Page 109 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
He turned around and started for the path that would lead him back to the palace when Veros stepped directly in his way, lifting one hand to stop him.
“Not tonight. You know damn well that if you don’t show up to the bonfire of Zemni Boheme,withEverinne, your father will make you pay for it.” Veros stepped closer, leveling Atlas with a glare that harbored death. “Oldrich will make youbothpay for it. Every action you take from now on will have a direct impact on my sister’s life. Don’t forget it.”
Again, Veros spoke the truth.
Oldrich had a sick love for doling out punishment through violence and verbal assault. His fondness for disparaging comments and remarks are what kept every servant in the entirety of the palace silent for fear of his wrath. His magic allowed him to know the depths of someone’s greatest fear, and he used their terror to his advantage, a prized weakness to keep him in control. His threats knew no bounds, his ability to grant nightmarish circumstances were limitless. He possessed the horrible ability to show his victims through visions in their minds exactly how they would suffer if they chose to disobey him.
Atlas’s greatest fear was once worrying he would never amount to anything. That he was worthless, that his entire existence amounted to little more than a good fuck with pretty eyes. It was bad enough his father had shunned him from allpalace dealings. When his mother was alive, he’d at least had a seat at the table. He’d been willing to accept that he wouldn’t ever be enough—he hadn’t been blessed with fire, or frost, or shadows. His power was one of a sexual nature. It was laughable. Demeaning. So, he’d owned it. Flaunted it. Forged it into a fucking weapon. Until there wasn’t a single fear left inside of him for his father to expose.
Except for maybe spiders.
Atrocious little creatures.
Still, he would rather face an army of spiders than see Everinne hurt or in danger.
Everinne.
If Oldrich realized she was his weakness, that Atlas feared for her safety above all else, that her love was the one thing he feared being denied, there would be no end to his torment.
“Fine. I’ll attend the lighting of Zemni Boheme with Everinne.” Atlas held out his hand, watching in silence as the tiny flakes melted against the warmth of his palm. “But tomorrow, I must go speak with Reine.”
Veros nodded once, and the sound of thundering footfalls echoed through the stillness of the gardens. Someone was running. Toward them.
Atlas caught Caedian’s scent on the cold breeze, it swept in through the swirling snow—aged oak and musk. Then his Captain of the Guard halted before him, his disheveled white hair blown back from his face, his pale eyes alight with urgency.
“Your Imperial Highness.” Caedian’s breath misted before him and he locked his arms by his side.
Atlas was immediately on edge by his formal demeanor. “What is it?”
Caedian’s hesitant gaze cut to Veros, then returned to him. “There’s been another disappearance.”
“Who?” Atlas asked.
His captain’s throat worked, and he clenched his fists twice, a tell of warring confidence. “It’s not good, Your Highness, she?—”
“Who?” he demanded.
Caedian straightened. “Zoryana Daleth.”
Oh, fuck.
“Zoryana?” Veros choked out, his brows pulling into a deep scowl. “As in Zory, Everinne’s best friend?”
“The very one.” Caedian nodded and leaned closer. In the haze of shrouded moonlight, his gray eyes glowed against the jeweled umber of his skin. His voice was hushed when he said, “As in High Priestess Rozalie’s daughter.”
Fucking skies.
Atlas thought the situation was bad before, but he’d been sorely mistaken. It had just gotten a thousand times worse. When Ever found out Zoryana was missing, there would be no consoling her, no stopping her. She would become completely irrational, her decisions would deteriorate from borderline unsafe to damn near treacherous.
“Does she know?” Atlas directed his question to Caedian, praying to the stars and skies that he already knew the answer. “Does Everinne know?”
“No, my prince. Not yet.” Caedian lowered his head, bowing slightly. He reached into the front pocket of his long coat and pulled out a letter, then handed it to Atlas. “I was informed a few moments ago by one of the lower-ranking priestesses of the Scarlet Moon, who delivered this for you.”
Atlas accepted the crisp piece of parchment. It was sealed with scarlet wax and imprinted with an image of a moon. His title and name were scripted across the front in scrawling, hurried penmanship. He folded the letter and tucked it into the back pocket of his pants. There would be time to read Rozalie’s words later.
He started for the palace. “I must tell Everinne.”
“Wait.” Veros reached out and grabbed his shoulder. The look on his face reflected a plea, but also a warning. “Zoryana was the only one who could help Everinne control her magic. She absorbed Ever’s emotions when they became too temperamental. If you tell her now, especially after last night and everything she endured with Jarek, there’s a good chance she’ll fall apart. We could lose her completely.”
