While she’d been alone, she’d had time to go over the events leading up to her kidnapping.

The Fear Collector had given her that name, Prometheus. It was the vampire prince’s true name apparently, which made sense. Otherwise Zarus would be inundated by too many creatures speaking his name on a daily basis. The Fear Collector had either known—or bet—Camilla would say it out loud.

She was certain of it. Which meant this had to be part of the game. All she had to do was survive until Envy puzzled out the clue, if he hadn’t already done so.

Unless this was part of the game she needed to solve… her mind raced with new possibilities. If she’d been tricked into coming to the vampire court, the game master had a reason for it. There had to be something here he wanted her to find. But what?

Blade gave her an icy once-over when she kept the door half closed.

Instead of ushering her into the corridor, he pushed his way into her chamber.

“Give me your wrist.”

She clutched it to her chest. The gowns she’d found waiting for her after the bath left much of her skin bare. The sleeveless dark plum one she wore now was the most decent, and its neckline plunged to her navel. The right side of the skirt had a slit to her thigh, and the silk clung to her every curve, as if she’d dipped herself in paint.

Two little straps held the top in place, but barely. One quick move in any direction and she’d be on full display. She shuddered to imagine being so bare in front of the vampire prince.

“No.”

“Do you prefer to offer me your throat?”

His mouth curved into a taunting imitation of a smile as his gaze dropped to the dress’s slit. There wasn’t anything heated or sensual in his look, only mockery. Blade enjoyed reminding her that she was only a warm meal.

“There is always your femoral artery if you’re feeling a bit more daring.”

She leveled him with a hard look.

“Have you been drinking?”

“An idea came to me.”

He casually dropped onto a high-backed chair, his gaze running over her again, this time contemplatively.

“Vampires are highly territorial by nature. Even the prince wouldn’t touch what belonged to another, at least not without making a grand show of fighting for the prize. Should you be bitten by someone else, he’d have to submit an official challenge.”

“Let me guess,” she deadpanned, “you wish to own me.”

“No, darling, I wish to get rid of you. As easily as possible.”

He leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. If it hadn’t been for the hunger taking over his expression, he would have looked deceptively relaxed.

“One bite. One mark. Zarus won’t move on you again.”

In life things were rarely as simple as Blade was making this out to be.

In fact, whenever someone promised an easy solution to a difficult problem, it was wise to run as far and fast in the opposite direction as possible.

Camilla knew one thing with certainty: if Blade wanted her blood, that was precisely what she wouldn’t trade. He clearly had his suspicions, and she would not confirm them.

At least not willingly.

Some secrets were worth holding on to for as long as possible, no matter the cost.

“There must be another solution,” she said.

“Your demon prince won’t come, lamb. It’s you and me or you and Zarus. Unlike the prince, I won’t turn you. And I won’t try to fuck you.”

“You could simply help me escape.”

Blade’s chuckle was deep and dark.

“Where would the fun be in that?”

Camilla didn’t comment. She hadn’t expected him to help her, so his rejection was unsurprising.

He rose from the chair, a dark omen in the flesh, and motioned for her to follow.

“It seems you’ve made your choice, then. Move. We’re going to be late for dinner.”

Camilla glanced down at her silken gown again, at all the tempting skin it left on display. Blade had made it clear he didn’t view her as anything other than food, but other vampires wouldn’t feel the same.

“I sincerely hope I’m not the entrée this evening.”

She wasn’t trying to be funny, but Blade’s fathomless gaze suddenly twinkled with amusement.

“That all depends. Try to keep your wits about you and you’ll probably be fine.”

ENVY STRODE THROUGH Bloodwood Forest toward his House of Sin, the Immortal Heart burning a hole in his pocket. Zarus had taken what was Envy’s. Right out from under him.

Literally.

He carved his way through the dense wood and underbrush, the unnatural bark gleaming like bloody fingers in the moonlight. Fog wound its way around the base of the crimson trees, dense enough to obscure the ground and any nasty trap that might be set.

Envy didn’t slow his stride. He barely glanced at his surroundings at all.

Between the escalating tension of the memory game he and Camilla had played and the abduction, he’d turned into a primal, territorial creature driven by instincts to take back and protect what was his. There’d been no cunning prince. Only snarling demon.

Envy supposed it was a result of feeling too much of his sin after so carefully doling it out over the last few years. He’d been distracted. He’d almost forgotten who he was, what was at stake, and nearly raced off to the vampire court without a plan.

But exploding into the vampire court would have been a terrible move.

His envy eventually cooled to that dangerous place he sought deep inside, clearing his mind until each piece of the last few hours had come together at last.

There are many riddles, many games, many players. If an ice prince falls, will a crimson one rise? I suppose that depends on who does the slaying. Blood must spill.

The Fear Collector’s message was meant to be misleading, but Envy understood which part had been the real riddle when Camilla said that foul name.

It had clicked into place at once: The vampire prince must die. And a crimson-eyed heir must take his place.

“Gods’ bones.” Would this game never end? Lennox clearly had a deeper goal than even Envy had imagined, using his players to move much larger pieces around the Underworld on his behalf.

Unless having the vampire prince die was only about causing chaos—Lennox thrived on chaos, created it as often as he could. The Fae and their eons of life found it broke up the monotony of immortality.

Envy already knew that Wrath and his brothers would not be pleased with what he’d have to do next. It would be too risky, cause too much upheaval. But Envy had no choice.

Camilla was gone and Lennox would have his chaos one way or another. Envy’s court’s falling would also cause upheaval in their realm. And he vowed to protect his demons at any cost.

He’d made no such vow to the vampire court. So he’d orchestrate a regicide. Even if it furthered the Unseelie King’s plot.

Pulling it off wouldn’t be easy. Envy would need to somehow convince the only red-eyed royal he knew of to murder his crown prince in cold blood.

It would unveil Blade’s secret. One he’d kept hidden from the rest of his court for two centuries. Until he’d been sired, there had never been another crimson-eyed royal.

At least not to Envy’s knowledge.

Envy would need Alexei to deliver the message. It would be the only way to ensure that Blade took the request seriously and didn’t tell Envy to go fuck himself.

He’d send Alexei immediately, then he’d—

A giant silver tree with gnarled wood and ebony leaves with silver veins drew him up short. The Curse Tree.

Envy’s mind spun to a painting he had in his collection—and the silver plaque he’d had made to explain the fable surrounding this magical tree. He’d read it so many times over the years, he’d memorized the damn thing.