Page 39 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Now, the story was Aran had given up his throne and returned to the sea, leaving his sister to rule as the renowned Faerie Queen of Faeven.
Atlas would like to meet her someday, he imagined she was a sight to behold. In fact, he wouldn’t mind taking a former warrior princess as a bride. Unfortunately for him, she already had a mate.
He lifted one hand. “Let’s not discuss it here. Matters of woe and war are easier to talk about with a drink in our hands.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Aran stepped to the side, gesturing to the two males standing behind him.
They appeared to be brothers as their facial features were nearly identical. Dressed impeccably, they wore trim pants, buttoned shirts that appeared to have been dipped in stardust, and long coats with an embroidered eight-pointed star and twin crescent moons stitched onto the lapels. Whereas Aran’s pointed ears were pierced with gold hoops, neither of these males had any visible piercings whatsoever. Each of them possessed prominent cheekbones, dimpled smiles, and hair so dark it almost looked blue. While their eyes were silver, one of them had a scar running down the left side of his face, from his eyebrow to his jaw. His eye in particular was most interesting. Where it should’ve been silver, like the other one, it looked to have been slashed with a streak of sapphire.
“Allow me to introduce you both to His Imperial Highness, Prince Atlas Skye.” Aran nodded toward Atlas. “Your Highness, Lords Tovian and Nyxian Starstorm Celestine of Aeramere.”
Lords of Aeramere. Fascinating.
“My lords, welcome to Starysa, the Golden City.” Atlas extended his arm out behind him, to where the expanse of his kingdom rose in glittering buildings, rugged mountain peaks, and darkened forests.
Atlas turned, made eyes with one of the guards watching his every movement, and jerked his head toward hisarcanic volt. “Tell the Captain we’re headed to Novak’s.”
“To Novak’s?” Aran chuckled, glancing up to the sky where the sun was barely cresting above the mountains in the distance. “Already?”
Atlas draped an arm around his shoulders and started walking toward the tavern in question. “I haven’t slept and I’m starving.”
“Novak’s is an absolute dive, so be forewarned,” Aran tossed back to Tovian and Nyxian, following behind them. “But they have the best spiced beef omelets around. And the best ale.”
Tovian flashed a broad, easy smile. “Sounds like our kind of place.”
Nyxian knocked his elbow into his brother’s ribs, his answering grin was far more mischievous. “We’re always up for an adventure.”
“And a hell of a one it’s been so far,” Tovian laughed, running a hand through his seaswept hair.
“It’s their first time sailing, first time leaving Aeramere actually.” Aran bent his head low to not be overheard. “But that’s a story for another day.”
“How long will you be gracing the streets of Starysa with your presence, my lord?” Atlas asked, smoothly changing the subject.
A wrinkle of concern marred Aran’s brow. “Not long, I’m afraid. Just a few days to gather more supplies before we sail again.”
“I see.” Atlas sent him a knowing look, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “And does a particular witch know you’re in town?”
Aran bristled, fiddling with the piece of sea glass dangling from his neck. “She doesnot.And I intend to keep it that way.”
Ah. So hewasstill in love with her.
“Sure,” Atlas drawled, letting his arm fall away as they trudged up the cobblestone path. “Just remember, word travels fast in the golden city.”
“I’m aware.” Aran’s mouth pressed into a hard line, but a flicker of humor illuminated his eyes.
Atlas laughed, yanking open the door to Novak’s. It groaned loudly, and he was instantly assaulted by the scent of stigs, fried eggs, and stale alcohol.
Propping it open with his foot, he bowed dramatically. “My lords of Faeven and Aeramere, who’s ready for a drink?”
Thirteen
Sleep for Everinne was fitful, if it could even be called such a thing. She tossed and turned most of the night, restless. While her dark magic lurked between her dreamless state, waiting to pounce, it was pushed to the furthest corners of her mind by the image of an annoyingly handsome prince.
No thanks to Atlas, her body was still humming, tingling from the sensations of feeling every inch of him crushed against every inch of her. Each time she closed her eyes, she could remember the way his mouth brushed featherlight against the tip of her ear. Or how he’d taken ahold of her hips and ground himself against her, ensuring she felt the way he strained for her. There’d been no mistaking the distinctive hardness of his erection while he had her pinned against the wall.
She rubbed her eyes and rolled over, facing the window of her bedroom where morning light spilled in and slanted across her bed.
It was a rare occasion she woke so early, but since sleep felt the need to evade her, she supposed she was left with no other choice.
