Page 111 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Except Atlas exhaled slowly, his breath misting before him in the winter’s chill, and he suddenly wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to breathe again.
Thirty-Four
Everinne didn’t want to crawl from the delicious comfort of Atlas’s bed, but the thought of soaking in his luxurious gilded clawfoot porcelain tub was far too tempting to ignore.
The lights in the bathing suite were dimmed, most of the floating fire orbs had been snuffed out. Only a handful of half-melted candles remained, their tiny flames flickering and burning, emitting a soft, ethereal glow. A maid had been kind enough to bring her an assortment of oils, milks, and satchels of dried flowers for her enjoyment, and Everinne had chosen to soak in a fragrant milk bath that smelled of sweet cream and berries with velvety rose petals sprinkled upon its opaque surface. The steaming water molded against her skin, drawing out the exhaustion, soothing her aching muscles and tired bones.
She slid lower, melting into the curving back of the tub, so her breasts were covered. Then her neck. Until finally it reached her chin.
Everinne held her breath, closed her eyes, and sank under the water.
Her heartbeat echoed quietly in her ears, a calming thump coupled with the easy coursing of her blood, like a midnight river’s song. She melted into the calming bath, slowly coasting her hands along the side of the tub to grip its rounded edge, but she did not pull herself up. She waited. Until her chest tingled and her lungs tightened, until her magic stirred in warning, churning with disquiet at her defiance.
Rozalie’s words drifted through her mind.
You are blessed by death.
If only there was a way Everinne could prove to herself that she was in control of her magic, not the other way around.
But she’d tucked her power away, she’d hidden it, refusing to use it at all after she’d shattered Callum’s mind. It had been so easy, like snapping her fingers or plucking the petals of a rose. She hadn’t even had to think about it or force it. She could still see his face in her mind. His handsome features chiseled with loathing and disgust, as though he couldn’t bear to even look upon her. She thought about all the times he’d kissed her, about all the times she’d taken him inside her, and wondered how difficult it must have been for him to not slay her then. If he thought about slitting her throat when his lips were discovering hers. If he considered driving a blade through her heart while he pumped himself into her over and over. Even now, she could recall the night he’d attempted to end her life. One moment, Callum had been alive, his blade aimed to strike her down, and in the next breath, he’d been dead.
Breath.
Everinne needed air.
She heaved herself upward, crashing through the surface of the water, and gasped. Smoothing her wet hair back from her face, she stole another greedy breath.
In the adjoining bedroom, a door groaned open and footfalls shuffled against the hardwood floor. The maid had finallyreturned with her robe. Everinne had considered requesting some clothing as well, but if she planned on spending the remainder of the evening in Atlas’s room, then only a robe would suffice. Hopefully she grabbed one of fur and not silk, as there was a distinctive chill in the air.
“You can just leave it on the bed,” Everinne called as she pulled the cord connected to the drain. “I’ll be out in just a moment.”
She stood, creamy rivulets of milky water gliding down her body, each droplet softening her skin. Damp rose petals clung to her stomach and thighs, and she wrung out her hair, twisting the dark locks over one shoulder. A shiver crawled along her spine and she shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself.
A flare of annoyance caused her brow to wrinkle in frustration. She’d forgotten to grab a towel.
The door to the bathing suite creaked and Everinne spun, bath water splashing around her calves.
“Oh, I said you could?—”
The words died on the tip of her tongue, and her voice failed her. The stain of humiliation scalded her cheeks as she turned to find Kralv Oldrich standing in the doorway with her black fur robe draped over his arm. His large frame crowded the bathing suite, and his fingers, the ones capable of breaking a neck, stroked the fur lining her robe. A crown of obsidian branches dipped in gold was set atop his head, where his graying brown hair was swept back from his face. He was dressed in varying shades of black, while threads of gold trimmed his broad shoulders, and a wolf head was embroidered onto the lapel of his sleek coat. Thick brows were drawn over piercing black eyes, they were cold and empty, much like his heart, and skimmed her appearance from head to toe.
Everinne froze, covering her breasts with her left arm and clamping her right hand between her legs in a pitiful attempt to shield herself from his view.
Kralv Oldrich cocked his head to one side, roughing his knuckles over his short beard. “Is that any way to greet your kralv?”
“I…” Embarrassment heated her and she winced, ducking her head. “Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty.”
Everinne curtsied in the tub, naked and ashamed, her body trembling as goosebumps pebbled her flesh beneath his harsh stare.
He stepped further into the bathing suite, his polished boots clicking against the gleaming tile floor. “I find myself in need of your services.”
The kralv reached out and plucked a rose petal from the top of her breast, crushing it between his fingers until it shriveled into a mottled lump.
It took every ounce of self-control for Everinne not to rear away from him. He was the kralv, and it made no difference if he was uncouth and repulsive. He could just as easily have her whipped or put to death for disobeying his orders…or worse.
Kralv Oldrich scoffed, tossing her robe at her.
She caught it quickly, clutching it to her bare body.
