Page 31 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Lovely.
“I suppose I was their second-best option.” Atlas stalked into the bathing suite, gargled mint water, then attempted to smooth his unruly hair. “They’re alone?”
“I have four guards stationed outside of the reception room, just in case.” Caedian opened the bedroom door, and they strode out into the dimly lit hall. “Each one is armed with a pure silver blade.”
Pure silver, the only metal capable of incapacitating a vampire, should the need ever arise. As far as he knew, no one in his lifetime had actually managed to kill one. There were methods, of course. Cutting off their heads completely. Piercing their hearts with blades of silver or stakes of ash wood.
Atlas stalked down the length of the wing toward the reception room, each step intentional so the vampires would know he approached. “Have they made any demands?”
Caedian shook his head. “No, Your Highness. Only that they wish to speak with you.”
Atlas nodded, muttering greetings to the four guards positioned outside of the room. Caedian stepped in front of him and opened the door. “His Imperial Highness, Prince Atlas Skye.”
Shrugging off the pompous introduction, Atlas strolled into the room. He kept his manner easy and carefree—he would never be like his father, a hostile serpent waiting to strike.
He spotted Valaina first, her pale blonde hair piled on top of her head like a crown. She wore a gown of gray silk and ivory pearls that pooled around her like liquid smoke. Her eyes, a piercing pale blue, latched onto him and her red lips curved into a seductive smile. Atlas had been on the receiving end of those gracious lips more times than he could count, much to Davorin’s revulsion. In Atlas’s defense, he hadn’t known she had a jealous mate at the time, and he was fairly certain the only reason he survived Davorin’s wrath was because the vampire knew hecouldn’t kill the imperial prince without bringing death upon his entire clan.
Atlas’s gaze flicked to Davorin.
He still looked ready to rip out Atlas’s throat. His eyes were pitch black and his upper lip was curled into a sneer. The suit he wore was a perfect match to the gray of Valaina’s gown, except there was a pin in the shape of a raven piercing the front pocket of his coat. The insignia of the Morvayne. Davorin bowed, reluctant, his dark hair falling in front of his scarred face. Not once did he take his eyes off Atlas.
“Evening, Valaina.” Atlas inclined his head toward her mate. “Davorin.”
“Your Highness.” Valaina’s voice always reminded him of silk and steel. Soft, yet cold. “We’re so grateful you were able to meet with us on such short notice.”
“As if I could ever refuse such a request from you.” He could, but he wouldn’t, not when it came to Khiran. “Please, sit.”
He dropped into a high-back chair, resting his elbows on the arms of the seat. Valaina lowered herself onto the evergreen sofa across from him, smoothing away imaginary wrinkles from her gown, while Davorin remained standing.
Atlas stretched his legs out and laced his fingers together. “I take you’re here because of Khiran.”
Valaina’s eyes widened, her thick lashes fluttering. “You already know?”
“My captain informed me a few hours ago.” Atlas rolled his neck, trying to dislodge the tension settling there. “He also mentioned my father refused you.”
She made a derisive noise. “It would seem the kralv wasindisposed.”
Meaning Oldrich was taking a whore to bed, further neglecting the chaos gradually unfolding throughout his kingdom. Interesting how it was perfectly acceptable for him tofuck a maid or lady of the court, but when Atlas did it, he was a disgrace to the crown.
He shook off the aggression simmering to a boil in his blood. Loosing a breath from the tightness of his lungs, he nodded toward Valaina. “Tell me what happened.”
Valaina rubbed her lips together, squeezing her hands in her lap, and looked to Davorin.
He grunted, still full of loathing, but when he spoke, his voice was eerily calm. “Khiran never misses a mating ritual. When he failed to show up for this one, I sent a few members from our clan to track him down.”
Davorin settled on the edge of the sofa next to Valaina, his shoulders dropping slightly in defeat. “They found nothing. Not a trace of him anywhere.”
Atlas drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, considering. He’d heard stories about the vampire mating rituals, how they begin as ceremonial events full of dark magic and rites of passage, then more or less descend into blood-sucking orgies. It seemed logical that Khiran wouldn’t want to miss such an event, but there were plenty of other festivities to choose from if one knew where to look.
“You don’t think there’s a small chance he would’ve skipped this one and sought out pleasure in one of Starysa’s parlors instead?” Atlas asked.
“Absolutely not.” Valaina’s words were clipped. Her lips were pinched together and the hands she’d folded so gracefully in her laps were clenched tightly, the knuckles white.
Atlas leaned forward, curious about the sudden change in her demeanor. “How can you be sure?”
Her pale gaze cut to him. “Because this mating ritual was forhim.”
Shit.
