Chapter Nine
CASSIA
I FALL ASLEEP to the thought of Wrath’s lava pits and my sister’s annoying stare, and I wake with a pulsing headache. This is my first time sleeping with the sludge in my system, and it’s safe to say my body isn’t happy with me.
I’m ready to go home, but I refuse to let the pain ruin my carefully crafted plans. I haven’t invested this much time and energy just to throw my plans aside at the first bit of physical discomfort.
I groan, my head pounding as I climb out of bed and dig through my suitcase for my most expensive clothing.
It’s how Greeds dress, and I need to blend in.
For once, Valeria’s involvement has come in handy.
She replaced several of the items I packed with higher-end pieces.
It annoyed me at the time, but now I’m grateful for her intrusion.
I eventually slip into a curve-hugging, red silk dress. I prefer black, but Valeria has never respected my preferences. It’s elegant, though, and I pair it with the jewelry Valeria also packed for me. I fit in, and I feel confident in my budding plan as I head to the restaurant downstairs.
I wish I’d gotten the man from yesterday’s name, but it didn’t occur to me that I’d need it. I never fathomed he’d end our conversation by marching through the royal gates and entering one of Mammon’s carriages.
I so desperately want to know who was in there with him.
I’ll find out soon enough.
It can’t be too hard to find him again. He has an ego—it was practically oozing off him—and he’ll want to run into me again. I didn’t fawn over his very existence, and that just won’t sit right with him. He’ll seek me out.
Mammon’s castle is as sprawling and intimidating as it was yesterday, and I just barely resist the urge to scoff as I peer up at it. It’s disgusting. Mammon, and everything she owns, is vile.
Large guards patrol the area, their expressions somber as they complete a shift change with practiced ease. They’re experienced, and they take their jobs seriously. It’s weird.
My childhood home is nothing like this. The manor I grew up in is spacious, but it’s cozy. We don’t have spires or guards patrolling the property, and we especially don’t have gates keeping our citizens out. We don’t fear our people.
Mammon clearly does, though. I don’t blame her. She’s a frigid cunt, and I can only imagine the lack of loyalty her people hold for her. I hope they loathe her as much as I do.
The restaurant is empty, and the outdoor table I enjoyed yesterday is open. I don’t hesitate to take it. It overlooks the front gates, allowing me to see everybody who comes in and out. If the man from yesterday makes an appearance, I’ll be the first to know.
The café doors beside me open, and a server steps out. It’s a woman. She looks about my age, and she smooths her hands down her black apron as she approaches. I pause, waiting for her to speak, but she only stares expectedly at me.
I hate Greed.
“Coffee. Black,” I eventually say.
It’s a human drink, one my mother put me onto as a teenager. It’s not common in the demon realm, but the server seems familiar with it as she nods and heads back inside. I prop my elbow on the table and rest my chin in my palm, pretending I’m not staring at the gates. It’s hard.
The waitress returns with my drink, and I offer her the friendliest tight-lipped smile I can muster as she sets it on the table and disappears.
She doesn’t linger or ask questions, which I’m realizing is common within Greed.
I examine the movements of Mammon’s guards from the corner of my eye as I bring the steaming mug to my lips. The coffee is hot, freshly brewed, and has an admittedly good flavor. It’s not the best I’ve ever had, but it’s far from the worst.
My lips curl as my mind flashes to my many memories of Mom sneaking herself a mug in the mornings.
Aziel is weird about the beverage, always has been and always will be.
He doesn’t like it when we drink what he considers to be an addictive substance, and he always has something to say when he sees a member of the family enjoying it.
Our shadows went behind his back to sneak Mom a mug every morning, though. At fourteen, they decided I was allowed a daily mug of my own. When Aziel found out, he got so angry that the little vein in his forehead made its rare appearance.
I take another sip, surveying the neighborhood.
The market is moderately busy, vendors lining the narrow streets, but there’s no sign of my mystery man.
I could ask about him, but I don’t know what I’d say.
I don’t know anything about him, other than that he’s tied to the royal family and has a cocky attitude.
I’m sure several people would fit that description.
“Would you like to order any food?”
I jolt, my heart pounding as I spin toward the waitress. I didn’t notice her approach, and I awkwardly clear my throat before nodding. I fucking hate how this black sludge dulls my senses. I feel so useless. So weak.
The waitress sets a menu on the table before me. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She heads back inside. I spare a glance around the café. There’s an older man at the table closest to the door and a couple two tables in front of me, but it’s otherwise empty. I prefer it that way. It offers fewer distractions.
There’s movement near the gates, and I jerk toward them. He’s back.
The man from yesterday walks onto the street, exiting the royal grounds. Does he live there? The guards seem to recognize him, so I’m inclined to believe he’s here frequently.
He’s again wearing all black, but the style is different. Instead of the formal attire he wore yesterday, he’s in robes. It’s an interesting style choice, one I’m more accustomed to seeing on the shadows in Wrath.
The man brushes a strand of dark hair out of his eye at the same moment his head turns in my direction. We lock eyes almost immediately, and I don’t bother pretending I wasn’t already looking. I want him to approach me, and he won’t feel incentivized to do that if he believes I haven’t noticed him.
He looks mildly pleased to see me, and I’m practically giddy when he turns entirely in my direction. He’s coming to me. People move aside for him, darting quickly out of his path. They recognize him.
I’m desperate to know how such a weak demon commands so much respect.
He reaches me within a minute, and I lean back in my chair and force nonchalance as he stands on the opposite end of my table. I forgot how attractive he is, but it’s impossible not to notice when he’s this close.
His robes aren’t enough to hide his muscular frame, let alone his height, and he exudes a level of confidence I rarely see beyond Lust’s borders.
Perhaps this man has spent time there. I wouldn’t be surprised.
Everybody loves Lust, and wealthy Greeds were known to frequent the brothels before the borders were shut down.
“I was hoping to run into you again,” he says, breaking the silence. I’m sure he was. He eyes my drink, his lips pursing. “Coffee?”
I hum. “Is there a problem with that?”
I can’t figure out what to make of his observations. He seems intelligent, and I’m not getting the impression that much gets past him. That’s not ideal, and I might need to reevaluate my plan.
I don’t have the luxury of taking unnecessary risks. Engaging with this man is undoubtedly one, but I’m having trouble deciding just how much of a risk he is. He’s too sharp. I need to find somebody less intelligent—somebody who will be easier to manipulate.
His frown deepens as he stares into my cup. Why?
“Well?” I ask, trying to remain lighthearted. “Do you have something against coffee?”
The man licks his lips but doesn’t answer.
I take that as my cue to change the subject. “I still don’t know your name.”
“May I sit?” He gestures to the chair opposite me.
After you tell me your name, you fuckwit.
I nod. “Yes.”
The man lowers to sit, his long limbs unnaturally graceful as he makes himself comfortable at my table.
He’s playing with me, and I’m finding it hard to remain calm.
He probably considers this flirting. He has no reason to suspect I have ulterior motives.
I’ve given him no reason to think so. I’m being paranoid.
“Your name?” I repeat. I hate repeating myself.
“Rexton.”
“Rexton.” The name feels heavy on my tongue. “That’s a Wrath name.”
It’s more than that. It’s not a common name, but it’s one almost exclusively used by the nobility. It’s reserved for a firstborn son, but it’s not nearly as popular as it once was. I’ve heard the name in my studies, but I’ve never encountered anybody with the name.
Rexton rests his hands on the table and interlaces his fingers. “I’m surprised you know that. It isn’t common knowledge.” He blinks. “You’re the first person to make the connection.”
Well, fuck me.
“I’m fascinated by the royal houses.” The lie rolls smoothly off my tongue. “And I have a particular interest in Wrath.”
Rexton smiles. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“I don’t know any woman who wouldn’t be interested in bonding with three powerful men. It’s intriguing.”
I push down a gag at what I’m saying. I don’t enjoy thinking deeply about the fact that my parents are bonded and share a sacred, intimate connection. I objectively know that my siblings and I are a result of that bond and intimacy, but I don’t like thinking about it.
Rexton laughs, though, so I know my response was the right one.
I’ve found the best lies are the ones that remain close to the truth.
I am fascinated by the royal houses, mainly because I’m a part of one, and I do have a particular interest in Wrath, mainly because I’m to rule it once my father steps down.
“It’s rare to meet a Greed who so openly admits to finding the Wrath Trio attractive.”
I take a large gulp of my coffee, not caring that it burns my throat. This topic is going in a direction I don’t want it to, and I need to nip this segue in the bud before my disgust becomes visible.
A throat clears beside us. “Would you like anything to eat?”
Thank fuck.
I spin toward the waitress. It’s annoying how she’s managed to sneak up on me again, but I’m too pleased by the distraction her presence brings to be upset. I avoid Rexton as I scan over my forgotten menu. Nothing stands out. I’ve lost my appetite.
“I’m okay, after all,” I say, handing her the menu. “But thanks.”
The waitress nods, then disappears. I let my eyes casually trail back to Rexton. I don’t want to send the impression that I’m giddy to be speaking with him. I’m casual. I’m calm. I’m far from desperate.
“And your name?” Rexton asks.
“Luna.”
Rexton smiles, his full lips spreading to reveal a set of perfect teeth. “Luna?”
I nod. “Yes.”
It’s a fake name, one not tied to a specific demon kingdom. Nobody will second-guess it. David picked it out.
Rexton lets out a long, low sigh. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Luna.” He taps his fingers against the table. “Care to tell me what a highborn Wrath is doing in Greed?”