Page 47 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“I’m aware.” Veros shook his head and his shoulders bunched with tension. “But I also know that she would have continued down a path of self-destruction if I stood by and did nothing.”
Out of all the shops and clubs to find employment in Starysa, she’d chosen the one place where the protection of thepalace couldn’t quite reach. The woman who owned the Mystic Obscura, Reine, was a witch with a penchant for the exceptional and occult. She could move between spaces like a wraith, create and alter illusions. Abilities that likely made operating the Mystic Obscura possible. Running an exclusive club by invitation only wasn’t illegal by any means, but requiring a single drop of blood from the patrons to gain entry was unusual. But the Mystic Obscura had been operating without any complaints or problems for months now, so perhaps it was all in his head.
Still, anywhere that was shrouded in glamour set Atlas on edge.
“Maybe Lord Tovian can give Everinne what she needs,” Veros said, dragging Atlas’s attention back to the topic at hand.
“And what’s that?” he muttered, doubtful the fae lord could offer her anything other than a title and fancy gowns.
“Peace, Atlas.” Veros spread his arms wide. “Peace for her fractured soul and an understanding of her magic.”
A stream of silent curses filtered through Atlas’s mind. He could really go for that shot of honeyfire about now. “She doesn’t even know him.”
Veros smoothed a hand over his windblown hair, making sure not a strand was out of place, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Then it’s a good thing she has three days to fall in love.”
Atlas’s jaw went slack. “You can’t be serious.”
Veros shrugged, pulling his gold timepiece from his pocket. “Only time will tell. You could help speed up the process. Make it so they just so happen to end up in the same place on more than one occasion. I’m sure Aran would be willing to help.”
“Sorry, Veros. I will not be Everinne’s matchmaker.” Nor could Atlas even believe that his friend was legitimately considering setting his sister up with some fae lord they just met. He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have to find my own wife.”
Otherwise, he’d be sent to the Rizenrok Forge.
“Atlas!” Oldrich’s booming voice exploded from across the gardens.
Lovely.
This day was just getting better and better.
“Your Imperial Majesty.” Veros bowed, but Oldrich stomped across the path, waving him off. His dark eyes were focused on Atlas.
“I hear you’ve already chosen a day for the ball.” He stepped through a bed of snowdrops, crushing the delicate petals and obliterating the stems. “I must admit, I didn’t think you’d be so quick to get a move on your engagement. But three days? I’m almost impressed.”
Atlas schooled his expression into one of feigned disinterest. He shouldn’t be surprised that his father already knew about the ball, the palace wasalwayslistening.
“Good work.” Oldrich clapped him hard on the back, but to Atlas’s credit, he firmly held his ground. “It’s about time you start taking your duty to this kingdom seriously.”
Hardly.
More like it was done out of pure spite, no thanks to a certain female with spellbinding eyes.
“Right. Actually, since you’re here, Father, I was hoping to discuss another matter.” Atlas steeled his spine, knowing damn good and well he was about to face off with his father’s wrath. “The Eldress of Morvayne paid me a visit last night.”
Oldrich’s wrinkled brow furrowed into a scowl. He puffed out his chest, his ruddy cheeks darkening with anger. “I have no time for those damned bloodsuckers and their petty grievances.”
Gods, the kralv was a self-righteous dickhead. “I’d hardly call a missing member of their clan a petty grievance. In fact, Khiran is?—”
“Enough!” Oldrich shouted, stepping so close, Atlas could see the spittle clinging to his beard as he spoke. “Now, you listen to me. Court and political dealings are none of your concern. If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. But until then, you do exactly as you’re told. Find a wife, fill her with your seed, and leave rulingmykingdom to me.”
His father spun away from him then, trudging back through the wilted flower bed, mumbling a stream of vile curses in his wake.
Blind fury radiated from Atlas. What he wouldn’t give to crush the bastard’s windpipe with his bare hands, to watch his black eyes bulge from their sockets until they damn near popped out.
Veros stood nearby, saying nothing.
He never judged Atlas. He’d witnessed him being on the receiving end of his father’s outrage more times than either of them could count. That didn’t make the encounter any less humiliating.
Veros flicked open his timepiece, staring down at the runes that whirred and spun. “You’ll take it eventually.”
