Page 14 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“And that’s it,” she mumbled, picking at a loose thread from the hem of the shirt she wore.
His brows narrowed, pulled tight by the final shreds of his restraint.
“So, you didn’t swing from a chandelier and then fall? And you didn’t almost bring a fucking demon summoner back here to spend the night?” Veros fisted his hand, his knuckles whitening. “And the Prince of Prava didn’t have to throw you over his shoulder and carry you out?”
Everinne took a drink of her tea, wishing it would scald her throat. It would be better than dealing with his anger.
Her gaze flicked to him. He looked at her with such utter disappointment, such regret, that her stomach soured. But the spiteful words slipped from her mouth, anyway.
“If you already knew, then why did you ask?”
A tiny vein popped along his forehead. The same one that always appeared when he was furious. Recently, she only witnessed it when he spoke to her.
“Because I wanted to hear it from you.” He ground out the words, sitting back in his chair. His hands flexed once. Twice.
“Why?” She tucked her legs beneath her and leaned forward, letting her elbows come to rest on the table. “So I can relay in my own words how much of a fuckup I am?”
“No, Everinne.” He shook his head, pushing his swath of dark hair out of his face. When he looked at her again, his eyes had gone cold. “So you can hear how the decisions you’re making are becoming more dangerous.”
Veros slid the basket of biscuits across the table to her.
She grabbed one, silently grateful it was still warm, and secretly hoped it would soak off some of the alcohol still sloshing around in her belly. At least the ache in her bones and her head had subsided.
Her attitude, however, had yet to fade. “Are you sure it has nothing to do with your little sister tarnishing your gleaming reputation at court?”
Veros inhaled through his nose. “I don’t give a fuck about my reputation, Ever. I care aboutyou.”
A twinge of guilt pierced Everinne’s heart of stone.
“You are my responsibility. Since Mother and Father…” He hesitated then, unable to say the word “died” even though they’d been gone for eighty-seven years. “I vowed to myself that I would keep you safe.”
This time, remorse chipped away at her, carving whorls into the hardened wall she’d erected around herself. She hadn’t made it easy for him.
The passing of time had not made the agony of their parents’ deaths any less difficult to manage. Seasons would pass and Everinne would feel nothing, carrying on with her life as always, then all of a sudden an unbidden wave of grief would slam into her, drowning her. For a fleeting moment, she wouldn’t be able to breathe. The sensation would leave her stricken, kicking and clawing her way to the surface, desperate for air.
Being fae, Everinne thought she would have a lifetime with her parents. Hundreds of years, at least. Far longer than that of a mortal. But they’d been taken from her and Veros much sooner than expected. Veros had already been at court with Atlas when the Deszvila Forest crept closer toward their village of Ravski, slowly devouring it. Gnarled roots slithered into windows, shattering the glass—they crumbled stone and brick, destroying everything in their path. Evergreens sprouted overnight, their thick branches fanning out with layers of dark leaves, shrouding all traces of sunlight. Everinne had watched, helpless, as her parents were snatched by ravenous vines and bound to trees, where their life-force was absorbed. Their beautiful faces, twisted in horror, were engraved into the dense trunks, their bodies frozen in time, as though carved directly into the wood.
When Atlas had come to save Everinne from Ravski, he’d discovered her alone and terrified in what was left of their village’s square, surrounded by trees sculpted from the dead.
She watched her brother from across the table. As the Lord of Time, Veros couldn’t exactly leave court whenever he pleased. His presence was always demanded by Kralv Oldrich Skye, Prava’s monarch, but his friendship with Atlas was why he stayed without complaint. Veros’s magic gifted him the ability to control time. To weave it. To move through it. But it was not always a blessing. Such magic came with its own burdens, its own cost, and though he never expressed frustration with the heavy obligation placed upon his shoulders, Everinne knew it troubled him.
Almost as much as she did.
Veros slung one arm around the back of his chair, stretching both legs out. He crossed one ankle over the other, considering her. “Which is why you can’t go on like this.”
“Like what?” Everinne asked, wary. There was something about his tone that set her nerves on edge. The hairs along the back of her neck prickled in response.
“The drinking. The partying.” He waved one hand lazily between them. “The not giving a fuck.”
She pinched off a piece of biscuit and popped it into her mouth. The melty, buttery flavor suddenly tasted stale and dry. “What are you saying, Veros?”
He straightened, ran one finger along the collar of his sweater, then leveled her with a look. “You’re cut off.”
“What?” Everinne almost choked. She forcefully swallowed the lump of biscuit, then took a hasty gulp of tea. “You can’t mean that.”
“You’ve left me with no other choice, Everinne.”
She stared out her balcony, where the floor-to-ceiling window displayed rows of perfect, colorful townhomes with dark red and gold roofs, each one decorated with ornate bronze spires. The shopping district of Starysa was home to the capital’s elite—fae families who boasted privilege and rank, ancient vampire clans with exorbitant amounts of wealth, and a small coven of witches who could afford it because no one dared to cross them otherwise. Veros put her up in an apartment in the safest part of the city and gave her an allowance, and despite the underlying tension between them, she was grateful he afforded her to live such a sumptuous lifestyle.
