Page 132 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“Never on purpose, but if fear was used against her…if someone she loved was in jeopardy…” Veros’s gaze slid to Atlas.
“Oldrich.” Atlas spat out his father’s name. “Of course he’s behind this, I should’ve fucking known.”
All at once, his heart dropped into his stomach and his gut clenched, as the realization slammed into him. “He knows. He knows about Everinne, about her magic. He’ll use her to get exactly what he wants and if she doesn’t bend to his will, he’ll use me against her.”
How could this have happened? They’d been so careful. They’d kept her magic secret for years and now his prick of a father had discovered it.
Veros’s silence was the only confirmation he needed.
Atlas shoved his hands through his hair, dread building as he realized the bond was too quiet, nearly untraceable between worlds. He stole one final look at Aisling, shook his head, and faced Veros. “I have to go back. I have to get back to her.”
Atlas vowed then and there that if his father touched a single hair on Everinne’s head, he would stab him in the fucking heart and watch as the life bled from his eyes.
Forty
Everinne couldn’t find Atlas anywhere.
As a matter of fact, she couldn’t find Veros either.
The obsidian halls and unsettling rooms of Prava’s opulent palace were oddly quiet. Usually brimming with backhanded compliments and idle social chatter, it appeared as though even most of the loitering nobles had abandoned Starysa’s shining jewel in favor of other pursuits. Not that she could blame them. Everinne could only force a smile through mundane conversations for so long before she’d rather walk the entirety of the gardens in her most ill-fitting pair of heels.
Every so often she’d pass a pair of guards, and though they said nothing to her, she could feel the heat of their questioning gazes burning into her while she walked by them. Their stoic silence clashed with the decisive click of her boots along the obsidian floor. It was nearly impossible to move with stealth through the palace. Every time she took a step, she loudly announced her presence. Glossy black walls mirrored both her reflection and the darkened gold glow of firelight from gilded sconces. Though she knew it was impossible, it felt as though there were eyes behind the gleaming surfaces tracking her every movement. The thought alone made her skin crawl, and shetugged her sweater up over one shoulder even as it slipped down the other.
She glanced behind her, finding the long corridor empty, despite the murmur of indiscernible voices whispering past her ear.
Everinnehatedthe palace.
Were she crowned the kralvina, she would have it destroyed, burned to ash, then blessed with sage by the Coven of the Scarlet Moon before rebuilding something less…imposing.
She focused on the thread binding her to Atlas, plucking at it gently like the strings of a violin. It thrummed in response, melodic and pure, yet there was the slightest waver. As though she couldn’t quite reach him.
Everinne twisted the ring on her finger, the one belonging to the late kralvina, Valentyna Skye. In the dimly lit corridor, the large stone glittered like the teal waves of the Ladova Bay. It was stunning, breathtaking really, and when Everinne lifted her gaze, she found her interest drawn to the row of arching windows where the frozen gardens had been kissed by winter. If she remembered correctly, Valentyna loved the gardens, and they were especially useful in terms of her healing magic. Right now, all the blossoms were decorated with frost, covering each petal with a layer of icy lace. Sprigs of berries burst from the elegantly shaped evergreens, the small lake surrounded by smooth large gray stones was frozen solid, and snowflakes danced down from the somber sky, coating the ground white.
Maybe Atlas was outside in the gardens.
Maybe he, too, needed to get out of the palace.
Everinne reached for the door that would lead her into the cold afternoon, when a low, gravelly voice sent a chill of unease racing down her spine.
“Going somewhere?”
Swallowing the knot of anxiety that formed in the back of her throat, Everinne turned to face Kralv Oldrich. He stood a few feet from her, as though he’d simply appeared out of thin air, and her panicked gaze latched onto the gleaming walls, but they gave nothing away. She curtsied out of fear of repercussions and not out of respect, taking note of the way he was dressed in warming layers, like he’d recently come out of the cold. His vest was a thick brocade, stitched with gold thread, and he wore gray wool pants. A shawl of gray fur lined the overcoat he wore, and though it was long, it was barely wide enough to stretch across the broad expanse of his chest. She thought one of the onyx buttons would pop off at any moment.
Everinne didn’t care for the way his dark eyes seemed to absorb her, nor did she enjoy the way his tongue wet his papery lips as he sauntered toward her.
Refusing to cower, she locked her spine into place and gave him an answer she hoped would appease him enough so he would leave her alone. “I was only looking for Prince Atlas.”
The kralv nodded, scraping the back of his knuckles across his trim, graying beard. “Mm. He has a tendency to run off when he thinks no one is looking.”
Everinne’s brows pinched together in concern. She wasn’t sure what the kralv meant by such an insinuation, but she imagined whatever he was hinting at, it certainly wasn’t good.
“Have you decided on a date for the wedding?” he asked, easily whipping her from one topic of conversation to the next without giving her a chance to recover.
“Ah, no, Your Imperial Majesty.” She clasped her hands together, covering her engagement ring with her palm, leaving her amethyst with the dagger ready to spring in full view, just in case. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss it.”
“I thought as much. A spring wedding would be lovely.” His large hand cut through the air in a dismissive wave, and hismouth curled into a sardonic smile. “But then again, the fates would favor one on the Winter Solstice as well.”
Everinne startled and backed away from the kralv. “The Winter Solstice? But that’s?—”
