Summary:Â Emilia saw them before they saw her. She would know that midnight hair in the dark, those broad shoulders without having to touch them. Those slender arms that hid corded muscle beneath. The same arms that were currently wrapped around a curvy woman sitting in his lap.
Tag(s): @tangledraysofsunshine @proseandpeonies @angelisalise @ireallyshouldsleeprn
Notes: I really need to stop getting involved with nascent fandoms. Also, petition for Emilia to make friends with some of the less-threatening Sins.Â
âThat silly youth doth think to make itself
-John Keats, âModern Loveâ
Emilia saw them before they saw her.
She would know that midnight hair in the dark, those broad shoulders without having to touch them. Those slender arms that hid corded muscle beneath. The same arms that were currently wrapped around a curvy woman sitting in his lap.
Emilia couldnât see the womanâs face, but she could see the long blonde tresses that ran down her exposed back; her skin was a moonlight-pale hue that prompted a flicker of resentment within Emilia. Emiliaâs own skin, tanned from the bright Sicilian sun, had never been and would never be nearly as pristine as hers. Wrath slid his lips from the strangerâs and pressed them against her neck. The stranger threw her head back in pleasure and Emilia caught a glimpse of her plush pink lips and perfect arched cheekbone.
She almost growled out loud. Of all the women Wrath could chooseâ
âCareful, Your Majesty,â a deep voice, its gravity somewhat undercut by the almost childlike giddiness that gilded it, emerged behind her. Gluttony sidled up to her, his tie loose at his neck and his pastel dress coat unbuttoned. âWhat will everyone think?â
âWhy should I care?â The words were out of her mouth before she could think about it. Similarly, Wrathâs mouth was once again slanted over his partnerâs. The dark velvet ribbon around Emiliaâs neck chafed.
âWell, Your Majestyââ
âStop calling me that.â
âIâm trying out the title.â Gluttony shrugged. He took a champagne flute from a nearby server and downed it in one gulp. âYouâll have to become accustomed to it. Soon enough, everyone will be using it while bowing and scraping to you.â
âSoon.â It wasnât agreement or even acknowledgement of what Gluttony had said. It was a word Emilia tried out on her tongue, a word she only let herself say when she was accompanied by others who brought it up first.
âA little friendly tip, Emilia?â The Prince indicated Wrath, now fully focused on trying to reach under the womanâs crinoline-puffed skirt, with his empty champagne flute. âPride may be too preoccupied at the moment with the civil war on the horizon to notice your straying eyes, but he will soon. And then you will understand why he is named after the sin he is.â
âGluttony.â Emilia flagged down another waiter. Mimicking the prince, she gulped down the entire flute of champagne, relishing the burn of the carbonation on the back of her throat.
Emilia shoved her empty glass into his chest. âShut the fuck up.â
Gluttony smirked. âNow I can see why he likes you so much.â
âWell, I am to be his bride, after all.â
âI wasnât referencing Pride.â
She styled her brief wobble with a glare. âYouâreââ
Her heart thud-thud-thudded inside her ribcage, straining to escape. Even with his messy hairâmussed by the womanâs wandering handsâand flushed cheeks, he still looked beautiful. More beautiful than usual, if that were possible. Emilia hated that it evidently was.
Wrathâs dark eyes glowed under the dim lights and he didnât move away from his partnerâs open-mouthed kisses on his jaw. He seemed frozen, just as Emilia was. The thought departed as quickly as it came. Wrath was incapable of being frozen; each publicly uncertain moment was a pretense for what lay beneath: plans for revenge, plans for ruining others, plans for starting wars, plans for everything. Emilia had learned that truth once, and she had long ago resolved never to have to learn it again.
She turned on her heel and left, ignoring Gluttonyâs low chortling and Wrathâs eyes, still on her.
Emilia fled down the halls of Wrathâs palace, her heels clicking on the black marble floors. The noise was another reminder that this was his palace, not her fiancĂ©âs, and not remotely hers by proxy. Wrathâs territory was the first encountered after passing the Sin Corridor and the only one established before the Lake of Fire. The Lake was notoriously difficult to cross, even for the Princes of Hell; it had taken Gluttony and his carousing retinue a full two weeks to traverse it. Consequently, Emiliaâs soon-to-be husband had abandoned her here to pursue other, more demanding matters across the Lake.
She threw herself on the large bed, the thick blanket rippling around her body. Emilia stared upwards. She wondered, not for the first time, whom Wrath had hired to paint the ceiling frescoes. Adorning his guest chambers with beautiful paintings seemed too romantic a concern for a demon whose sole purpose was to wage war, but she supposed it was another part of his strange etiquette. Emilia picked out several events from human history she recognized: Charlemagneâs coronation, his crown rendered in great gold swirls; the First Crusade, felled soldiers and charging soldiers alike painted over with red blood; and there, at the very edge of the ceiling, Dante following Virgil into Hell. A smile, a thing of corrupted light, twisted Emiliaâs mouth at the sight.
A sharp knock at the door sent her scrambling into sitting upright. âEmilia.â Wrathâs voice was rougher than usual. âOpen the door.â
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