Chapter Sixteen
REXTON
AMELIA ROLLS OVER, taking the bedsheets with her.
I always suspected she’d be a selfish bed-sharer, and I glare at the slope of her bare shoulder before sliding out of bed.
The stone floor is freezing, and even the expensive rug beneath the bed isn’t enough to keep me from flinching as my feet hit the ground.
Wrath is significantly warmer than Greed. I used to complain about the heat, but I’d give anything to feel it again. Soon. Hopefully.
Amelia pulls the bedsheets even further around herself, covering her bare shoulder. I squeeze my eyes shut, already wishing I could forget last night.
The wedding ceremony was about as tense and awkward as I’d imagined it would be.
Amelia couldn’t find it within herself to feign even the slightest interest in the event, and she went missing several times throughout the evening.
I suspect she was trying to run away, but she should’ve known Mammon would never let that happen.
What the queen wants, the queen gets.
Amelia doesn’t react as I slip out of bed, but I’m sure she’s awake. She’s probably too busy plotting my death to acknowledge me. I don’t entirely blame her. She never wanted to marry me, and I never made any attempts to win her favor. I’ve been too busy, and I frankly never felt the need.
If I succeed in killing Mammon and returning to Wrath, she’ll never have to see me again. If I fail, she’ll find herself widowed. Either way, she’ll be rid of me soon enough.
My clothing is strewn about the room, minus my shirt, which I staunchly refused to remove last night. I don’t need to undress entirely to fuck a woman, even if it makes said woman angry. I’m not sure why Amelia even cared to see me fully naked.
It’s not as if I attempted to remove every piece of her clothing. I revealed the specific parts of her I needed access to, and I wasn’t interested in discovering more. Last night was about consummation, not pleasure. We did what we needed to fulfill our respective duties, nothing more.
I hope this is enough for Mammon’s protective wards to view me as family. It’s the closest I’m going to get. I’m married to her daughter in every way that matters, and the ink has had time to dry.
I remain quiet as I redress, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to myself. I have a queen to execute, and I don’t need Amelia asking questions. If she thinks I’m up to something, she’ll follow me. Or she’ll order her guards to. Neither is optimal.
I don’t like Amelia, but I have no interest in killing her. I’d like to get through this with as little blood on my hands as possible. Mammon has her order of succession meticulously planned out, and Prince Nolic is notoriously vengeful.
His relationship with Mammon is complicated at best, but he adores Amelia. She’s the baby of the family, and in the eyes of her older brothers, she can do no wrong. If I hurt a hair on her head, Prince Nolic will never rest until I’m dead. I don’t particularly care to deal with that.
The bedsheets rustle as Amelia sits up, my wife finally acknowledging my presence.
“Where are you going?” Her tone is sharp, filled with poorly concealed annoyance. “I hope you aren’t intending to abandon me in bed the morning after our wedding.”
“I’m hungry,” I say. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Amelia snorts. We both know I’m lying. I’d be eager to escape this bedroom even if I weren’t intending to murder Mammon. I’ve always struggled to spend time with Amelia. Our personalities don’t align.
It’s tradition within Greed for newly married couples to spend their first morning together, and my walking through the estate alone will draw attention.
Rumors will spread. I don’t mind. If everything goes according to plan, by the end of the hour, my marriage to Amelia will be the last thing anybody cares about.
“You don’t need to leave. Just ring a shadow,” Amelia orders. “Have them bring me something as well. I’m famished.”
I don’t care to have this discussion, and I make a noncommittal noise before slipping out of the bedroom. Amelia jolts up at the last second, but I’m gone before she has the opportunity to complain further.
She’s undoubtedly pissed, but I doubt she’ll follow me into the hallway. She won’t publicly argue with me, not so soon after the wedding. At least, I hope not. Amelia can be volatile—she gets that lovely trait from her mother—and I learned long ago never to underestimate her.
I’m not confident she won’t follow me, but it will take her several minutes to collect her clothing and redress. I have time. Not much, but enough. I’ll have to make do.
My fingers tingle, the feeling spreading up my arms. I shake them out as I navigate the dark, cold hallways.
My power is building, threatening to break through the barrier I’ve been placing on it.
This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to exposing the true extent of it, and I’m nervous the amount currently seeping out will be noticed.
I’m trying to hold it back, but that’s not a skill I had time to master before coming to Greed.
There’s a slight uptick in guards as I near the informal dining room. Perfect. Mammon enjoys quiet breakfasts alone, and she’s notorious for beginning her days before her children awake.
I’ve always made a point to steer clear of the informal, private areas of the estate unless explicitly invited.
I’d hate to appear too comfortable. Nothing frustrates Mammon more than people who don’t know their place, and I wasn’t going to give her a reason to consider Amelia’s demands to call off the wedding.
The guards eye me as I walk past them, but they say nothing. I’m technically family now, an official part of the royal family. They won’t usher me away or deny me entry into the private areas of the estate.
I press my lips together, preparing to face Mammon as I eye the doorway leading into the dining room. The doors are half-shut, cracked open just slightly. I force my face into a neutral expression as I slip into the room.
Mammon sits at the head of the table. She’s alone.
There’s a half-eaten plate of pastries before her, and she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before turning the page of the book in her hand.
Her black eyes flicker toward me. “Can I help you?”
I blink. “Amelia’s hungry.” Placing the blame on Amelia has historically been successful. “She said the shadows begin serving breakfast around this time. I didn’t think the room would be occupied this early in the morning. My apologies.”
Mammon frowns, the corners of her lips tugging downward as she openly looks at me from head to toe. I remain in the doorway, waiting for an invitation to enter fully. She doesn’t immediately grant it.
“I presume your wedding night was successful?” she asks instead.
She wants to know if I fucked her daughter.
“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth. “It was successful, and I’m eternally grateful to call myself Amealia’s husband.”
Mammon finally smiles. Her visible approval makes me nauseous, and I resist the urge to shake my tingling arms. Power is swirling through my veins, pushing against the thinning containment wall that the tonic creates. The tingling is spreading up my arms, almost reaching my shoulders.
“Come in, then,” Mammon finally says. She flicks her wrist toward the buffet table sitting against the far wall. It’s behind her, out of her immediate view. “Take your fill and return to my daughter before the household wakes up.”
She returns to her book as I stroll toward the buffet. She’s not paying me any mind, which is precisely what I hoped would happen. I hope to fade into the background. It’s the only way I’m going to catch her by surprise.
I fill up a plate, mindlessly picking from the spread. I’m nervous, which isn’t how I imagined I’d feel at this moment. I envisioned excitement, maybe even a hint of anger. There’s so much potential for things to go wrong, though, and it’s all I can think about.
These could very well be my last moments. I’m not particularly excited to die.
The tingling spreads up my shoulders and down my back. I’m running out of time. Now is the moment.
I scan the room, ensuring nobody has entered. The room remains empty, and I swallow past the lump in my throat as I eye the back of Mammon’s head. She’s flicking through her book, her attention on the pages.
She’s vulnerable.
I close the distance between us, my every sense honing in. I listen to her calm intake of breath. I smell the remnants of the perfume she wore last night. I feel the softness of her silky, black hair as my hands lock around her head, and then I feel the sharp crack as I force her neck to the side.
I wish I could tell her why I’m doing this, but every second I waste is an opportunity for her to fight back. Mammon’s too strong to risk even the briefest hesitation.
Everything is silent.
A broken neck will immobilize Mammon, but it’s not enough to kill a demon with so much power. Tingles spread down the back of my thighs as I release her limp form, letting her upper body rest on the table. There’s a knife beside her plate. It’s not particularly sharp, but it’ll do.
I lift Mammon’s head, exposing her neck, and slice straight across. Then I do so again, ensuring there’s no chance of survival. Demons can survive a lot, but decapitation is one thing we don’t heal from.
Blood soaks into my shirt sleeves, the scent pungent, and I spare a glance toward the doorway as loud, angry footsteps echo down the corridor I entered through just a minute ago.
I promised myself I’d cut out Mammon’s heart, but as I take in the speed of the approaching footsteps, I decide to leave it. There’s no time.
The tingling reaches my feet as I move toward the discreet shadow’s entrance in the corner of the room. My body is quickly burning through the remainder of the tonic, and my heightened emotions aren’t helping.
Mammon’s blood has thoroughly soaked into my shirt, saturating the fabric and undoubtedly turning me into a beacon. I should have planned for this, and not doing so was a significant oversight.
The shadow’s entrance is dark and narrow.
It’s also thankfully empty. The estate has yet to awaken, but I know better than to rely on that.
The shadows wake early, and it’s only a matter of time before I encounter one.
I was a shadow the first time I infiltrated Mammon’s kingdom, and it made blending in easy.
I don’t have the same luxury now, and I keep my head low as I duck through the first exit I find.
It pops me out just beyond the private royal wing, only a few corridors from the guest rooms. I cross my arms over my chest in a sad attempt to hide the stench of Mammon’s blood as I head toward the guest rooms. I didn’t calculate this stop into my original plans, but there’s no way to leave here while covered in Mammon’s blood.
I force my way into the first room I encounter.
It’s empty and smells of male, and I let out a sigh of relief as I spot the bags lying on the ground.
Whoever is staying in this room didn’t return after last night’s festivities, and I rifle through the bags before finding a clean shirt to change into.
I abandon my bloodied fabric on the floor before returning to the corridor. It remains empty. There’s no conceivable way I’ll make it out of here through the standard exits, but I’ve scouted out a balcony on the third floor that overlooks the steep bluffs behind the castle. It’s my best bet.