Instead, Envy reined himself in, remembered that strategy was what won wars.

And certainly, a war was on. Last night his second attempt to secure Camilla’s help had failed. He only had one more opportunity before he was disqualified. And while the rules surrounding any forfeit were still unclear, the realities facing his court were anything but.

Envy needed to win.

He’d been trying to keep a positive attitude, but things were bleak. He couldn’t use his magic to influence Camilla—seduction didn’t work.

Asking straight out had failed spectacularly.

“Fuck.” Envy raked a hand through his hair, glancing up at the painting again.

Desperation made people messy, careless. Envy needed to focus. Stealing the forgery had given him a bargaining chip to use with Camilla. He’d seen how much she wanted it. So, when Camilla had tried to tear it from the wall, he’d used a tiny bit of magic to lock it in place. Collecting it himself was an insurance plan, a card hidden up his sleeve. Since it wasn’t outright persuasion, it wasn’t breaking any of Lennox’s rules.

Now that he had secured the forgery, Envy considered what else he might focus on.

Preparations for the ball were well underway, as it was nearly upon them, only two nights away now.

The manor house was fully restored to its former glory and then some. The dark wood gleamed from its recent buffing, the new velvet draperies hung thick and lush. The artwork brought over from his real private collection was tastefully displayed across the estate, and he’d shown the staff how to prepare his preferred custom drink—the Dark and Sinful. It was a decadent concoction he’d created one evening of muddled blackberries, brown sugar simple syrup, bourbon, orange zest, and a splash of champagne.

They’d scoffed at the name, but none had protested after they’d sampled it.

Now he could turn his full attention toward attempt three. His spies hadn’t unearthed anything of great importance on Camilla yet, only things he’d already known—although they had confirmed his suspicion about the secret tunnel her father had made. It was laid on top of a realm line, an invisible magical boundary that might open to other realms. Not many knew of them and even fewer used them. Particularly here in the human realm.

Envy hadn’t sensed that the tunnel had been activated, so it wasn’t presently in use. And he hadn’t seen any runes or a portal key notch, although that didn’t mean Pierre hadn’t hidden one somewhere. And even if he had, Envy doubted he’d been able to unlock it.

Portal keys were only gifted by two species that Envy knew of: Fae, primarily the Unseelie royalty who ruled the dark court, or very powerful shape-shifters—like werewolves.

Instead of wasting the rest of the day with his growing frustration, perhaps Envy would pay the infamous dark market a visit. At least then he might learn more about what Vexley had been up to. He’d been so convinced that the man was another player, but after his baffling performance last night, Envy hoped this wasn’t his competition. It’d be a letdown. But it would be helpful all the same to find out who else in Waverly Green might be privy to realm lines.

“So. This is where you’ve been hiding out.”

Envy didn’t turn around at the sound of his brother Lust’s voice. “Let me guess. Pride’s been gossiping like a courtier?”

“Probably. But I heard it from Gluttony, who mentioned hearing it from Greed.”

His brothers were no better than the irksome columnists.

Gluttony at the very least ought to know better—he was currently involved in a war with his own reporter in the Seven Circles.

“With the curse broken,” Envy drawled, “I would have thought you’d all have something better to do with your time. Though I can’t really blame you—I am the most interesting of our brothers.”

He called for Goodfellow and instructed him to put the painting carefully in his bedchamber. Envy had warded the room so no one could enter without his permission. It should be safe enough there.

“My visit to the Shifting Isles is hardly scintillating for you, though,” he continued once Goodfellow had departed. Lust had made his way over to toy with the velvet drapes. “Surely you ought to be more intrigued by a certain death goddess than my… reprieve. Vengeance and lust do work so nicely together.”

Lust chuckled, never one to fall prey to needling.

“From what I’ve heard, she’s preoccupied with her puppies.” Envy rolled his eyes at the cavalier mention of the werewolf pack. “Even if she weren’t involved with that drama, I rather like my cock attached to my body at the end of the day. Plus, the little game you’re currently involved in is much more interesting. Is it true an artist castrated you?”

Envy touched the jeweled dagger at his hip, contemplating returning to the Seven Circles solely to castrate Pride.

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but rest assured, I am still the most well-endowed sibling.”

“Debatable, but the masquerade you’re hosting is enticing enough. My invitation seems to have gotten lost—an oversight I rectified for you by arriving early. I’m sure my influence will make it legendary.”

Lust’s voice held a note of teasing, always a sign of trouble. He’d finally moved away from the drapes and was considering the carvings of the mantel far too closely.

“Consider me your lustful goddemon, here to turn this into the most debauched event this realm has ever seen. Imagine all those stuffy, buttoned-up lords and ladies giving in to their pleasures…” Lust’s tone turned wistful. “Your staff will be cleaning the tables and walls for weeks.”

Camilla’s face crossed Envy’s mind, her eyes closed in rapture as someone dropped to their knees before her, tasting her sweet desire as she rode their face. For some reason, he pictured this occurring right on his dining room table.

“No.” Envy finally turned, giving his brother a hard look. “Absolutely—”

“You!”

The door to Envy’s studio crashed open, his second-in-command striding in after the little hell beast who’d charged in before him, silver eyes flashing.

“How dare you.”

Alexei tossed his hands up. “I tried to stop her.”

Envy flicked his attention over the artist, ignoring the giddy curiosity on Lust’s face. Camilla’s silver hair was arranged into an intricate knot held in place by a paintbrush, and her gown was a deep, sultry plum. If it weren’t for the lightning in her eyes, threatening to strike him down where he stood, he’d have paid her a compliment. Camilla knew what colors to pair to elicit the most pleasing results, and her creativity extended well beyond paint on canvas.

“Try harder. Miss Antonius is all of five feet and a handful of inches,” he finally said. “If you cannot handle her, Alexei, perhaps we ought to reconsider your position.”

“You will do no such thing,” Camilla said. “Aside from the promise of a vicious assault on his groin, I also threatened to bite him if he stood in my way.”

Lust made a strangled sound.

“I see.” Envy schooled his features into bland interest, giving away none of the amusement he felt at the thought of Camilla unknowingly sinking her teeth into a vampire.

He also could not recall a time when anyone had dared to give him a direct command.

Camilla stared up at him in challenge.

Lust let loose a low chuckle. “You must be the reason he’s in such a foul mood.”

“Pardon me, and you are?” Camilla asked, her tone still frosty as she looked Lust over, seeming less than impressed.

A considerable feat given that Envy’s brother was the prince who ruled over pleasure, and his very presence usually incited skirt-lifting or trouser-dropping admiration within seconds.

Lust appeared wildly amused—and far too intrigued—by her lack of swooning. Envy felt the magic of his brother’s sin slowly circle the artist, testing.