Throne of the Fallen (Prince of Sin, #1)

by Kerri Maniscalco

When the time came, Envy would play the game. He’d reclaim what was his, restore his court, and he’d never endanger his circle by becoming intrigued by a mortal again.

At least you know he’s well seasoned and has stamina.”

“Death isn’t in my plan, pet.” A beat of silence passed. “Do not call me pet.” “Noted, kitten.”

Envy gave her a slow, cruel smile that made her take an uneasy step away from him.

Only one myth held truth—iron did lay them low.

Synton tended to her with renewed vigor, his warm tongue gliding over and inside her with such perfection that Camilla didn’t care if God or the devil himself was involved. This man could drag her down to hell and she’d gladly burn for eternity.

With a roar that would make the devil himself pause, all hell broke loose.

And it’d be an even worse idea to let him find out she’d kept her own secret all along too. For now, she’d not reveal anything about her stolen talent, either. He’d become suspicious.

What he’d neglected to admit was that he’d waited until he sensed her readiness, long before she’d formally given him an answer.

The tiny one-room cabin was dark and windowless, the square space taken up almost entirely by one large bed.

“Touch her”—his voice was laced with malice, even as it faded to a mere whisper—“and I’ll annihilate you all.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. Truly.”

“Don’t be. It accomplishes nothing.”

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she was a player, and he was just a pawn on her board.

Camilla needed to get her talent back. But it wasn’t Envy’s fault. One way or another, her path would always have ended on this road. She’d known that the hunter’s return was an inevitability, as was the lure of the Fae. The clouds of her past had been looming above for some time, gathering into this perfect storm.

The Fear Collector.

“Breathe, Miss Antonius. The tunnel is meant to induce fear. Golath feeds on

“What are you, Camilla? Immortal? Halfling? Or just a deviously talented human liar?”

Malice Isle. The island nation home to vampires was aptly named.

Blood will out, as they say. A castle filled with vampires was perhaps the most dangerous place for someone with secrets like hers.

LEVIAETHAN

“Vexley is playing the game.”

A crimson-eyed prince now ruled. The first as far as Envy knew.

For the prince’s wounds, reapply as needed. Never forget: Strike hard, little lamb. Blade.

“I’ve lost the game, Camilla. It’s over for me. But you’re here for a reason too—you’ll ease my pain, won’t you?” “Let go.”

“That’s why you played? To become immortal?”

Maybe they were both damned, wicked things, broken in all the right places so they lined up, jagged edge to smooth.

Entirely forbidden.

Envy had never felt more like a villain.

“Some immortals, too.” His chuckle was filled with sensual promise. “Why deny what you are? You hide under that façade, dimming your light. Year after year.”

“Do you even remember what you are? Or has playing pretend for the humans made you think you are one?”

Camilla’s throat tightened, her hands curling into fists. She had not admitted the truth out loud since the first day they arrived in Waverly Green and her mother had forbidden it.

“I may be Fae,” she whispered softly,

It was the home of her dreams.

Is this why the game is so important? She imagined so. If his court was failing, she understood exactly why he was so driven to win.

There was a flicker of understanding in his face. Perhaps relief. Even if he didn’t know what she was, it was an admission that Camilla wasn’t human.

Envy blinked, calculating. Time in Faerie was much different. But Fae children aged slowly there even by those standards. She’d been born more than a century before.

Lucky for them both, Envy could be a filthy fucking bastard.

A slow, wicked smile crossed his face. He knew, too. Maybe he’d known longer than she had that one day this silver-haired, sharp-eyed, clever woman would bring him to his knees, and he’d be all too willing to go.

Sometimes two people weren’t meant to be more than one moment. Wondrous and unforgettable though it might be, not all good things were meant to last.

“Women are not possessions. She belongs to herself, you arrogant halfwit.”

Envy’s hands curled into fists. His expression as icy as the coldness rushing through his soul. Camilla had been keeping many secrets, it seemed. Camilla was not Seelie. She was an Unseelie princess.

She sensed him beside her, a storm of barely leashed jealousy whipping below the surface. Envy hated her, might never wish to speak to her again, but his sin was still provoked.

This game had been about getting Camilla back to Faerie from its inception, and Envy’s court had paid a steep price for that.

Envy realized this wasn’t the end. A new game had just begun. And this one would end in death.