Page 63 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Granted, Veros had never actually spoken those spiteful words, but his intent was implied.
Imperial prince or not, Atlas wasn’t a good enough match for Everinne.
Frustrated with his current circumstances and pissed off with his former self, Atlas tossed aside the throw around his waist and yanked on a pair of pants.
He could shower later.
Right now, he needed to hit something.
Sweat slid down Atlas’s spine and rolled down his forearms, freezing to his skin. The sun was hidden behind a wall of ominous gray, and the clouds were spitting out tiny daggers of ice. Despite the frosty temperature, he’d discarded his grossly damp shirt.
Unfortunately, it meant there was one less barrier between the sting of Caedian’s blade and his flesh whenever he failed to dodge an advance.
The cut across his left shoulder burned as the fae magic of his blood slowly healed the wound, but it didn’t make the injury any less of a disgrace. He was the prince, he’d been trained to handle a sword since he could walk, and already his Captain of the Guard had struck him twice. Both times Atlas had left himself open to attack.
“You seem a little agitated today,” Caedian called out, his sword slashing through the air.
Atlas narrowly avoided the blow, the clang of their weapons reverberating down his arms. “I’m fine.”
Caedian paced in a slow circle and Atlas matched him, his weapon raised. He moved with ease, an elite warrior well-versed in the art of stealth and sarcasm. “Maybe you need to get laid.”
Atlas’s gaze narrowed, his grip on the hilt of the sword tightening until his knuckles turned white. “Maybe you need to take a long walk off a short cliff.”
His captain laughed, full and robust. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
This time Atlas lunged, determined to wipe that mocking smirk off his captain’s face. Caedian side-stepped him, anticipating his next move. They clashed in a torrent of metal and strength, the force of one another’s assault driving the other backward, the deafening clang of their blades cracking throughout the field like thunder.
Atlas blinked, sweat stinging his eyes, but he refused to falter. His muscles were on fire, burning from exertion. He ducked low and spun, twisting, and Caedian clicked his tongue in disappointment.
“Your footwork is sloppy. Your wrist is weak.” Their swords met overhead and Caedian shoved him away. “And your form is slacking.”
Atlas swung again, his blade slicing through the air. A clear miss.
Caedian’s words hung between them, thick like the humidity of summer’s hottest day. He tried to ignore them, then his father’s demeaning voice scraped against his mind.
Quit now. Before you embarrass yourself further.
Atlas roared, launching his sword in a fury of loathing across the training field.
Magic slammed into Atlas, dragging the air from his lungs. Colors faded into muted blurs. Across from him, Caedian’s eyes went wide, frozen in shock. Gilded threads unraveled around him, each one scored with runes and numerals. Showers ofsilver light rained down as he stood completely still, unable to move his body, his heart thudding loudly. The sound of it a low, dull thump like that of an archaic timepiece. The scent of worn leather, fresh earth, and ink upon aged parchment overwhelmed him, and his gaze tracked to the far side of the training field where Veros’s arm was outstretched, controlling the hands of time.
He stepped forward, plucking the suspended sword out of the air—the very one whose blade had been aiming for Everinne’s heart.
Atlas’s stomach dropped.
He didn’t know she was watching, he didn’t realize she’d been standing there at all. He’d been so consumed with bitterness and resentment…he never would’ve thrown the damn thing if he thought she would be in harm’s way. Veros had been his closest friend for 132 years, and this was the first time Atlas had ever witnessed him use his magic to save a life.
Veros inspected the sword, his gaze turning frosty when his eyes landed on Atlas. “Lose something?”
The stillness distorted his voice, making it sound as though he was everywhere at once.
In the next breath, the Lord of Time rescinded his magic, and Atlas stumbled forward, Caedian following suit.
“Shit.” Atlas rushed toward them, wiping the sweat away from his brow with the back of his hand. “Everinne, are you alright?”
He skimmed her briefly, checking for any sign of injury. But even that was a mistake. She wore tight dark purple leather pants and glossy black boots laced up to her knees. Her silver sweater draped off both of her shoulders, the fibers somehow twinkling like crushed diamonds. She’d worn her hair up, twisted into a messy bun on the top of her head, and tiny pieces had fallen loose to frame her face. Her cheeks were flushedfrom the wind and her lips were painted a delectable color that reminded him of ripe berries.
“I’m sorry.” He tore his gaze away from her and accepted the sword Veros held out to him. “Apologies, Veros.”
