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CHAPTER 1

My husband is taking too long to die.

I sit at his bedside, ever the dutiful wife, watching his breath squeeze out of his chest, praying that each one will be his last.

For gods’ sake, the man is pushing sixty-four years of age. He’s plagued with all manner of diseases from a life of debauchery and indulgence and devils know what else. Yet Hadrian Demos, the Duke of Pholios, clings to life as though there’s still something it has to offer him—a bedridden, lecherous old man with nothing going for him except for the sight of my face day after day.

Pholios shifts, as if my thoughts have roused him, and I check over my shoulder, ensuring that Kyros is still stationed in the room, before scooting my chair back an inch. I cast my gaze down to the ground and wait.

“Chrysantha,” the old man groans.

“I’m here, husband.” I reach out and take one of his spotted, hairy hands, wrapping it in both of mine.

“You look beautiful today,” he says.

“Thank you.”

I manage not to roll my eyes, for it’s how he greets me every morning, as though paying me compliments will get him what he really wants from me, his nineteen-year-old wife.

Pholios smacks his lips together. “Water.”

I turn to the pitcher on the bedside table, only to discover it has nothing left.

“You must have been quite thirsty in the night, Your Grace,” I say. “I’ll refill your cup.”

“Kyros can do it.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I force my face to remain a mask of indifference. Living with the duke often feels like I’ve got an iron band around my lungs. It tightens the moment I realize I’m about to be alone with him.

Kyros, the handsome young footman, locks eyes with me. Sympathy and regret radiate from him, but I subtly nod my encouragement. The last thing I want is my friend getting fired for disobeying orders.

“At once, Your Grace,” he says. “I will return shortly.” The last bit is meant for me.

The moment he leaves the opulent master suite of the Pholios Manor, my husband jerks free of my hold and reaches for my breasts.

Long used to the duke’s antics, I stand and turn to make my escape, but not quickly enough. He manages to swat my rump before I’m out of arm’s reach. I keep my gaze on the ground.

It’s the best tactic for hiding my true thoughts.

“Shall I read to you today?” I ask.

Pholios grunts. “No. No more books. Come back over here.”

“More books, you said? Let me go select one.” I glide to the opposite side of the room, where a line of shelves decorates the wall.

“Damnable nitwit,” Pholios says. “I paid your father seven thousand necos for you. Such a waste.”

“I’m sorry, husband.” The band squeezes tighter.

“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to hike up those skirts and climb onto this bed to do your wifely duty.”

A so-called duty that he has been unable to force me to perform thanks to his illness.

“What duty could be more important than caring for my husband?” I ask.

He doesn’t think me cheeky. No one does. I’ve worked long and hard to secure the reputation of a simpleton. It’s saved me more times than I can count. It’s how I manipulated my father into marrying me to a dying wealthy duke. If only I’d known then what I’d signed up for. Pholios didn’t reveal his true nature to me until after we were married. I thought he merely wanted a bedside companion until he joined the devils in one of their hells.

“Yournightlyduty,” the duke clarifies.