Page 120 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“Aisling.”
He grunted. “Of course it is.”
Then Veros stepped back, carrying a sleeping Aisling in his arms. Atlas reached out and pulled Everinne to his side as the ticking of timepieces and the whispering rush of a thousand voices filled the dungeon. Veros’s magic amplified, blurred swirls of colors swept around him in a sphere, streaks of suns, moons, and stars not of their realm revolved in a dozen differentdirections. Power rippled and flowed as distorted images of mountains, trees, oceans, and other worlds billowed in and out of focus. Veros stood in the center, and both he and Aisling seemed illuminated from within, as though they glowed with the magic of time. In one final burst of energy, Veros and Aisling disappeared, and all that was left in their wake was the scent of worn leather, fresh earth, and spilled ink on aged parchment.
Everinne let out a breath and leaned into Atlas. He draped an arm around her shoulder, and she grabbed ahold of his hand, holding tight.
“Come on.” He guided her toward the steep path that would lead them out of the dungeon. “If we hurry, we can get to the bonfire and my father will be none the wiser.”
And neither of them would have to suffer his unnecessary wrath.
“Thank you, Atlas.” She spun into him, tangled her fingers in his loose, messy waves, and kissed him with such tenderness, she nearly shattered his heart.
“Mm.” Atlas brushed his lips across hers. Once. Twice. “I could get used to your gratitude.”
Everinne smiled, drowning him in those eyes of hers. Endless turquoise depths fanned with ribbons of gold. “And I could get used to your mouth.”
Thirty-Six
There was something mystical about the first snowfall in Prava.
Even though the seemingly endless night was upon them and the skies were dark and heavy with clouds, streetlamps burning with golden light highlighted the cascading pieces of lace as they fell from the heavens. They twirled and danced, billowed in reckless abandon with the frigid wind, and Everinne tilted her head back, letting the flakes cling to her lashes and melt against her cheeks.
Gazing up in wonder, she stared at the halo of the moon, its silver light hazy and obscured. Not a single star in the sky could be seen, and for one breathless moment, it felt as though she was standing in the midst of a snow globe, with only stillness and the eternal beauty of winter around her.
Until the crackle of fire sparked to life and the logs of the bonfire to celebrate Zemni Boheme were set aflame. The pile of logs and wood chips were stoked, surrounded by slabs of black granite imbued with arcane magic to keep the fire going through the longest nights. Situated in the center of Starysa, it was guaranteed to burn bright enough until the first rosebud of spring. Not that it ever truly lasted that long, for eventually, thesun would take its time sinking across the western sky and the days would lengthen. The cold season, however, was when Prava was most vulnerable. In the winter, those who had been alive for hundreds of years held their breath, and prayed the woods continued their slumber.
A few musicians gathered near one of the empty fountains, their instruments striking evocative chords, blending into a haunting melody to welcome the upcoming Winter Solstice. The music stirred something inside of Everinne, its poignancy reminding her of evenings spent cuddled around a hearth, of soft voices and warm embraces, of stories of lore and songs of the season. A time, she thought with an ache in her heart, that was lost to her. Memories of her youth that were stolen by the wicked wood. The faces of her parents were a keepsake in her mind, locked away by time, by Veros, so she never forgot them. Yet, she could scarcely recall their voices. So, she’d relegated her mother to the tinkling of faerie bells and her father to the sound of rainfall against stone.
The heat of the silver flames fanned Everinne’s face, drawing her back from the recess of her thoughts as warmth spread through the fur-lined coat she wore. She shifted her weight, boots crunching in the growing layer of snow, and though she was tempted to loop her arm through Atlas’s, she thought better of it, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat instead. She’d forgotten her gloves—again—and the biting cold was already nipping at her fingers, leaving the skin pink and chapped.
As if sensing her discomfort, Atlas draped an arm casually around her shoulders and pulled her close to him, the heat from his body far warmer than the fire blazing before them.
He slid two fingers under her chin, tilting her face up to him, the green and gold of his eyes more alluring than ever. They danced with the flames of the fire.
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, where his lips curved into a sensual smile, but then something just beyond his tall frame caught her eye. Against the play of light and shadow, through the hazy smoke, she saw Kralv Oldrich studying her. Watching her. Gauging her reactions to his son.
Atlas lowered his head and Everinne stiffened in his arms, her palms coming to rest on his chest in a poor attempt to push him away.
“Your father is watching,”she warned, the words sharing the space between their minds.
Atlas’s brow lifted.“In that case…”
He grabbed her throat, fingers digging into the back of her neck as he dragged her against him. She clutched at his arms as a spike of alarm pierced her spine, a strangled gasp barely escaping her when he increased the pressure, just enough to frighten her. Everinne’s gaze snapped up and she found Atlas staring back at her, his eyes cold with unfamiliar cruelty. When he smiled, it was laced with malice, as though he’d donned a mask of deceit, morphing back into the character of the famed prince of pleasure.
“That’s the thing about marriage, Everinne.” Atlas spoke loudly, drawing the curious gaze of onlookers who lurked by the roaring fire. From beyond the silver gleam of flames, the kralv’s dark eyes narrowed. “I can kiss you anytime I want.”
His mouth crashed against hers in a brutal, punishing meeting of lips. He bit hard, nearly drawing blood, and then devoured her whimper of surprise. Curling her fingers into his coat, she held on tightly, gripping the thick fabric as his tongue lashed her own in angry strokes.
“Fight me.” Despite his merciless kiss and the grip he held on her throat, his voice wove through her like ribbons of cool silk, soft and tempting.
Everinne shifted, tried to break free from him, but his mouth on hers was like drinking from a well of goddess-blessed water, and she was dying of thirst.
Atlas’s answering chuckle caused heat to bloom low in her belly, sent shivers of longing shuddering down her spine so her nipples hardened to aching peaks, and a sigh of pleasure escaped her.
He slid his thumb lazily up the column of her throat. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want him to believe you don’t love me.”
Everinne frowned and her eyes fluttered open.
