rumors before they spread. My best spy, known simply as Shayde, reported whispers had somehow flitted past the almost impenetrable walls of Merciless Reach.

One of my hunters had been careless with who he or she had spoken to. It was a problem I needed to solve before any other whispers found their way to a certain gossip columnist.

I smiled at the memory of the night before. I’d taken my task to distract my circle very seriously. Aside from the issue of the hunter who talked too much, my brother was healing nicely, the dragon attack—brutal as it had been, no one was killed—seemed to be an isolated event, and it had been too long since I’d fed my sin through other means. They weren’t nearly as potent as when I hunted an ice dragon, but they were sufficient for now.

Last night had certainly indulged my appetites.

A warm hand stroked along my bare chest, tracing the lines of my tattoo.

I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone.

Crimson hair spilled across the lithe body of…

Callie? Cassie?

My head ached too much to recall many details. She slowly worked her way down the hard ridges of my stomach, her intention clear from her downward path.

If I closed my eyes, I could easily fall back into my dream.

Nightmare, I reminded myself. It was clearly a nightmare. One that started the moment I walked in and saw her at the ball, her gaze locking onto me like I was the scourge of the realm and she wanted nothing more than to rid our world of me.

It’d been almost an entire blessed week of avoiding the bane of the Seven Circles and her ruthless reporting. And then there she was. Miss Adriana Saint Lucent, in all her blue-haired, blue-eyed, hellion glory, scowling. I’d purposely brought two lovers with me, feeding into her distaste as I swept into the party, all arrogant, devil-may-care demon prince, and pretended not to notice the dark look she aimed at me from across the chamber.

Knowing how much she despised my public displays gave me a perverse sense of elation.

There was nothing quite as satisfying as ruining your enemy’s night.

I gently clasped Cassie/Callie’s wrist before she reached her target, then rolled out of bed, thankful I’d kept the low-slung trousers on.

I cursed softly at my body’s refusal to relinquish its twisted fantasy as I padded barefoot across the overly plush woven rug to the source of my annoyance.

The door nearly rattled off its hinges from Val’s next thrashing.

I yanked it open, giving her my most innocent look as my raging hard-on persisted. You’d need to be barred from your senses to miss it, and Val was never out of her senses.

Most unfortunate for her in this instance.

Val cursed under her breath, then narrowed her eyes on my drowsy-eyed bedmate. Probably checking to see if she was decent under the furs. Which she was not.

I twisted just in time to see Callie/Cassie drop the blanket, exposing the globe of her generous breast and the taut bud at its tip, clearly trying to entice my second into indulging her in a morning tryst. I raised my brows in question, mostly to needle her.

Val rolled her eyes at the predictability.

“Rough night, Your Highness?”

Her white-blond hair was braided back from her angular face, her eyes the gleaming blue of most in the north. She had little use for my theatrics, which was ironic since she helped craft my image through her over-the-top parties and events that were designed to fuel my power.

“Waking your prince before the sun rises is poor form.”

“Considering it’s an hour after sunset, and you have a royal matter to attend to in the north tower, I figured you wouldn’t mind the interruption.”

“North tower” was our code for issues relating to ice dragons and all things north of Merciless Reach, including my hunters. Jackson was here for his debriefing.

Any lingering arousal from my nightmare vanished.

I grabbed my shirt from the chair I’d tossed it on, stepped into my boots, then flashed Cassie/Callie a wicked grin. “A pleasure, as always.”

There was only a slight furrow between her brows. One I doubted even Val picked up on.

I swept from the room before she could reveal one of my most closely guarded secrets.

I had a reputation to uphold, and if she blurted out the truth, everything I’d cultivated over the last few years would be ruined.

Val kept pace with me as we strode through the east wing and turned down the wide, brightly lit corridor leading to the north tower. Marble gleamed under our boots, the sound muffled by the cobalt-and-silver runner that spanned the center of the whole hall.

I barely registered the colorful collection of art in gilded frames we passed, the bouquets of freshly cut flowers, the scented candles, or the intricate sculptures displayed on top of columns evenly spaced on either side of the corridor. Every few feet platters and trays of decadent tarts and chocolates and other pastries tempted all who passed by to stop and sample them.

Almost every inch of House Gluttony was a feast for the senses, should any guest or servant wander down the expansive interior and wish to indulge.

Normally, my second snagged a flute of sparkling wine and filled me in on any reports that came in after a public appearance.

Today she fingered the knives strapped to her hip belt.

“Go on, then.” I glanced sideways at her. “What sage advice are you dying to impart?”

Her hand stilled on the hilt of one knife. Knowing Val, either she was considering stabbing me or she was trying to hide the fact that she was mulling something over.

Something she knew I wouldn’t like.

“Miss Saint Lucent published another gossip column about you this morning.”

“Did she at least wax poetic on how handsome I am?”

Without breaking her stride, Val flashed an incredulous look my way. We both knew there was no way in any of the hells that Adriana Saint Lucent would write something nice about me.

“Among other colorful terms, she called you an overconfident, ruthless rake.”

My lips twitched. “At last. An acknowledgment of my finer qualities.”

“Were you even aware that the two ladies you attended the ball with were sisters?”

“I don’t recall much talking.”

Val pressed her lips into a firm line. “She also said you were more slothlike than your brother. With all due respect, one day the circle might truly listen to her scathing commentary, and some will grow tired of your antics, even if they need your sin.”

I exhaled. It was a fine line on which to balance—overindulging to feed my sinners, who in turn fed my power, without tipping them into another House of Sin, like envy.

I understood why Val worried about Adriana’s thinly veiled disapproval; it could eventually impact the strength of my House. But, at present, I had other things to worry about.

Like whoever had been telling quite the thrilling tale of ice dragon attacks.

At the end of the corridor, we climbed the winding staircase leading to the tower in silence, the tension building with each step. Halfway up, Val finally said what I’d suspected had been on her mind all day.

“My advice remains. Either completely banish the reporter from your circle or bind her into a magical bargain to keep her silent. She’s a liability.”

It was a familiar debate between us, and one of the only times we didn’t agree on how to proceed. I took her opinion under advisement but would handle the reporter how I saw fit.

Once we reached the top of the stairs, Val waited in the corridor outside the war room tower, spinning her throwing knives, ensuring no one got close enough to spy.

I entered the spartanly appointed chamber without preamble, the door slamming shut behind me hard enough to rattle the leaded-glass windowpane on the opposite end of the room. It was one of the few places in the castle that wasn’t lavishly decorated; the tower room was designed for plotting and planning; there was no need for excessive frills here.

Jackson nearly tumbled out of his seat. He’d been leaning back, boots kicked onto my battered wooden table, arms crossed behind his head, humming a popular tavern song.

I hadn’t snuck up the stairs; his instincts should have been sharper, honed. He had much to learn about remaining alert to his surroundings if he was to advance in the guild.

I’d put Felix in charge of testing all hopeful hunters in the field as part of the second phase of initiation, so Jackson still had time to learn.

In an odd, almost endearing way, he reminded me of a puppy, overexcited to be near you, big hopeful eyes, yet completely unaware that pissing on the floor was frowned upon.

He blinked slowly, as if coming out of some daydream.

He kept staring as if I was some figment of his imagination and not his prince. “Well?” I arched a brow, waiting.

Jackson’s boots slapped against the limestone as he righted himself, jumping to his feet to offer a deep bow.

“Rise and report.” My voice was steely, hard. It had the initiate hunter straightening at once.

“She was asking a lot of questions about the hunt.”

I fought the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. “I assume you mean Miss Saint Lucent. When you give a report, always start with the subject, then move on from there. What, specifically, was she asking about the hunt?”

“She knew there was an attack, that a prince was involved. Wanted to know what I knew, but I deflected like we’re trained.”

“Miss Saint Lucent specifically said a prince was attacked?”

Jackson nodded enthusiastically. “Pretty girl, horrendous flirt. She started talking about steaming innards when I told her about the barracks at night. Nearly killed my arousal.”

A smile almost twitched at the corners of my lips. It wasn’t meant to be friendly. And Jackson seemed to pick up on the nuance.

He blinked up at me, unsure about the tension building as I towered over him.

He’d made an error.

“What happens in Merciless Reach is supposed to remain there,” I said, voice pitched low. “How did that topic come about?”

“I can’t recall.” Crimson spread across his face. “But I do remember her bottom is firm.”

Maybe he wasn’t as astute as I thought.

“You groped her?”

He swallowed audibly. “We were dancing…”

“And? She suddenly asked you to grab her right there in the ballroom?”

“Not exactly, Your Highness.”

I stared until he dropped his gaze, the temperature in the room chilling by several degrees. All Princes of Sin could impact the environment around them with their displeasure. Jackson might have misread my expression, but no one misinterpreted what an icy room meant.

“Need I remind you that the royal hunting guild is a direct reflection of me? Never touch Miss Saint Lucent or any assignment again. As a matter of fact, never touch anyone without their permission again. Or I will be the one talking about steaming innards. And I promise I will do much more than simply talk about them, initiate hunter. Understood?”

“It won’t happen again, Your Highness.”

Given the trembling of his limbs and the stench of sweat permeating the small, circular room, I believed him. I eased back a step. “What else did Miss Saint Lucent ask?”

Jackson reported each of her questions, his deflections, an unnecessary but semi-entertaining commentary of the way she carried herself on the dance floor, and an entire monologue about the spiked hot chocolate station’s lack of brandy-flavored marshmallows.

“If you were to advance in the guild, I expect discretion. No more storytelling to impress your friends. No discussing a hunt outside of the warded walls of Merciless Reach. If you ever start another rumor, accidentally or not, you will be banished from the guild and stripped of all memory of it. I will not tolerate any breach of rank.”

I stared until he seemed to shrink in on himself. I had a strong suspicion Jackson had been the one to start the rumors.

As soon as he finished promising he’d never speak of the hunt again, I dismissed him and strode over to the arched window in the tower, glancing down at the city below.

Snow fell in heavy drifts, covering the tiled roofs and cobblestone streets.

My gaze traced the closest avenue at the base of the mountain where House Gluttony sat, skimming over my favorite tavern, then drifted along the night district, before finally settling on printers’ row. The section of the city that housed each of the scandal sheets and bordered the working-class town houses.

The location of my sweet nemesis.

Val was right. Adriana Saint Lucent was a problem. Jackson might have boasted to his friends, his family, or his favorite bartender, but how Adriana found an informant who knew details of the hunt and the subsequent attack on Wrath so quickly was impressive.

And dangerous.

I needed to plot my next move carefully. Removing her from the playing board was priority number one.

“Your Highness?” Val cracked the door, popping her head inside. “Silvanus is here.”

Behind the stables of House Gluttony, isolated from the many eyes of my courtiers, an unmarked carriage rolled to a stop. Despite the long cobblestone drive, the wheels hadn’t made a sound as they clattered up the hill, nor had the horses. The whites of their eyes flashed as they stamped the ground, nostrils flaring; they were no doubt unsettled by the unnatural silence.

Even my skin prickled in discomfort.

I waited until the magic that cloaked the vehicle dropped away, then pushed off the fence I’d been leaning against. I plucked up the lantern at my feet and made my way to the coach, my boots crunching over the hard-packed snow. The coachman jolted in his seat, his muscles taut as I emerged from the shadows. He remained that way until I lit the lantern and held it up.

With my hood tugged low over my brow and the quiet menace that radiated around me from waiting in the storm for nearly an hour, I understood the driver’s fear.

But he hadn’t drawn my ire. That honor belonged solely to his passenger.

The warm glow from the lantern defused the remaining tension as I stepped up alongside the carriage and flashed a robust coin purse his way.

“For your continued discretion, Niles.”

“Always, Yer Highness.”

I tossed the money to the driver and motioned to where Val still lingered in the shadows to grab our esteemed guest so we could get on with this already.

Before she reached the handle on the coach, Sascha stepped from the conveyance, flipping back the hood of her midnight-hued cloak, and glanced around to ensure we were alone. Snowflakes melted into her equally dark locks, but she didn’t seem put off by the frigid weather.

She ran an unsettling gaze over me, her lips twisting up on one side. Tonight, I looked more assassin than prince, my crown was nowhere to be seen, but my dagger glinted in the silvery wash of moonlight breaking through the storm clouds.

I set the lantern down.

“Forgetting something?”

The witch’s eyes glimmered with annoyance, but she dropped a deep curtsy and held it.

“Your Highness.”

“Next time you’re late, I’ll personally hunt you down, Sascha.”

The column of her throat moved as she swallowed.

“Apologies, Your Highness. It won’t happen again.” She held a gloved hand out, palm up. “Half up front, same as always.”

Val’s fingers grazed the hilt of her favorite throwing knife, not liking Sascha’s impertinent tone. Demons and witches were mortal enemies and tempers flared easily at any perceived slight.

I casually stepped between them.

I paid an obscene amount of coin for Sascha to forget how much our species hated each other, and to sweeten the deal of our association, I also permitted her to keep a permanent apothecary shoppe in the heart of my circle. Most witches lived in the Shifting Isles, but Sascha either had been banished from the coven, or chose to leave for reasons she hadn’t shared.

Like all Princes of Sin, I detected lies, so I knew she’d been sincere when she’d requested to stay in my circle and vowed to not be plotting any revenge.

I’d been dealing with this particular witch for decades and knew how to needle her the most without inciting a war.

I gave her a lazy grin that had her teeth grinding together. “Val? Hand the first coin purse to the lady.”

While the money exchange took place, I glanced toward the tree line where the hulking dragon waited. At my direction, Silvanus had flown in low, then walked the rest of the way to our meeting location to avoid anyone seeing him.

Since I sometimes hosted hunts here, dragons weren’t entirely uncommon on my grounds, but with the current rumor flitting through the shadows, I wanted to avoid any unnecessary sightings. My stables were far enough from the castle proper and high enough on the hill to keep us hidden from any drunken courtiers who might have spilled from the current party into the gardens or terraces for clandestine trysts.

“Ready?” the witch asked, tying off the coin purse.

I nodded. “Sil. Care to join us?”

The dragon snuffed at my tone but lumbered into the clearing, the air chilling with his arrival. Both Val and the witch shuddered from the proximity to the creature.

Sascha stuffed the coins down her bodice, then whispered a phrase in Latin while making sharp motions with her hands that I swore were simply colorful curses in her native tongue.

She briskly walked over to where Silvanus watched with slitted eyes and repeated the motions, hurrying as her teeth began to chatter. Ice dragons were formidable even when they weren’t actively trying to be. Their very presence was harsh to anyone who wasn’t immortal.

Once Sascha finished, she burned an herb bundle and waved it from head to toe, a dewy sweat breaking across her brow.

“Done?” I asked, picking my nails with my dagger.

She held an ageless hand out, palm up again. I noted the slight tremble in her arm. Whether it was fear or simply the icy chill, I couldn’t quite tell.

“You’ve got a quarter of an hour.”

“For your spell and your silence,” I reminded her, then dropped the coin purse into her grasp. Val escorted her back to her carriage, leaving me and Silvanus to our meeting.

I eyed him for a moment, searching for any sign of aggression.

He huffed an annoyed snort at me.

If you wished to gaze upon my splendor, the coin you paid the magic leech was unnecessarily excessive, though unsurprising, given your sin.

“Witch. And don’t sass me. You know why you’re here.”

The attack.

“No, the masquerade I invited you to. Of course I’m talking about the attack. Wrath is still recovering, and you better pray to your scaled gods that he doesn’t demand retribution.”

Your brother’s temper does not concern me.

My mouth curved wickedly, showing a hint of teeth. It was not something dragons appreciated. Showing your teeth was akin to drawing a sword.

“When he skins you alive and sews your hide into pretty boots for his wife, you might feel differently.”

At least you think they’ll be pretty.

“You’re in a mood, aren’t you?”

He huffed again, the arctic puff sending shards of ice into the air, but remained silent. Stubborn, gods-damned creature. When he was a hatchling, he’d dig in his little claws much the same way. One hundred years later, not much had changed.

“Explain why Hectaurus attacked, or I’ll be forced to turn you over to House Wrath.”

As if I’d permit that, demon. The alpha believes he was infected by another creature he’d battled several moons before. One of the abominations that roam the northern woods. What happened with the rest of the pack was instinct.

There were many beasts and lesser demons who braved the brutal landscape. Getting a good description about any creature a dragon wanted to fight or kill was often a fruitless venture; they were almost entirely focused on the takedown, but it was still worth trying.

“What creature did he battle? Demon? Hell beast? Shape-shifter? Fae?”

Silvanus’s tail swished across the snow. One with claws and teeth.

“Which narrows it down so nicely.”

Silvanus ignored the sarcasm. It matters not. The creature was destroyed in battle.

A fact that was unsurprising. Most creatures didn’t survive a true fight with a dragon. We’d been lucky. Shortly after Wrath had been taken down, they took to the skies. My hunters had walked away with injuries, but all had come through it.

“Does your alpha believe this is an isolated incident or something we need to address?” I thought back to the fight. “Your eyes dilated strangely. Aloysius was rather aggressive too.”

The dragon batted his lashes at me dramatically.

What of my eyes now, great prince? Do they still frighten you?

I gave him a flat, unamused look that had him huffing. He was in rare form tonight.

Aloysius has a temper. And as for Hectaurus, it has been dealt with.

My eyes narrowed on the giant beast. “Exile?”

Silvanus gave a sharp negation of his pointed head, the diamond-like scales sending prisms of light across the snow.

By acting against the treaty, Hectaurus threatened the entire pack’s safety. Our alpha tore out his throat and fed until nothing but bones remained.

I kept my emotions from my face as that savagery sank in. Nature, I reminded myself, had its own laws. Predator or prey. Kill or be killed. One weak link threatened all. Mercy wasn’t in their frame of reference; the very concept of it threatened their survival.

“And what if the alpha is now infected or exposed to what Hectaurus had?”

Silvanus spewed a frosty breath.

The alpha is unchanged, protected by the healing magic of the alpha, and the move was justified.

It was a warning to us all. His law was broken, his punishment swift. An alpha cannot show weakness. Or mercy.

He sent this.

Silvanus stepped aside, beating his feather-covered wings once before revealing what he’d been hiding. For the love of all things corrupt and unholy, I thought, hiding my revulsion. An enormous dragon skull jutted up from the snow, the silver bone scarred from teeth marks.

A chill descended down my back.

It was gruesome. Hectaurus had been another hatchling I’d helped socialize. I hated how he’d turned on my brother, but to see his bones picked clean…

I yanked my attention back to Silvanus, who’d been watching me closely.

“I accept the peace offering. But the upcoming hunt will be postponed until the following full moon. I expect the pack will follow all pact rules from here on out.”

It would weaken me slightly, but it was only for a month. I’d feed my sin elsewhere.

I will tell the alpha you are pleased. We look forward to sparring at the next full moon.

I dismissed the ice dragon and stared at the grisly gift his alpha had given me, mulling the information over. For all intents and purposes, it pointed to an isolated incident.

However, relief was not the foremost emotion I felt, given the reasonable explanation for the attack. If there was a creature brave or stupid enough to battle dragons on its own, and it was infected with some madness, there was no telling who or what it might have attacked before it met its end. Just because the creature was dead, didn’t mean the threat was over.

I’d have Felix send a patrol into the woods to search for any creatures who seemed ill.

A shiver rolled down my spine. I decided that was due in part to the dragon skull gazing up at me, empty-eyed and brutalized. As soon as I got back to the castle, I’d call for him to be placed in the royal mausoleum, in a crypt to honor him.

My unease didn’t cease with the plan to lay the dragon bones to rest. I had a feeling it was also due to the little issue of Miss Adriana Saint Lucent that I still needed to address.

First order of business: while Felix searched the north, I’d also set a select group of scholars on the hunt for any illnesses or diseases that could impact ice dragons, just to confirm that was the cause of the attack. Then I’d ensure my circle remained blissfully unaware of the incident to avoid any unnecessary panic.

The immediate threat might indeed be over, but it would only take one article to tear away the feeling of safety I’d worked hard to instill in my circle and create hysteria.

As I made my way back to the castle, I thought about what Jackson had said regarding the meddlesome reporter, and a plan slowly began to form.

It would take a few days to set up, but I knew exactly how to keep Adriana from spreading any gossip about dragons or looking into the story.

And best of all?

She’d positively hate it.