Throne of Secrets (Prince of Sin, #2)

by Kerri Maniscalco

If Cinderella considered her prince more wicked than charming at first, and wanted to unravel his darkest secrets and ruin him, this would be their twisted fairy tale…

Gentlemen of vice are especially nice, since their filthy tales contain an abundance of spice. POEMS FOR THE WICKED, VOLUME TWO

May the old gods have mercy on the Prince of Gluttony. A storm named Adriana is coming and she is merciless. At least where he is concerned.

Like most things in the Underworld, that unexpected plumage was a beautiful deception hiding a sinister purpose. Those downy wings in conjunction with the iridescent scales of their bodies helped to conceal the unholy beasts as they slowly flew through snow-laden skies, circling us—their prey—below.

The hunt fed my sin more than anything else. Since my circle’s sin was gluttony, most outside the Underworld believed that meant overindulging in food and drink. We did that too, along with fucking and fighting, but most of my sinners took after me—preferring to overindulge in adventure and danger.

All except one had my royal crest stitched onto their battle leathers, searching for dragons and glory.

I scanned the line until I spotted who I’d been looking for bringing up the back of our group. Gold eyes glinted in the sliver of sunlight shouldering its way through the storm. My brother Wrath, the general of war, was the only one who looked as thrilled as I was by the approaching sound. He was made for battle just as I was built for danger; a combination that made for poor decisions but great stories. Out here, where only monsters dwelled, ice dragons were the worst predators. Which meant they were the best opponents for us wicked Princes of Hell.

There were seven known dragon packs spread throughout the region; this one happened to claim the territory closest to my House of Sin.

The largest thundered to the ground before me, snarling as its impact made a crater that displaced several feet of snow and frozen earth, missing me by inches. Iridescent scales shone like diamonds, its jaws filled with rows of snapping teeth that were as deadly as daggers. A single jagged scar glinted across its chest. I bared my teeth in a feral grin. It was Silvanus, a dragon I’d sparred with for nearly a century and one I’d hand-raised from a hatchling.

Silvanus had the temperament of an ornery house cat. Which meant he was similar to my brother Sloth; he only sparred when the mood struck and couldn’t be bothered otherwise.

“Ready to waltz, old boy?” I taunted, trying to spot any opening to strike.

Silvanus spewed a stream of white flame at my left foot, forcing me to dance backward. The bastard almost destroyed my favorite hunting boots. I aimed my dagger at my feet. “Have some respect for fine leather, you scaled heathen.” Pointed teeth gleamed in the waning light, the dragon’s version of a grin. I laughed softly as he unleashed the next stream of icy fire, this time aiming for my other leg. I’d offered to waltz with him, and the prick was making me dance. “Well played.”

Instead of charging me, Silvanus held his ground, a warning growl sounding low in his chest. His attention was fixed to some point above my shoulder. Given my nearly six-and-a-half-foot frame, he wasn’t looking at one of the hunters. The dragon was warning me about something else.

“Need I remind you of the pact?” I seethed, keeping both dragons in sight. Silvanus might have warned me once, but I couldn’t trust he’d do it again. Like wolves, dragons were pack creatures. They’d fall in line with their alpha. Silvanus inclined his head, acknowledging the pact. The other dragon simply snarled.

Unlike most creatures, ice dragons didn’t always hunt to eat. They liked killing. And they’d unleashed all their darkest desires on each House of Sin. The loss of life had been staggering. So, more than a hundred years ago, I’d negotiated the first peace treaty between the dragons and my brothers. Aided by the right spell, we could communicate clearly with the dragons and had come to terms all agreed upon.

They’d divided their territory into seven regions, each run by a different alpha. They kept the identities of their alphas from us, unwilling to share pack secrets, though I strongly believed Silvanus led the pack we interacted with the most.

“Halt!” I called out, my voice laced with the magical command of a Prince of Hell. My brother stopped fighting, shooting an incredulous look in my direction, his dagger mere inches from his target’s throat. He would have won. Instead, I’d make him forfeit. And the demon of war was not one to easily give up a fight.

My brother shot me a furious look, his expression telling me all I needed to know as the light slowly faded from his eyes. I nodded at him, signaling I understood. I was ready. I gripped my dagger, waiting. The second my brother fell, chaos erupted. As if some invisible tether snapped, the dragons all turned on us as one. And attacked.

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.

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

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.

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.

“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.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

“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?”

“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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Your brother’s temper does not concern me.

“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?”

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.

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.

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…

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.

Mr. Gray wrenched open the letter and pointed a meaty finger at the House Gluttony crest. I glared at the serpentine dragon winding itself around the stem of the chalice overflowing with grapes, its jeweled eyes slitted from overindulging.

Prince Gluttony had divested me of any daydreams I might have secretly had nearly ten years prior, when I was just nineteen and only partly cynical.

Gabriel Axton didn’t even have the decency to recall the role he’d played in my fall from grace all those years ago. But I would never forget.

“Where is the lie? He did fail at playing coy and, in my opinion, Gluttony is the least clever of the seven princes.” Ryleigh coughed into her fist, but I was too annoyed to glance her way. “Gluttony doesn’t have Wrath’s mind for war or strategy, or Envy’s cunning for games, or Pride’s exceptional focus. All he does is indulge his sin by raking and ravishing. Those are hardly qualities to boast about.” “No one’s perfect, darling,” a deep voice interrupted from behind me. “But your opinion is personal, not factual.”

I shot another withering look around the room. None of my wretched coworkers had warned me the bane of my existence had entered our small office. Not that they would. We were all in slight competition with one another to earn the most coin for the paper, which made for a rather hostile work environment. Ryleigh and I never competed, though.