Throne of Secrets (Prince of Sin #2)

Six Adriana

“C HEER UP, LOVE ,” Ryleigh said several hours later, judging by the wan light giving way to shadows crawling across the dusty office floor. “You’re still employed.”

I made a noncommittal sound and stared at the blank sheet before me, the unblemished parchment mocking me in all its perfect, unmarked glory.

No matter how hard I tried to place quill to paper, no words magically appeared.

Technically, I should be able to create some advice. Even if it was fiction. And yet I kept hitting a wall a million miles wide each time I tried to draft something.

Normally, whenever writer’s block struck, I’d jot down the most outlandish sentences to unlock any words that had been trapped. It was far better to revise what had been written than battle the blank page. But that trick wasn’t working now.

All I could see when I squinted at the parchment was Axton’s smug face. I considered stabbing the paper until the growing need to scream passed. Which wouldn’t do a thing for my work problem but would at least make me feel better, if only fleetingly.

“I wish I had the damned Hexed Quill,” I muttered, still glaring at the sheet. “Perhaps I could manifest some relationship advice into being. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find it, would you?”

“Adriana.”

Ryleigh pressed closer to my desk until she drew my attention away from my stare-off with my new mortal enemy, the blank page. She’d tried to hunt down the Hexed Quill ten years ago, obsessed with the idea of rewriting an event. Nothing ever came to pass, but my friend certainly loved learning about hexed objects as much as I loved mysteries.

“You wouldn’t want to use a hexed object. Look at the rumors circulating around Prince Envy’s game. And you can do this. You simply need to trust in yourself.”

“Why are you always so reasonable?” I quipped, slowly dragging my focus upward to settle it on my friend.

“I’m only reasonable during the day so I can indulge in the proper amount of debauchery at night. Just as you should do.”

“I can’t afford to have fun, especially with this new deadline.”

“Nonsense. If you took a little break, you’d write twice as fast.”

Ryleigh stood over me, thick winter cloak in hand, giving me the sort of dazzling smile that won her lovers and all their secrets.

Ryleigh was classically beautiful, with warm bronze skin, pale amber eyes, and thick dark hair that was long enough to spark jealousy in denizens living outside House Envy.

It was that grin, though, that undid even the most jaded soul. She’d tried to teach me her charming ways, but I was a terrible student and she’d eventually given up.

Ryleigh had started out with the same lack of means but had amassed a small fortune since she didn’t have a stepmother who spent all her coins and she used her talents to finagle exquisitely tasty gossip from nobles.

“You’re still employed,” she repeated. “Silver lining.”

“Not for long.”

I sighed and rolled my neck, trying to loosen the muscles that had grown tense throughout the afternoon. Earlier, my coworkers had all anonymously submitted several questions for the first Miss Match column so I’d have something to start with.

And they were good questions, excellent even; the problem was me.

Almost all my time was spent writing or researching for my column, speaking with informants in seedy places, then making sure my sister and stepmother were taken care of.

With her nineteenth birthday coming up, Eden was certainly old enough to work now too, but my stepmother had refused to allow her daughter to “toil away the day like a commoner.”

She was holding out hope of securing an advantageous match for Eden and claimed Eden needed to behave as if she were a gently bred lady.

By nineteen I’d been forced to earn enough coin for a household of three. My stepmother claimed it was because my father was a merchant and she’d been born into the peerage; therefore, it was my duty to step into my father’s shoes.

It didn’t matter that Eden also shared the same merchant blood. Not that I blamed her for her mother’s beliefs. I loved my sister immensely and she was only nine when Father died.

Sophie ought to have done whatever it took to provide for her young daughter. It only took a few weeks to see that would never happen. Our pantry dwindled down to crumbs and stayed that way for days.

One of us needed to provide for our family. So I applied to every scandal sheet and journal in the realm until landing the position I held now.

Researching gossip left very little time for any leisure activities, namely, courting or romance, since every event I attended was work based. I’d taken lovers, but it was always a fun distraction, nothing more serious than one or two nights, and none of them snared my attention for very long. To be fair, that was partly my fault for choosing lovers I knew weren’t right for long-term relationships. It was much safer that way to avoid heartbreak.

Giving advice on something I painfully lacked knowledge in was forcing me to remember the evening I’d spent years trying to forget.

After that emotional disaster, I’d built a wall around my heart brick by brick, never wanting to be vulnerable again. Now I had to tear that protective barrier down in order to help others, and it terrified me more than I cared to admit.

Writing scandal sheets was one thing, but helping someone through an emotional crisis was entirely different. One wrong bit of advice could destroy someone else’s happiness.

It was an enormous amount of pressure to be under. Aside from Axton, for very personal reasons, I only wished the best for others.

“I know nothing of love. Only hate and occasional lust. Look at this.”

I handed Ryleigh the slip of paper.

“‘How do I move on from my last heartbreak?’” she read aloud. “That’s simple.”

“If it was so simple, the article would be written, and I’d be home.”

“Lucky for you, I happen to have a plan.”

She flourished a beautiful silver key in the shape of a seven. Runes had been engraved onto its entire surface, glittering with invitation.

I exhaled. My day was going from bad to worse.

“I’m not sure how visiting that club will teach me anything of love, Ry.”

That club was the Seven Sins, a mysterious invitation-only club of vice where the only rules were: despite being glamoured upon entry, patrons must also always be masked, and no one could ever give their true names or speak of the club’s secrets outside its walls.

No one knew who owned it or who gave out the magic keys.

The scandal wasn’t the sex taking place—the whole realm openly thrived on passion—but any of the seven sins that could be indulged there.

Each sin was typically only celebrated within its own circle. House Envy exuded envy in all its forms. House Wrath aligned with wrath and so on. It was considered taboo to openly enjoy a sin that related to any rival House of Sin.

The Seven Sins was secretive and legendary, and not just because the club itself glamoured anyone who entered, disguising voices as well as physical appearances to ensure anonymity remained for guests. Only the lucky were admitted into its doors, the runes on the keys changing each night to ensure the list remained exclusive.

One night you could be on the list, the next left off. No explanations given.

Unlike other popular clubs and gaming hells, it wasn’t restricted to the wealthy. Anyone could be given a secret key and bring one guest, though it wasn’t guaranteed that the club would permit the guest entry, making it even more exciting.

There was no discernible pattern for the guest list, but I suspected it was based on intrigue and interest. And, of course, a burning desire to indulge in all manner of sin and debauchery.

It was infuriatingly perfect for a circle of sinners who overindulged.

I had never been. Ryleigh had. She’d been a guest on several occasions, though to my knowledge this was the first true invitation of her own.

“We’ll go, have some fun, ask some questions.” She grabbed my cloak from the back of my chair and flourished it in front of me like a gallant storybook knight. “Indulge in some dirty, sweaty sex, drink copious amounts of demonberry wine, and write the best relationship advice column the realm has ever read.”

“My family—”

“Arrangements have already been made with your neighbor to help cook dinner. She’s making stew with them now.”

I’d need to pay Lily a visit this week to return her kindness. Eden would attempt to help, and Sophie would pitch a fit. “Making stew with them” meant Lily would be playing the role of private chef for my family. And I knew how much she disliked my stepmother ordering her around, then complaining about the food.

“Well?” Ryleigh asked. “What do you say?”

It was tempting, but…

“I really need to focus on work, Ry.”

“This is absolutely work related. You need to research. And I guarantee almost everyone there will have romance on their mind. It’s really the perfect place for your column and you know it. Stop being stubborn and put your cloak on.”

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to hug her or switch out the sugar she used for her morning tea with salt. I did need to do research. And the club would provide lots of opportunity for discussions on romance. Since dinner was taken care of, I could stay out later for work.

I glanced at my scuffed boots, my heavy wool skirts. Both drab and dreary, but practical.

This morning I’d picked something to wear that would be warm as I trudged through the slush-filled streets, not fashionable. And while the club could be fun as well as helpful for my column, I really should check in with some of my informants, let them know my job title had shifted but I still planned to carry on in secret.

Axton might have temporarily won this round, but it would take more than an advice column to clip my reporting wings for good. I wasn’t entirely sure how I’d proceed just yet, but I’d figure it out soon enough. If the ice dragon rumors proved true, I could sell my story to a different publication, bypassing the Wicked Daily if I must.

“Well? Are you coming with me or not? I’m practically aging before your very eyes.”

I glanced at the blank page again. I’d need to turn my column in to get paid, which meant I had no spare coins to pay my informants tonight anyway. And yet…

“I’m not dressed for the Seven Sins.”

Ryleigh’s smile widened; she knew she’d won. “Not yet.”

“Up, up, up!” Carlo punctuated each demand with a loud clap, his expression pinched as he looked me over. “There’s much to do and not a lot of time to do it.”

I expelled a long breath and stood from the copper tub, wincing only slightly at the chill bite in the air as warm water traveled in rivulets along my body, pebbling my skin from the sudden temperature shift.

We were backstage at the Scene Stealer, the most celebrated theater in the circle. Thankfully tonight’s rehearsal was over, and all the performers were already home.

I didn’t bother hiding myself while Carlo quickly toweled me off with a long swath of linen; I’d just been scrubbed from head to toe in the scalding water until my skin felt raw.

Carlo snapped a thin dressing robe at me, motioning for me to put it on. Swiftly.

I did as he beckoned and cinched the sash before dropping onto the stool he’d pulled out before a lit mirror.

The tabletop was cluttered with all manner of makeup: a candy-colored assortment of powders in every color of the rainbow, with brushes in all shapes and sizes, false fur lashes, and other costume pieces I’d never seen before.

“You’re certain you want to wear a wig?” Carlo asked, giving me a doubtful look as he brushed my hair out where he styled each actor and singer to perfection.

Carlo had been one of Ryleigh’s first relationships after we became friends, so Carlo shot his former lover a look that begged Ryleigh to talk sense into me.

“Nope.” Ryleigh held her hands up as she backed away. “Not getting involved.”

She swiped a piece of cheese off a tray, then leaned back, watching with dark amusement as I submitted to Carlo’s demands.

I stared at my reflection in the lit mirror. Unbound, my pale blue locks fell past my shoulders in loose waves, nearly matching the same light hue of my eyes.

“Your natural color is so flattering against your skin,” Carlo said.

My complexion was pale, often described by others like moonlight on water. Ethereal, otherworldly. And it couldn’t be further from the mundane, very common life I led.

My stepmother made sure to remind me that it was most unflattering. Especially compared to the golden hair of my sister and her shimmering golden skin. She’d been trying to force a wedge between us for years, but my sister and I loved each other fiercely.

“I don’t want to be recognized,” I reminded him. “A mask is one thing, and I know the club glamours its guests upon entry, but I want to ensure my identity remains secret no matter what. We still need to walk to the club, and anyone might see us arriving or leaving.”

I wasn’t the only demon in our circle with pale blue hair, but it wasn’t as common as the paler blonds, rich browns, plums, and darker blues.

Carlo set the brush aside, mumbling about wasted potential, and fetched a trunk full of wigs. He dug around, gingerly pulling one out of a sack.

It was a lovely dark cobalt that had strands of silver glitter woven throughout. Despite it being Prince Gluttony’s House colors, it was beautiful.

“We’ll stay in the same tonal family as your natural shade,” he said, his expression telling me this was not up for debate. “A good dramatic kohl-lined eye and bold lip will be perfect. Perhaps a bit of silver dust along your cheekbones to tie in the glitter highlights of the wig.”

“I’ll be wearing a mask.”

“You’ll also be wearing the makeup underneath,” Carlo said. “Contouring and enhancing will help disguise your features. If only to slightly adjust the pout of your lips. Since you’re concerned about being recognized on the way in or out of the club, this will solve that.”

He looked me over as he brushed powder along my brow bone and cheeks.

“We’re going for an ice queen approach, which should suit you well.”

I bit my tongue, certain I’d been insulted. Ryleigh shot a sympathetic look my way.

I wasn’t an ice queen. At the root of everything, I was deeply careful about who I let in for fear of heartbreak. My caution was often misinterpreted as indifference, which often alienated me more.

“Now hold still. This will likely hurt.”

After a lot of twisting and pinning of my natural hair, Carlo finally threaded the wig into place, his gaze tracking over me critically.

“Good.” He ran his fingers through the locks, tugging gently at the scalp, clucking his tongue in approval. “It will survive a night of debauchery at the Seven Sins.”

I had no plans of taking a lover at the club, no matter how welcome the distraction might be. Tonight was strictly for research purposes.

If I didn’t turn a draft in for the first Miss Match article…

I wouldn’t allow myself to consider failure. I hadn’t entirely given up on the ice dragon story, but until I could run down any new leads on that, I couldn’t risk another financial loss. Especially with my stepmother demanding a new dress and my father’s belongings at stake.

“Now for the gown.” Carlo disappeared behind several rolling racks filled with gorgeous costumes. Beaded gowns, sequined lace, frothy tulle, silk. Each more luxurious than the last.

He emerged a moment later, brandishing a garment that would make even the most debauched sinner blush. I loved it but wondered if it would aid or hinder my mission of luring members into discussions on lasting relationships and romance.

This dress would certainly inspire lust.

I fingered the silver chains that reminded me of dragon scales holding the sides of the snowy-white gown together. Though gown felt like a pedestrian term for such a magnificent costume. If I decided to wear it, it would be by far the most luxurious thing I’d ever worn.

The soft fabric of the skirt was made of glitter—eliciting images of freshly fallen snow or ice illuminated by morning’s light every time it moved.

And it was scandalously short, hitting well above my knee. The corset top was crafted of nude mesh with sequins and gemstones sewn across the bust.

Ice queen indeed.

The irony being if I wore this to the Seven Sins, there would be no ice, only fire left in my wake. It was tempting. So very tempting to step into the role of someone else, if only for one night. Perhaps I could pretend I was a character in a story. One who took risks and dreamed.

Once upon a time, ten years ago, I had taken a risk. I’d stepped out of my comfort zone and put myself out there for the world, allowing hope to be my guiding light and North Star.

It ended badly, but I’d survived.

Almost entirely intact, if the invisible scar I bore across my heart wasn’t counted as collateral damage.

I’d learned early on that in the game of love there wasn’t guaranteed victory for those brave enough to play. Though I supposed there had been a thrill in trying.

My father used to say that the greatest tragedy in life was letting fear hold you back. Wondering what if was the worst sort of fate he could imagine.

One time I’d asked about chasing my dreams, “But what if I fall? What if I stumble?”

“Start asking better questions, my dove. What if you soar? What if you race the stars themselves?”

If I closed my eyes, I could almost hear his booming voice. Failure just means you’re trying and there’s no shame in that. Don’t let anyone tell you who you are. Believe in yourself. It’s your life and you’ve got to live how you see fit. To hells with everything else.

If my father was tasked with writing an advice column, he would be the best.

“It’s almost midnight,” Ryleigh said gently, nodding at the clock. “We’re going to be late.”