He’d go to his knees, kissing his way up, his hands drifting over the curve of her bottom, then sliding around to hold her hips, and dip within, ensuring that she was wet and ready.

Vittoria had painted a vivid picture, her hands roaming down his chest. But Envy had stopped listening to her, thinking only of the woman in his fantasy, glancing back at him over her shoulder as he finally dragged his cock against her entrance.

Soft, throaty laughter sounded from behind him.

Envy had gotten so hard from the erotic image, from the look of impatience on Camilla’s face, as she pushed herself onto him.

He was so lost to the fantasy that he almost missed the commotion outside his throne room.

“I NEED TO speak with the prince.”

The gray-haired butler’s expression was one of deep contemplation as he barred Camilla from entering House Envy. How odd.

“The prince…” He trailed off.

“Envy,” she said, watching for any flicker of recognition.

If the prince hadn’t brought them here, hadn’t told her they were in his circle, Camilla would have thought they were somewhere else entirely.

“Is the prince here?”

Clarity flashed.

“His Highness. Prince Envy. Yes. Yes, of course.”

The demon nodded several times, almost absently. Then turned on his heel and began striding in the opposite direction, not looking to see whether she followed.

She waited on the palace’s front step, debating whether she should return to the cottage.

Cursing, Camilla closed the door and hurried after the demon, wondering at the strangeness.

They traveled down a long corridor, silent save their footsteps. No demons or courtiers lingered, no staff. All was eerily quiet and still.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

The butler didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge her at all.

Camilla drank in every detail of the hallway, fingers trailing over the statues lining the wide passage, appreciating the way the art had been set up. If she hadn’t been in such a hurry, she’d have wanted to spend days admiring each piece. From the brief glimpse into the prince’s House, it was like a museum or art gallery.

It was the home of her dreams.

The floor tile was oversized black-and-white marble laid in a checkered pattern, broken only by a long hunter-green runner. Frames were gilded, sculptures were marble. The ceiling was painted with a wonderfully detailed fresco.

Camilla wanted to lie on the floor, staring up at it.

She glanced back at the floor, squinting at what first appeared to be droplets of paint. Little splatters of dark reddish brown marred the otherwise shining surface of the checkered tile. She kept the butler in her sight but drifted to a closed door. Dried blood smeared along the handle, pooling under the threshold.

She jumped back, heart hammering.

“What on earth?”

Now that she was looking more critically, other cracks in the beauty emerged—the thin layers of dust, the shattered marble and defaced art up ahead.

Camilla grew more concerned the deeper they traveled into House Envy.

She stepped over what appeared to be a smear of blood, strikingly similar to how it would look if a body had been dragged down the corridor.

Bits of broken glass crunched under her boots, the artful sconces smashed and hanging from the wall. If the blood hadn’t been dry, and if the dust hadn’t settled over the mess, Camilla would have thought Envy had encountered something horrible here earlier.

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.

The butler kept glancing over his shoulder, seeming to grow more concerned by her pursuit, as if he couldn’t remember speaking with her. And worried she was stalking him.

This was why Envy had kept her in the cottage. And it was why he’d kept his indifferent act up so insistently. Envy had been playing another role. Wearing the mask of someone who needed to hide his desperation, who needed to plot and scheme and save his people at any cost.

She rushed around the corner of the next hallway after the butler, who’d finally paused by a set of arched double doors. Two guards stood to either side, ignoring the demon as he spun to face her, brows tugged close.

“May I help you, miss?” he asked.

Camilla was unsure how to reply.

“The prince,” she said delicately. “You were taking me to His Highness.”

“I was?”

The butler screwed his eyes shut, then blinked them open. Without uttering another word, he darted down the corridor, disappearing.

Playing her own game of pretend, she smiled warmly at the guards.

“Hello, I’m—”

“No one is permitted inside.”

“Is the prince here?”

“No one is permitted inside,” the guard repeated, his tone unchanging.

Camilla glared at the barrel-chested demon barring her from the throne room.

“This is a matter of urgency.”

“No one is permitted inside.” The guard flicked his attention over her, a tiny furrow appearing in his brow before smoothing away as quickly. “Order stands. For everyone.”

“He is inside, though, correct?”

“No one is—”

“—permitted inside,” she finished. “I heard you the first three times, sir. Please. I need to know if the prince is here; I assure you he will want to know what I’ve come to say.”

The guard pressed his lips together. This was ridiculous. Envy wanted to win the game and Camilla had the location of the next clue. What on earth could he be…

Soft, feminine laughter spilled out from the other side of the door.

Camilla shot an accusing look at the guard.

“I thought no one was permitted inside.”

The demon averted his gaze, square jaw set. He would no longer answer any questions. Not that he’d answered any before. He seemed only capable of repeating that one phrase. As if it was the only thing he’d been trained to say and he refused to deviate from his orders.

Why would Envy keep me locked out…

A sick feeling burned inside her.

Envy hadn’t lied. He hadn’t changed tactics. He was entertaining someone else.

Someone who had a sensual laugh. Who probably wouldn’t balk at spending only one night with him, who didn’t selfishly desire more than he wished to give.

It could have been her. It should be her.

Envy had wanted Camilla earlier and would have given her a night of pleasure she’d never have forgotten. But it hadn’t been enough. For that one confusing moment earlier, she’d wanted more than just his body.

And he’d made it clear his heart was strictly off-limits.

It hadn’t taken him very long to find another willing bedmate. Camilla almost doubled over.

There it was again, that uncomfortable dark feeling she refused to acknowledge, bubbling below the surface, a scalding geyser preparing to erupt.

Pretty, husky laughter sounded again, farther away this time, still as sultry as a summer evening. Inviting and warm, like sweat-dampened sheets and whispers spoken against pillows.

The prince was being charming, funny. How wonderful.

Camilla hadn’t yet seen the throne room, but she imagined they were slowly making their way to the dais, dropping pieces of clothing faster than their inhibitions as they disrobed each other, hands frantic, searching, kisses searing, messy. Tongues and teeth clashing, fighting for dominance.

Or would Envy kiss the woman like he’d kissed Camilla earlier? Sweet enough to make her dizzy, slow enough to make her believe it could last forever.

More likely he’d have her skirts bunched in one fist, hair wrapped tightly around the other, bending her over the throne.

Jealousy, pure and unending, barreled through Camilla.