Throne of Secrets

Book 2: Prince of Sin

by Kerri Maniscalco

Genres: Epic Fantasy; Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

The next steamy standalone fantasy romance from New York Times bestselling author Kerri Maniscalco.

Release date: September 24, 2024

Publisher: Little, Brown and Company

Print pages: 384

Sample

A STRONG GUST OF wind raced down the snowcapped mountains, screaming through the pass, the sound almost as chilling as the winter air itself.

This far north of the Seven Circles, beyond any of the royal Houses of Sin, where nightmares and lesser demons stalked the forest’s edge, even the elements gave in to fear.

Fainter, another noise emerged above the tree line. One we’d been waiting for.

I paused, holding a hand in the air, a silent signal for my hunters to halt.

Leather snapped in time with the breeze, the familiar sound muffled only slightly by what I knew was an outer layer of angelic-looking white feathers.

Like most things in the Underworld, that unexpected plumage was a beautiful deception hiding a sinister purpose. Those downy wings in conjunction with the iridescent scales of their bodies helped to conceal the unholy beasts as they slowly flew through snow-laden skies, circling us—their prey—below.

I gripped my House dagger in my fist, heart pumping fast as I peered up through the trees, blinking ice from my lashes, waiting for that first glimpse of Death made flesh.

Immortality would keep me breathing no matter what, but not everyone in our hunting party had that luxury. Like me they fought for the thrill of it, but it also was one of the greatest sources of fuel for my power. The hunt fed my sin more than anything else. Since my circle’s sin was gluttony, most outside the Underworld believed that meant overindulging in food and drink. We did that too, along with fucking and fighting, but most of my sinners took after me—preferring to overindulge in adventure and danger.

That fear, the possibility of failure mixed with a fierce desire to indulge in adventure at any cost, drove the hunters forward through the narrow, unforgiving pass with me, gazes locked on the overcast sky, bodies tensed and ready for battle.

I glanced over my shoulder at the line of elite fighters who’d braved Merciless Reach, the walled outpost I’d built a century before to monitor the savage northern lands just beyond my territory, House Gluttony.

All except one had my royal crest stitched onto their battle leathers, searching for dragons and glory.

I motioned for everyone to remain silent, to be vigilant. It wouldn’t be long now.

We’d been tracking the dragons for hours, playing a cat-and-mouse game, both parties eager to pounce. The dragons had known we were close, but thanks to a smattering of evergreens lining each side of the pass, they didn’t have a clear visual.

Some hunters bit down on a leather strap to silence the sound of their chattering teeth. They wouldn’t last another hour out here, no matter how brave they were.

We needed to start moving again.

I scanned the line until I spotted who I’d been looking for bringing up the back of our group. Gold eyes glinted in the sliver of sunlight shouldering its way through the storm.

My brother Wrath, the general of war, was the only one who looked as thrilled as I was by the approaching sound. He was made for battle just as I was built for danger; a combination that made for poor decisions but great stories.

Out here, where only monsters dwelled, ice dragons were the worst predators.

Which meant they were the best opponents for us wicked Princes of Hell.

Tonight’s hunt promised to be a memorable one. Violence simmered in the air, so close I could practically taste the impending battle, my mouth watering in anticipation.

For hours, we’d ruthlessly tracked this particular pack of ice dragons north, far beyond hospitable land. There were seven known dragon packs spread throughout the region; this one happened to claim the territory closest to my House of Sin.

The terrain was milder than that of the far north, but it was still brutal.

Several members of the hunt had been forced to retreat, the harsh winter elements too deadly to contend with. The few who remained were the fiercest, or the most foolish.

Jackson Rose, one of the newest initiates of the royal hunting guild, tripped over an ice-coated root, cursing as he landed face-first in the snow. Felix, a seasoned veteran, shot me a look of apology and grumbled as he hoisted the younger hunter up by his straps.

My skin prickled with sudden awareness.

That one sign of exhaustion was the spark needed for violence to ignite. If the dragons had been unsure of our precise location, that element of surprise was gone now.

“On alert!” I shouted, dagger aimed skyward as I stepped off the path, pausing under the nearest evergreen to avoid what was certain to be an aerial attack.

I silently counted, pulse drumming madly.

The sound of beating wings ceased.

“Be ready!”

All at once the great beasts dove at us like comets falling from the skies.

Majestic wings tucked against their big, scaled bodies, they plummeted to the earth one after another, their numbers taking our party by surprise.

Wind howled around their massive forms, the sound raising the fine hair along my arms.

The largest thundered to the ground before me, snarling as its impact made a crater that displaced several feet of snow and frozen earth, missing me by inches. Iridescent scales shone like diamonds, its jaws filled with rows of snapping teeth that were as deadly as daggers.

A single jagged scar glinted across its chest.

I bared my teeth in a feral grin. It was Silvanus, a dragon I’d sparred with for nearly a century and one I’d hand-raised from a hatchling.

That bond meant little on the battlefield, though.

Our skirmishes were well matched, neither of us willing to be defeated easily.

Silvanus had the temperament of an ornery house cat. Which meant he was similar to my brother Sloth; he only sparred when the mood struck and couldn’t be bothered otherwise.

I stole a quick glance at the hunters; almost everyone had their own dragon to battle, and all wore the same wolfish grin as they took turns striking at their opponents.

I focused on my fight again, allowing the thrill to take over as I tuned everything else out.

“Ready to waltz, old boy?” I taunted, trying to spot any opening to strike.

Whoever drew first blood won. With two giant barrels of spiced ale waiting for me back at my warm castle, I felt like celebrating victory tonight, far from the miserable cold that gripped my balls in its icy fist.

Silvanus spewed a stream of white flame at my left foot, forcing me to dance backward. The bastard almost destroyed my favorite hunting boots.

I aimed my dagger at my feet. “Have some respect for fine leather, you scaled heathen.”

Pointed teeth gleamed in the waning light, the dragon’s version of a grin.

I laughed softly as he unleashed the next stream of icy fire, this time aiming for my other leg. I’d offered to waltz with him, and the prick was making me dance.

“Well played.”

My grin faded. The need to hunt, to win, was taking over.

I stalked forward, gaze narrowed, plan whirling into motion. I’d feint to the left, then catch him with a jab on the right, nicking him under his snout. He was broad, and agility wasn’t his strong suit, an advantage I’d press until I claimed victory.

Instead of charging me, Silvanus held his ground, a warning growl sounding low in his chest. His attention was fixed to some point above my shoulder. Given my nearly six-and-a-half-foot frame, he wasn’t looking at one of the hunters.

The dragon was warning me about something else.

I spun around, narrowly avoiding a blow from a second dragon that would have taken my head off had I been mortal.

All levity vanished at once. A death blow was forbidden in our little games, the fact I couldn’t be killed notwithstanding. There were several other hunters here who could die.

“Need I remind you of the pact?” I seethed, keeping both dragons in sight.

Silvanus might have warned me once, but I couldn’t trust he’d do it again. Like wolves, dragons were pack creatures. They’d fall in line with their alpha.

Silvanus inclined his head, acknowledging the pact.

The other dragon simply snarled.

Once upon a time, ice dragons had freely roamed the Seven Circles, hunting demons and whatever other creatures they desired.

During one of the darkest hours in our history, the seven alphas from each pack planned a coordinated attack, carving a blood-drenched swath across the realm, terrorizing all.

Unlike most creatures, ice dragons didn’t always hunt to eat. They liked killing. And they’d unleashed all their darkest desires on each House of Sin. The loss of life had been staggering.

So, more than a hundred years ago, I’d negotiated the first peace treaty between the dragons and my brothers. Aided by the right spell, we could communicate clearly with the dragons and had come to terms all agreed upon.

Unless I invited them into my circle for a particular event, the pact kept them sequestered in the far north, on the brutal, almost entirely wild land just above my territory.

They’d divided their territory into seven regions, each run by a different alpha. They kept the identities of their alphas from us, unwilling to share pack secrets, though I strongly believed Silvanus led the pack we interacted with the most.

The dragons simply stated “the alpha” when discussing the lead dragon.

We agreed to leave them to their private politics, so long as they didn’t cause serious harm or damage to one another.

In exchange for their acceptance of the pact, I had agreed that my hunters and I would arrange hunts to battle them for sport each month, keeping their minds properly engaged. My brothers were free to join us whenever they submitted a request to my House of Sin.

None of us were permitted to kill.

The new dragon—Aloysius, judging by the slightly darker silvery blue coloring along his tail—took a threatening step closer, his iridescent eyes flaring.

His talons clawed at the ground, churning the snow.

There was an almost wild gleam in his eyes.

I tuned in to my surroundings, becoming aware of the familiar sounds of fighting. I spared a quick glance around—other dragons were behaving normally, if not a bit savagely. The other hunters were flushed from adrenaline surges, their eyes sparkling with each hit.

Still, an uncomfortable feeling prickled in warning.

“Halt!” I called out, my voice laced with the magical command of a Prince of Hell.

My brother stopped fighting, shooting an incredulous look in my direction, his dagger mere inches from his target’s throat. He would have won. Instead, I’d make him forfeit.

And the demon of war was not one to easily give up a fight.

Wrath looked ready to argue but eventually pressed his mouth into a firm line. He clearly didn’t agree with my assessment. But it wasn’t his call to make; I ruled the hunt out here.

And my gut said to retreat.

I’d learned to never screw with that innate warning system, knowing it’d fuck me back twice as hard for my arrogance and it wouldn’t be an enjoyable time.

After tracking the dragons through the blizzard all day, I was just as disappointed as everyone else to end our game so soon. But for now, I had to get us out of here before something went horribly wrong.

“Hunters, dragons.” I nodded to each side, then hit my chest twice with a closed fist, a sign of respect and the signal the hunt was indeed over. “Good fight.”

I gave Silvanus a long look, ensuring the dragon knew he’d be called forth soon to discuss what had almost happened. Part of the pact ensured he’d heed my royal summons.

His slitted pupils dilated rapidly, his serpentine head shaking almost imperceptibly before he finally gave the signal of understanding.

I had no time to consider Silvanus’s odd reaction, as a feral shriek pierced the silence, sending ice rushing through my veins.

I turned just as Wrath’s ice dragon lunged forward, its jaws opened wide, latching onto his throat.

My brother was brutally fast, but even his hands found their way to the dragon’s mouth seconds too late. Its teeth sank deeper, its eyes rolling back as bloodlust took over.

Ichor spurted from dozens of puncture wounds as it shook my brother, then tore his throat out in one violent motion.

For a long and horribly taut moment, silence reigned as Wrath slowly dropped to his knees, blood pouring from his wound in torrents, the hunters staring, frozen in horror, at the place where his throat should have been.

It happened from one blink to the next. There was no time to react, even with my supernatural strength and speed.

I inhaled, my inner demon rattling its cage. My brother was not a small male by any means. Nothing could be done to stop the bleeding; the attack was far more than simply drawing first blood as rules dictated. And it would not go unpunished.

But first I had to make sure my demons lived through what came next.

The hunters stood motionless, the pungent scent of piss perfuming the air. These were some of the bravest members of my circle and they were terrified. If a prince could be cut down so brutally, they knew they stood little chance of surviving.

Up until now, during our games, the dragons had held back. The hunters never faced the full might of the creatures, and everyone knew this was suddenly no game.

My brother shot me a furious look, his expression telling me all I needed to know as the light slowly faded from his eyes.

I nodded at him, signaling I understood. I was ready.

I gripped my dagger, waiting.

The second my brother fell, chaos erupted.

As if some invisible tether snapped, the dragons all turned on us as one.

And attacked.

“YOU REALLY SHOULD smile more, Adriana, my love.”

Given Jackson’s words were a soft slur, and his steps were almost as heavy as the hand he’d been inching lower on my hip, it was mildly impressive he recalled my name.

As an initiate hunter in House Gluttony’s elite tracking forces known as the royal hunting guild, Jackson was my assignment tonight, which meant I needed to play nice to unravel the secrets of his last mission.

Rumor had it the ice dragons were growing restless in the north.

If proven true, it would be the story of the century. Breaking a story like that first could generate a lot of public interest, completely changing my family’s circumstances.

Not because dragons were both feared and revered in our circle, but because public safety would be at stake.

I couldn’t just let the story go and hope for the best. My family lived here. My friends. And all the citizens who deserved to know the truth before something terrible happened.

If the peace treaty was no longer being honored, there had to be a reason for it.

And I fully intended to discover what that reason was.

Jackson waltzed us around the ballroom, his hand continuing its downward path, his drunkenness becoming painfully apparent with each misstep and stumble.

We were drawing unwanted attention.

And not simply because we were waltzing during a minuet.

We bumped into several lords and ladies, earning glares and harsh whispers. When we careened into dowager duchess Oleander, I worried she’d have us tossed from the party. Her icy glare followed us as we continued to spin across the floor.

I grimaced as she leaned into her companion, Lady Violet Gunner, the host of the event, and undoubtedly demanded justice for her crushed toes.

The idea of accidentally knocking Jackson into the hot chocolate station warred with my need to draw him closer, my jaws clamped so tightly they ached.

I’d made two mistakes tonight.

The first was listening to Miss Ryleigh Hughes. My best friend and coworker had instructed me to use our circle’s sin of choice to my advantage and encourage overindulgence.

“Loose lips cause delightful slips” was a motto she lived by.

Now I had a drunken hunter causing a scene, a headache starting at my temples, and I was no closer to unraveling his secrets before my next article was due.

I couldn’t afford to miss turning in a column. If I didn’t get information on the ice dragons soon, I’d need to embellish another rumor involving my nemesis. But if I reported on it first, the ice dragon story would catapult my career—and in turn my salary—more than another scandal sheet would, so I wasn’t admitting defeat just yet.

My second mistake was attempting to use my feminine charm to wheedle information out of Jackson. Holding my tongue often proved difficult, and with the clock ticking ever closer to my deadline, my patience was quickly fraying.

Flirting was hard for me under the best circumstances.

And these were not the best circumstances.

All at once, I remembered a porcelain doll from my childhood.

Eden, my younger sister, had wanted it desperately, the bright pink dress sparkling in the rare sunny afternoon, catching her fancy.

As the eldest by ten years and already painfully aware of our circumstances, I’d been suspicious of the doll. The dull expression it wore like a shield made me wonder what it was hiding.

Perhaps I should have considered the possibility that the toymaker had been baring their soul and the doll simply represented society’s cage for young women.

Be agreeable, pleasant, and beautiful, even if it drains the life from you.

Against my quiet warnings, my stepmother used the coins we’d saved for food to buy the doll, leaving our bellies empty that week.

Eden had cried every night, the doll all but forgotten as the harsh truth settled in: the fortune our father had saved before he died was gone. Spent in its entirety by my stepmother, on one useless indulgence after another. Not that a doll for a child was frivolous. I never scorned my sister for wanting a toy; even then I wished to give her the moon.

Sophie Everhart, my stepmother, was the only one who wouldn’t accept our fate, as if her refusal to acknowledge our change in circumstances would prevent it from happening.

Even when we’d been forced to give our town house to debt collectors and moved into the crumbling building we now called home, Sophie Everhart found ways to spend coin we didn’t have. Her sin was gluttony and her need to overindulge surpassed common sense.

I’d vowed then and there to make sure we’d be taken care of and would never fall prey to those same sins. Gluttony wasn’t simply overindulgence in material things.

Sinners like me often indulged in adventure. And I found no greater thrill than solving a mystery and reporting on it first.

Which made dancing with Jackson and his straying hands tolerable.

Somehow, I managed to muster up the same bland smile the doll had worn, determined to encourage him into carrying on a decent conversation about the dragons.

He gave me a lopsided grin, his attention dropping southward, just like his cursed hands.

Normally, I preferred my romantic partners to take a direct approach rather than bore me with false declarations of love, but some attempt at conversation was necessary.

If someone didn’t try to seduce my brain, they didn’t make it to my bedchamber. Not that I’d entertained a lover in the last two Seasons. Much to my dismay.

“Elite hunters such as myself prefer a female who simpers. Can you simper?”

No better than he could use proper grammar. “No, my lord. I daresay I can’t.”

“Shame. You’re rather pretty when you’re not scowling. That ice-blue hair…”

I drew back in time with the crescendo of the string quartet, narrowly avoiding another unwanted touch, his fingers sliding through empty space instead of my unbound hair.

Jackson’s gaze turned hot and hungry.

Initiate or not, he was like most members of the royal special forces: he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt.

“You were telling me of the north, my lord. The ice dragons that roam just outside House Gluttony’s territory. I’ve heard there was an attack.”

“Mm. Was I? I can’t recall.”

I couldn’t tell if he was stealthily dodging the question or if he was so caught up in trying to seduce me, he didn’t particularly care to listen to a single word that came out of my mouth.

“What were the specifics of your assignment?” I asked, hoping his inexperience with the guild would benefit my investigation. “I can’t imagine being stationed up there for long. I’ve heard it’s quite isolated.”

“Ah. Merciless Reach. The end of the civilized continent and the Seven Circles. Best known as the outpost of nightmares because of how far from here it is. Until the sweetest sinners sneak into the barracks. After that, acting civilized is the furthest thing from anyone’s mind.”

Internally, I screamed. “Did His Highness travel with your hunting party? Reports suggest another Prince of Sin was involved in the incident.”

Surely I could steer this conversation back to safer ground.

“Everyone always wishes to gossip about the princes. But there are more interesting things to discuss. Did I tell you how we keep warm during those frigid borderland nights?”

His attention dropped to my bodice. Where it remained. Apparently, he was under the impression my breasts would magically answer his question if he stared at them long enough.

“By carving open your enemies and sleeping inside their steaming innards?” I asked sweetly, batting my lashes.

His gaze shot upward, the fire in his dark eyes banking at once. “Pardon?”

“No steaming innards.” I sighed dramatically. “I rather liked the idea of brutal savagery. Lust and violence. Such a sinful combination to indulge in, isn’t it?”

He slowly blinked down at me. Part of him was clearly still interested, if only for the wild, untamed bedroom antics I might provide, but part of him also looked wary.

I suppose I looked like the sort of female who could just as easily carve him open as give him an intense orgasm; he appeared to be weighing the risk.

Blessedly, the music came to an end and so did our time together. My mission failed, but at least Jackson wouldn’t have to struggle any longer with deciding which head to listen to.

I gave a polite curtsy, then made my way toward the far side of the ballroom. Unsurprisingly, Jackson didn’t follow. He turned his sights on a beautifully coiffed noblewoman.

Ryleigh leaned against the wall, mirth sparkling in her amber eyes as I joined her in the shadows. We were both commoners, only invited to these events to report on them, though most nobles forgot our station since we did our best to blend in.

“Jackson looks half in love and half terrified. You really need to work on honing your flirtation, Miss Saint Lucent,” Ryleigh teased. “Practice will do you a world of good.”

“He’s either too drunk to focus on my questions or won’t talk unless I take him to my bed.” With his new partner, Jackson trampled another unsuspecting couple. Completely drunk, then. “And why is my flirtation always to blame?”

Ryleigh gave me a long, lingering look. “Did you get anything useful from him?”

I swiped a flute of demonberry wine from a passing tray, downing it by half. The sparkling demonberries caught the light, looking like miniature stars.

“Nothing that will help tear down Axton or prove the ice dragons are a threat.”

“It’s Axton today, is it?” Ryleigh said playfully. “Prince Gluttony would be flattered you’re finally using that moniker.”

Gabriel blasted Axton, Prince of Sin.

His preferred alias, though not his full true name or else the witch I’d scrimped and saved to pay would have successfully hexed him long ago. “Gabriel” was known the realm over as the Prince of Gluttony, one of the seven wicked princes of the Underworld.

I knew mortals had myths and legends of all the gods and goddesses who ruled the expanse known as the Underworld—my contacts who’d been granted entry to our kingdom told me as much. Although even they had only made it as far as the Shifting Isles.

In truth, the Underworld was broken down into seven circles, each governed by a different Prince of Sin. There was an eighth circle that spanned closer to the southern edge of our realm, but it was forbidden and often ignored by denizens of the Underworld.

On a larger island, due west, were the Fae lands. And near the southern tip of our realm was Malice Isle—home to the vampires. House Gluttony, where I resided, was the northernmost territory, bordered above by wild land inhabited by dragons, lesser demons, and other creatures too dark and twisted or solitary to choose a House of Sin.

Within the Seven Circles, demon princes needed sinners to stoke their sin of choice and thus their power, ensuring they remained strong enough to protect us from outside threats, so denizens were sorted into the House they best aligned with.

Unlike most in the realm, who were utterly charmed by Axton, I despised the prince.

There was no rule stating that just because I aligned with his sin I needed to like him personally. Which meant at least one of the old, major gods was indeed petty.

Not many other circles believed in the old gods, who mostly ruled the seasons, but in the north, some still paid tribute to them. I’d need to figure out who to bribe to take down the prince.

I refused to call him Prince Gluttony in private, and “Gabriel” was too regal sounding for the rake. Axton might be his preferred alias, but that made little difference since it reminded me of a weapon. The prince was far too charming in public to be believable, and everyone ought to associate him with an ax. He’d certainly hacked apart enough hearts throughout the years.

“He’s not attended a party in nearly a week, which coincides perfectly with the first rumored dragon attack to have taken place in over a century,” I said. “Have you known him to miss any opportunity to feed his sin?”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve been marking the events he’s missed in a calendar, Adriana.”

I didn’t deign to respond. The music ended and dancers exchanged partners as the next song began. We watched silently for any hint of scandal, any refusal or snub.

Men twirled their companions across the polished marble, the noblewomen’s skirts unfurling like colorful blossoms. I made a quick note of who was dancing with whom, who stole onto the balcony, and who returned from the gardens looking tousled.

Dowager duchess Oleander continued to glare in our direction, clearly holding a grudge over the accidental toe stomping. Her hair was a deep plum that looked pretty with her complexion but did nothing for her sour disposition.

She was young for a dowager duchess, not too many suns older than me and Ryleigh. Everyone knew she’d married the Duke of Oleander for his title, not his heart. A depressing but common practice among the nobles in both our world and the mortal land.

Her attention shifted to Ryleigh and turned colder. Years back there were hints of scandal involving my friend and the former duke. It would have been the type of news splattered across every gossip column if another more scandalous event had not taken place shortly after.

I quickly averted my gaze.

I spotted Anderson Anders, a journalist from one of our rival papers with a ridiculously haughty nom de plume, lurking on the opposite end of the room, watching everyone with a hawklike gaze. He liked to believe his pieces were destined to win awards.

“Why aren’t you concerned about the implications of a dragon attack?” I finally asked.

Ryleigh heaved a sigh. “Your source was unreliable at best. If he had proof, he would have gone to the highest-paying scandal sheet by now. Instead, he disappeared.”

“He didn’t feign the terror I saw, Ry.”

“Perhaps not, but there are plenty of other explanations for his fear.”

“Such as?”

“Hexes. Curses. Dark magic. Glamour.” Ryleigh ticked each one off. “Hells, someone could have used the Hexed Quill and rewritten his memory. Shall I go on?”

I hadn’t heard any whispers of the Hexed Quill aside from rumors Ryleigh uncovered during one of her earliest investigations centered on it, but I knew objects of untold power existed in the dark markets and personal collections across the realm.

My friend had a valid point, but I couldn’t rid myself of the feeling that the informant had encountered something that terrified him. Something more powerful than glamour.

Ryleigh didn’t agree—she felt it was a nefarious plot devised by a rival paper. But there was no need to rehash my theories again tonight. The ball was almost over, and I had much to do before turning in for the night.

I scanned the room again. No scandal in the making other than Jackson’s two left feet and too-bold hands.

“Did you get what you need for your article?” I asked. Ryleigh nodded. “Wonderful. Let’s go, then. I want to go home and crawl into bed and stay there forever.”

Ryleigh sighed but looped her arm through mine and started for the door. “If you’re not careful, your eulogy will be ‘she whittled away her days with work and sleep, boring her friends to untimely deaths.’ I’m destined for much more than ‘death by boredom.’”

I couldn’t help but snort. “You poor thing. Your reputation will be destroyed by my need to provide food and shelter for my family. However will you carry on, being tarnished so?”

“Precisely, so you should come to the night district with me. Let’s get a drink and gossip about Jackson.”

“I’d rather offer myself up for a lobotomy.”

“You know, it wouldn’t be the worst thing for you to come out with me. We could go dancing. Flirt. Make terrible decisions we’ll regret in the morning. Maybe you’ll even meet a mysterious stranger and receive an invitation to the Seven Sins.”

That was as likely as me publicly professing my love fo