Page 3 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Everinne leaned forward, stretching out her arm. Her fingers curled around the cool gold metal, and without a second thought, she shoved off the balcony.
Exhilaration coursed through her, filling her with a tantalizing rush that caused her entire body to tingle. She gripped the gold loop with both hands and spun, imagining she was one of those ballerinas on pointe she’d so often seen at the ballet. Back when Veros still used to take her, of course. Blinking the miserable thought away, Everinne focused on the crowd below her, on the gasps of shock and shouts of excitement as she twirled through the air above them. Using all her strength, she clutched the loop with one hand and slowly released the other, unfurling her arm out to one side. Her muscles burned and her abdomen clenched, but she’d done this a dozen times before, and all of it led to the thousands of sensations she felt when the rest of the world seemed miles away.
The music faded, the cacophony of voices drowned it out as they cheered for her. Loved her.
Everinne swung from the chandelier, whirling with it, dancing on air. The next one came into her line of sight, the crystals winked like they knew exactly what she had planned. All she had to do was get a little bit closer and then she’d leap from one to the other, in a grand finale.
A squeal sounded above the rest of the voices on the dance floor, and there was a shift in the air. The sudden commotion was no longer one of awe and wonder, but more like a fever pitch of delirium.
Her brow pinched together.
What the hell was going on?
Everinne strained over her left shoulder to see what could possibly be the cause of everyone below her losing their gods-damned minds. Between the play of shadows and glaring vibrant lights, she saw him.
Her heart dropped.
Standing in the elaborate entrance of the Grand Cru with a swell of worshippers surrounding him, was none other than Atlas Skye, the Imperial Prince of Prava.
And his piercing green eyes, the ones with swirls of gold, were focused directly on her.
Two
The last thing Atlas Skye expected to see tonight was his best friend’s sister dangling from a chandelier, looking like a damn sex goddess.
What the fuck was she thinking?
She moved like a sultry ballerina, grasping the golden arm of the fixture with one hand as she arched and twirled. The dress she wore barely covered her curves and the heels of her shoes reminded him of daggers poised to strike.
On any given day, Everinne Auvyre was wildfire. Impulsive and reckless. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her, in fact, Atlas wasn’t sure she gave a damn about anything at all. Her mouth spewed words sharper than his finest blade, and her eyes could send the most loyal of males to their knees. But suspended from the ceiling like that, she looked like she was dancing among the stars. Like she was forged from dreams and nightmares. A fantasy in the making. Her graceful movements held him captive a moment longer until she peered over her shoulder and those eyes of hers landed on him.
Pools of turquoise with bursts of gold around the center, laced with venom.
He maneuvered his way further inside the Grand Cru, carrying himself with the sort of authority one would expect from him. Careless, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants and a cocky half smile on his face. Besides, he was the heir to the throne of the Korvny Fae, and he was acutely aware of the effect he had on those around them. The nickname they gave him kept him up at night—the playboy prince. He reigned over pleasure, possessing the ability to elicit lust and desire with barely lifting a finger, and everyone knew it.
It was also the main reason he could count the number of people he trusted on one hand.
A cluster of females surrounded Atlas, cooing, simpering, and fluttering their lashes. His gut clenched but he forced an easy smile. “Ladies.”
“Your Highness.” One of the females preened, tugging on her red top in an effort to put the fullness of her cleavage on display. “It’s such a pleasure to see you tonight.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
“I bet it is,” she murmured, and Atlas arched a brow. Her insinuation was not lost on him.
It wasn’t as though the females encircling him weren’t attractive. On the contrary, they were lovely creatures. He could take his pick if he wanted. Hell, he could probably have all three of them at once and guarantee they’d be on board with the idea if it meant they got to fuck the prince of Prava. Whispers of his bedroom activities were widespread, even though he only used the sexual nature of his magic when the willing participant asked for it—begged for it, more like—but tonight he wasn’t in the mood for mindless sex.
Not since his father had berated him in front of his entire court earlier in the day by calling him awalking whorehouse. Atlas’s blood boiled at the thought of his father’s booming voice, of his constant ridicule.
Another female, this one with skin the color of freshly fallen snow, looped her arm through his, pawing at his bicep. He spared her a withering glance.
“Bold of you,milazk.”Atlas disentangled himself from her clutches. “But I choose who to take to my bed. Not you.”
Her mouth fell open in shock. She looked like he’d struck her.
Good.
He could easily morph from lackadaisical prince to royal asshole.
