Page 148 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
As if Atlas had a choice.
“What sort of favor?” he asked.
The kralv released him, a wry smile twisting across his face. Then he chuckled, which was never a good sign. “Oh, nothing outrageous. We can discuss the specifics later.”
“I’d rather discuss them now,” Atlas countered, rocking back on his heels. No way was he going to let his own fucking father try to wrangle him into an unjust bargain.
“Really?” Oldrich stepped down from the throne so they were on the same level. An untrustworthy glint sparked in the pits of his black eyes. “I would’ve thought you’d be keen on freeing your beloved from the clutches of the Mystic Obscura.”
Fuck.
Atlas scoffed. “She’s not my beloved.”
“Don’t lie to me, boy,” Oldrich sneered, closing the distance between them. He reeked of stale alcohol, smoke, and sulfur. The rancid scent clung to him like death. “I see the way you lookat her. I’ve seen it for years. Originally, I would’ve chosen anyone else for you. She’s a complicated mess, that one.”
Atlas locked his jaw to keep from growling.
Everinne might be a mess, but she washisfucking mess.
Oldrich continued speaking, oblivious to his son’s inner rage. “But then, Maxim told me the most curious bit of information about her.”
Maxim.
Maxim was his valet, he trusted him. Spoke freely in front of him. Oftentimes forgot the fae was even around.
No.
Oldrich snapped his fingers, and his guards moved with precision, silencing the musicians, ushering the remaining nobles out of the space—some of them still carrying drinks or plates of food—so the onyx and golden grandeur of the throne room was empty and devoid of life. Cold, just like it was the day Atlas’s mother died.
“You see,” Oldrich continued, grabbing a hunk of roasted meat off one of the large platters and chomping noisily as he chewed. “Once I learned Everinne possessed the power to torture and kill, I knew there was no one better suited for my son.”
Atlas fisted his hands at his side. Anger flowed through his veins, crashing into him like the hostile waves of an ocean during a squall. He was the steadfast shore, and he would take the lashings no longer. “So, you forced her into a bargain.”
“A marriage,” Oldrich corrected, pointing the chunk of meat in Atlas’s direction. “You can’t tell me it’s been so awful. I can smell her on you, all those forbidden, sugary sweet layers of temptation.”
Atlas took one threatening step forward, and his father’s guards closed in on him.
“She was feisty to start, refusing to cooperate.” The kralv tossed the meat onto the table and grabbed another goblet of wine. “I may still need to work on that, come to think of it. But once I saw her greatest fear was anything happening toyou, she crumbled fairly quickly.”
Atlas had never known this kind of fury. He’d hated his father plenty of times, had wished he could toss aside his kingdom and crown and sail across the Ladova Bay for realms unknown. But now, more than anything, he wanted his father’s blood on his hands. He wanted to slit his throat and watch the life drain from his eyes, watch as Oldrich gasped his last wheezing breath, knowing that his own son had been the one to end his wretched life.
His hand hovered above the hilt of his sword. “And what do you get out of this arrangement?”
“Free use of her power?” Oldrich mused, swirling his wine. “The ability to torture. To inflict pain and suffering. To kill.”
“You fucking bastard.”
Atlas lunged for him, but the guards were faster, tackling him to the ground. His knees slammed into the hard granite, sending spears of pain shooting up his legs. One of the guards twisted his arms behind his back, binding his wrists in shackles of cold iron. Searing agony radiated up his arms, the stench of lightly charred flesh lingering in his nostrils. The damning metal took effect quickly, dulling his magic until it was nothing more than a mediocre hum in his blood, weakening him so that he barely had enough strength to hold up his own head.
“So valiant,” Oldrich chuckled. “Such an admirable quality. Too bad it’s wasted on a male who only thinks with his cock.”
Of course. Everything always circled back to the fact that Oldrich thought Atlas was a flaw upon their family name. He’d been accused of sullying their blood line with sex magic, of being irresponsible and incompetent. On more than one occasion, thekralv had made it quite clear that the crown wouldneverpass to Atlas. He was too unworthy. Too weak.
“Don’t worry, Atlas.” Oldrich stepped forward, lifting Atlas’s chin with the leather toe of his boot. “I’ll free your pretty little bride. And she’ll do exactly as I say, because if not, she’ll be forced to watch hermatesuffer my wrath.”
Atlas glared up at his father, seething, and made one final vow. “I’ll fucking kill you for this.”
The kralv shrugged, the corner of his mouth twisting to one side in a look of disinterest. “You can try.”
