Throne of Secrets (Prince of Sin #2)

Twenty-One Prince Gluttony

F OR THE SECOND time, I watched the mysterious Lady Frost slip into the shadows and forced myself to remain where I was. One thing I’d learned by mastering the art of the hunt was that patience won in the end.

A peculiar mixture of frustration and admiration filled me as she moved down the street, unaware that my attention still lingered on her. In this I at least had the upper hand.

Our mental game was well matched; for every move I made, she kept pace. She was wildly smart, a trait I’d applaud if it wasn’t directly impacting my investigation and need to discover who she was. If I didn’t need to meet with Val in a few minutes to discuss the competition and the suitors’ arrival, I’d take to the skies now.

All my existence I’d been the dragon stalking my prey.

Now I’d encountered another dragon unafraid to circle me. It was alluring stimulation and would certainly make for interesting bedroom sport. That it also fueled my sin was a bonus. I needed all the power sources I could get now that the dragon hunts were off indefinitely.

Sweet dreams. For a second, I’d held my breath, convinced she’d known exactly what I’d done in my dreams the night before. How I’d come to the image of her laid out on my sheets.

I banished the memory before it got me into more trouble and replayed our earlier exchange, thinking of how I’d approach it differently.

My interrogation had been subtle, and she’d not only recognized it right away; she’d called me on it. I’d wanted to pin her arms above her head and punish her pretty lips with a kiss.

I’d need to plot my next move more carefully.

And I needed to get my own hidden desires under control so they didn’t interfere. The club’s glamour had given her the same pale blue hair she’d had the last time I’d met her.

A taunt or hint that I was on the right track, I wasn’t yet sure, but I was closing in.

I felt the thrill building, a steady thrumming in my pulse, urging me to take her down. It was difficult to turn that innate drive off, to not act when I was so close to victory.

When the hunt took over, I became attuned to even the most minor details, cataloguing everything, turning them over with a critical eye.

Lady F’s fantasy had given me a solid clue. I didn’t for one second think it was a coincidence that she’d wanted me to bend her over the railing. And I didn’t think it was entirely due to the fact I’d asked her to brace herself on it the last time we’d met.

One thing I was certain about—if my hunch proved true, I now knew how to keep her close and ensure our interests aligned until the dragons were handled.

When she found out the truth, she’d be livid, of course, but by then it would be too late. There was one other name Adriana sometimes used to describe me, Ruthless Rake.

For once she’d gotten something right; the first part was true. I’d become the most despicable, ruthless bastard in the realm if it meant keeping my demons safe.

As my quarry strode away, I reminded myself it was temporary. The modiste had sent word that she’d have the items delivered first thing in the morning.

By midnight tomorrow, I’d have my answer.

And shortly after that, I’d hopefully have ensnared my rival once and for all.

Dear Miss Match,

I’ve had bad judgment in the past, but I’ve just met someone new.

How do I trust myself?

Yours in scandal but hopeful for love,

Distrustful

Dear Distrustful,

I’ll admit this is a rather difficult predicament. Learning to trust yourself as you give love a second try is a little like taking a chance on a patisserie that gave you food poisoning.

Do you attempt to sample from that dessert bar again? Or will you fear sweets giving you the runs for the rest of your days and avoid them at all costs?

It may be a silly comparison, but it’s done to prove a point. You cannot avoid love because of one experience that left you fevered and queasy. One bad pastry doesn’t mean all desserts are rotten.

Just look at Prince Gluttony—if anyone is legendary for making bad romantic decisions that leave his lovers wishing they’d been struck by food poisoning instead, it’s our Prince Un-Charming. Yet he’s fearlessly charging into uncharted territory with his competition to find a mate—reforming his rakish ways. Or so he claims. If he’s not worried about ending up hugging his royal commode, then you shouldn’t be either.

Stay scandalous, sweet sinners.

Yours,

Miss Match