Page 31 of Wicked Court

“Superstitious nonsense,” I reply dismissively, going back to the journal and turning the page.

Inside, my mind races. My Valenti ancestors obsessively believed in this curse. Died for it. Killed over it.

Defiled themselves because of it.

“Maybe it’s bull, but misfortune seems to follow that ruby.” The Broker watches me with veiled eyes. “First, it corrupted the noble family who prosecuted Anderton. Then it passed through generations of fallen dynasties. Vanished from history. Until...”

“Until?” I prompt in a light, endearing voice.

The Broker steps closer. “Until it came into the hands of a respected state leader a hundred years ago. A man at the peak of power. What’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. Valentine? Veroni? Oh, I got it. Valenti?—”

He never noticed my hand move into his pocket. Take the dagger.

And slit his own throat with it.

“Sad,” I muse while he shambles back, clutching his gushing throat and gurgling, “being brought down by your own weapon. Surely you saw that coming. I gave you enough hints to have you running out of here and into the street, cartwheeling your arms and screeching for help.”

I hold the journal out of reach while he grabs for me, deftly moving out of the splash zone while he crumples into his own bloody shit and urine-stained filth.

A vibration in my pocket interrupts my thoughts. I pull out my phone to see Wilder’s name flash across the screen.

Of course he would call at this exact moment.

I silence the call before slipping the phone back into my pocket.

The broker’s eyes are wide, filled with terror as he gurgles his last breaths. “You’re a Valenti?—”

“Shh.” I crouch down, pressing a hand to his mouth to muffle the rest of my name.

“Thank you,” I say softly into his ear, “for your cooperation. And for your silence.”

I move to the desk and re-wrap the journal in the velvet cloth, tuck it into my inside pocket, then leave, carefully locking the door behind me.

* * *

I spot Elara in the quad the next day, perched on the rim of the massive gargoyle fountain in the center, her hair catching the rising sun.

Elara doesn’t see me yet, too focused on the open book in her lap. I approach slowly, taking in the sight of her and draping the reality of her image with the fantasy of tying her one of the humanoid statues spurting water from their gaping mouths while gagging hers. Tying her legs to their clawed ones, spreading them so wide her cunt stays split open for me.

Alas, I cannot.

Not that she knows who I am, what I represent, and how willing I am to maim, torture, and kill to get what I want from her.

I sit down on the fountain’s edge, my back to her. The cool stone is soothing against my pants-clad ass, but not enough to soothe the raging hard-on that’s been my constant companion since watching Wilder go at her in the woods during the solstice party.

Sneaking glances at her exquisite form in her skin-hugging jeans and scoop-neck top isn’t helping either. Neither is the knowledge of what she’s hiding under that shirt, and from me—from all of us.

I smirk to myself, and I know it bodes me no good.

It’s going to be so sweet, using her to get to the ruby.

Lord knows I need it to stop the Sovereigns from punishing me for my father’s sins. My father’s reputation took a nosedive into the dirt after he took his own life. Especially when the entire city saw him leap from Valenti Tower, screaming his guilt about his shady dealings and how he was framed.

After he burned all evidence linking him to the tobacco trade and his darker side deals that cost my family everything. My future. My legacy.

Cav’s failure in acquiring the Heart last year may have given us a hiccup, but I’ll be damned if I suffer long for it.

“What are you reading, Elara?” I ask, the question a ghost whispering in her ear.

---