Page 18 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Disgruntled but not willing to start an argument before the sun had barely reached its highest point, Atlas obeyed.
Beats of tense silence passed between them while his father gnawed on a hunk of beef, washing it down with a large pint of frothy ale. Atlas stared at him, his guard raised, and debated asking if he could be dismissed when Oldrich finally spoke.
“It’s time you take a wife.”
The words curdled in Atlas’s stomach like sour wine. He blinked, not sure he’d heard him correctly. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be a fool.” His father shoveled another forkful of beef into his mouth, chewing noisily. “You heard me.”
Atlas rolled his neck, cracked his jaw. There was no fucking way he was going to find a bride. There were more important matters at stake. “I have no desire to marry.”
“Of course not,” Oldrich chuckled, but it was tainted with hostility. “You’d be more than happy to spend the rest of yourdays between the legs of some willing wench, and I don’t blame you.”
He took another swig of ale. “Once upon a time, I felt the same way.” Before Atlas could object to the crude remark, Oldrich set his merciless gaze on him. “But you have a duty to your kingdom. A duty to me and your subjects. You owe me anheir.”
Atlas’s blood ran cold.
“An heir,” he repeated numbly.
“A son preferably, though I’d accept a female,” Oldrich proclaimed, as though it warranted no further discussion. His tanned cheeks turned a ruddy shade, a sign of his rising hostility. “I’ve tolerated your shameful foolishness long enough. You’re going to find a wife, bed her, and after she births a healthy babe—preferably one with a useful kind of magic—then you can have as many affairs as you please.”
“Are you serious?” Atlas countered, slowly sliding his hands beneath the table where he clenched them into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms.
“Of course I’m serious.” His father returned his menacing glare.
“All you care about right now is marrying me off?” Atlas leaned forward, his own vexation imploding like an ominous cloud of storms on the horizon. “I know you’ve heard the reports from Captain Trivaris. Immortals arevanishing. Before too long, the ones who’ve taken notice will start blaming the humans and then we’ll have civil unrest on our hands.”
He couldn’t believe it.
He couldn’t believe his father could be so ludicrous, so absolutely mindless.
“And your main concern is about whether or not I find a fuckingwife?” Atlas reared back, shaking his head in disgust.
Oldrich’s complexion deepened, turning an almost hideous purple shade. The veins along his temple bulged, and his grip on the knife he held was so tight, he bent the blade in half. The acrid scent of sulfuric smoke permeated the air, stealing into Atlas’s lungs so his eyes watered and his chest burned. It was a silent threat, a promise that his father would use his magic against him if necessary.
“Now you listen to me,” he snarled. “You will host a ball, and you will find a wife, or else I will choose one for you. And if you dare refuse me, I will have your ass on the next ship out of here heading for the Karmorva Mountains. Do you understand me?”
Atlas paled.
The Karmorva Mountains were only reachable by sea, the Deszvila Forest had made them entirely inaccessible any other way, and they were also the home of Rizenrok Forge, a camp where thieves, miscreants, and other unfortunate souls were sent to mine for fire rubies. The extent of their crime made no difference, anyone who broke the law was sent to Rizenrok Forge. While there was a dungeon below the palace, Oldrich much rather his prisoners work for their freedom than sit in a cold cell and be of little to no use. If a subject went against their kralv, they spent their sentence in the frigid mountain range bordering the northernmost point of Prava. Atlas knew if his father dispatched him there, he wouldn’t be overseeing with the guards. He would be forced to mine.
Oldrich reached over, snagging a fistful of Atlas’s shirt collar, and hauled him close. His breath reeked of yarrow and spiced beef. “Do I make myself clear?”
Atlas’s jaw clenched and he swallowed the retort on the tip of his tongue.
“Yes,” he ground out. “Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Good.” Oldrich released him, shoving him back into his seat. “Now, get out of my sight so I can finish my lunch in peace.”
Atlas pushed up from his chair and stormed out of the dining hall. He stalked through the glittering corridors, wanting nothing more than to shatter every reflective surface he passed. His chest heaved with simmering rage, his thoughts a volatile torrent in his mind. How could he be expected to host a ball and choose a wife in one night? It was absurd, the sort of bullshit one read about in fairy tales. If his father had his way, he’d marry Atlas off to some snobbish fae noble whose only goals in life were to wed a prince and buy expensive dresses.
Fuming, he rounded the next corner. The double onyx doors with the intricate wolf carvings ingrained in the wood stood before him and he barged through them, where he was immediately greeted by a cold gust of winter air and the clang of swords.
None of the soldiers training in the courtyard spared him a glance.
They knew there was only one reason he was out there.
Atlas unbuttoned the top of his shirt, hastily rolling his sleeves. From the corner of his eye, he saw Caedian shove off the far wall. His Captain of the Guard peeled off his coat and draped it over one of the rustic wooden tables littered with practice swords. Caedian grabbed two of them, then sauntered over, the corner of his mouth ticked up in a slight grin.
