She raised her brows, surprised yet again by a Møriør. Like Rune, he didn’t strike her as very vicious or monstrous.

—You are teeming with power here, Queen Calliope, but outside of hell, you won’t be. If you go to confront Saetth—perhaps for double-crossing you—he will prove far too strong and fast for you to defeat.—

“Precisely,” she said with utter confidence, practicing for what was to come. “As long as we’re all on the same page about that.”

Expression merry, he said, —Anything else, my queen?—

“Yes. I’m going to conjure a note for you to deliver to my ex-husband in Tenebrous. I would like him to read it aloud to his allies.”

The dragon looked delighted. —This is better than my soaps.—

 

Pacing the war room, Sian racked his mind for a way to reach Calliope. Every back entrance and secret portal into Pandemonia had been blocked. An impenetrable barrier had hurled him back onto his ass a dozen times—

White flames appeared out of thin air. Uthyr’s rift! When the smirking dragon strutted from a fiery tunnel, Sian dove to return through the portal, but the edges sealed behind Uthyr’s tail.

Sian scrambled back to his feet. “Is Calliope safe? Why can I not trace to hell?”

Uthyr cast him a broad smile. —Look at you! You’ve returned to your old form. Which is good, since you won’t be returning to your old home.—

“What are you talking about?” Sian bit out.

—You’ve been barred from Pandemonia. I did warn you that your plan would end badly, did I not?—

“I can’t be barred from hell; I am hell.”

—Well, apparently so is Calliope. She’s brimming with magic.—

How? He’d figure that out later. For now . . . “Tell me how to reach her!”

—She sends you a message.— Uthyr lifted a forepaw. A small scroll had been tied to one of his talons. —You’re to share it with your allies.—

“Give it to me!” Sian nearly shredded the page in his haste. He read aloud:

Demon,

Hell is now mine. You locked me in a dungeon; I locked you out of our godsdamned house. In the immortal words of a very wise mortal: everything you own in the box to the left.

Field advantage is key, and the joke’s on you.

Game, set, and match,

Calliope I, Queen of Sylvan and Pandemonia

P.S. If you or your allies make any move on Sylvan, I will retaliate against the Møriør tenfold. Do not test me.

“Queen of Sylvan?” Sian clutched his chest. “She must plan to go back to Saetth. Must not have believed what I said about him.” Why would she when Sian had been bragging about all his lies and trickery? “I told her that we were no longer wed. That I’d forsaken her. She could marry again. I drove her straight to him.”

Would Saetth want her hand—or her head?

“What does that part mean about the box to the left?” he demanded of his allies. “Does she reference Pandora’s box? Or the mystical Nagas box? Maybe—”

“Brother, it’s a song lyric,” Rune said. At Sian’s blank look, he added, “Just trust me when I say it’s the funniest shit you’ve ever read.”

Sian turned on Uthyr. “She can’t get to Sylvan, though. Because you would never create a portal for her. Correct?”

—She demanded one. Who am I to deny a queen in her own castle?—

His stomach dropped. “Tell me everything!”

—She was dressed in a ball gown, wearing the most fascinating and historical crown you can imagine.—

As if Sian cared what she wore!

—Also, she had no intention of wedding Saetth.—

“I have to reach her in Sylvan! She’s going to challenge him. She told me she was going to kill him.”

“I like her more and more,” Allixta said. “You are sure to be attacked by Sylvan’s army. Shall we provide backup?” Blue light blazed from her palms.

He shook his head. “I vowed to her that no Sylvan would fall by a Møriør’s hand.” He couldn’t kill a single fey, nor could he risk his allies harming anyone. “I have to go alone.” He would keep his word if it killed him. And it might.

Damn. This is going to hurt. . . .

FIFTY-SEVEN

Sylvan Castle

Queen Calliope the first of Pandemonia and All Hells.”

The liveried herald announced her in a booming voice that carried throughout the court.

Lila loved how quiet the crowd got. Only the sound of the fountains could be heard. The scent of roses and candlewax permeated the opulent throne room.

The last time she’d been here, Saetth had cast her out for a crime she’d had no part of. At least now she intended a coup. Even better, she was in charge of her own political plot.

Courtiers and attendees parted for her as she made her way toward the throne dais, cradling her scepter. The tall fey males wore formal suits and the customary sword belts. The willowy females were clad in airy pastel gowns and glittering jewels.

They all stared at Lila, a royal wearing such a brazen dress—and a devil’s crown.

She spotted her cousins. They were gathered like hyenas off to one side, wide-eyed with shock to see her. She gave them a chin jerk in greeting.

As she took in faces, she recognized the shallowness of this extravagant affair. Lila knew make-believe when she saw it. Compared to so much superficiality, her existence with Abyssian felt rich and deep.

Already rooted.

But had it been? He’d called her the queen of nothing.

Should she believe his behavior this morning—or his tenderness toward her over the days and nights of their short marriage?

Now that her anger was cooling, she could so clearly recall the look on his face when he’d handed her the diamond.

That freaking demon was in love with her. He’d been lashing out—which he had a bad habit of doing—to hurt her.

He’d left her to rot in a dungeon, and he’d lied so convincingly. How could she ever trust anything he said?

Focus, Lila. She refused to let Abyssian break her heart and ruin her one-woman revolution.

If she lived through the next half hour, she might dissect her relationship with him and figure out whether anything could be salvaged between them.