Page 129 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
She wove her arms around his neck and her lashes fluttered closed. When his mouth found hers, she inhaled, breathing his woodsy, spicy scent into her. She took every layer, fusing him into her blood, wrapping her essence around him, and vowing to never let go.
Once upon a time, Everinne fancied herself in love with the Imperial Prince of Prava, but their shared kiss told another story—the one where she’d never fallen out of love with him, the one where she knew he would belong to her for an eternity.
Thirty-Nine
Atlas faced off against Veros in the training grounds, the resounding clash of their swords was just enough to muffle their conversation. His feet moved swiftly over the frozen ground, and with every step he matched his friend’s movements, his grip even, his strike sure. He opted for loose-fitting pants despite the winter chill in the air, and a trim sweater of soft wool for ease and accuracy. More than anything, however, he supposed he was grateful his wounds had healed in two days, and he was relieved there was only a scar from where that fleshflayer had attempted to gouge out his intestines.
He circled Veros, keeping his pace slow and methodical, tossing a haphazard glance over his shoulder every so often.
Caedian stood just to the right of where they sparred, his arms folded over his chest while he lounged against one of the granite pillars, silently scrutinizing all of Atlas’s mistakes. There was nothing his Captain of the Guard despised more than a pupil who refused to study. And while Atlas had been trained under Caedian for as long as he could remember, there were a few habits he’d refused to discard, and they set his captain’s teeth on edge.
Conversing during battle, for one.
“Have you learned anything new?” Atlas asked, sparing Caedian another glance as he dodged an attack from Veros. He knew it wasn’t the best of circumstances, but at least this way, they lowered the chances of their discussion being carried back to the kralv. Out here on the training grounds, their voices would blend with the clang of metal, drown in the grunts of those fighting around them, and hopefully be lost to the howling wind.
“As a matter of fact I have.” Caedian glowered, his gray eyes darkening with barely contained frustration. “While you were busy fighting for your life, nearly getting yourselfandour future princess killed, I spoke with Eldress Valaina and Davorin.”
Atlas locked his jaw and silently lunged into his next strike, which Veros easily dodged. Perhaps Caedian wasn’t frustrated with him after all. Maybe he was straight up pissed. There was an edge of hostility to his tone, and it was quite obvious that he was still furious about Atlas following Everinne into the Deszvila Forest. It was unlikely he’d forgive him anytime soon, especially after going in without any kind of reinforcements.
“And?” Veros prompted, saving Atlas from having to pull the information from Caedian.
The captain cut him down with a look of pure menace.
“And,” he drawled, shoving off the slate pillar, “Davorin confirmed our suspicions. There’s an entrance that links the Marzena to the Mystic Obscura. Apparently Khiran visited a number of times.”
Atlas considered this bit of knowledge. Khiran was the missing vampire whose blood could heal, whose bite never fully turned his victim. His type of power was rare, especially since his maker was a damn vampire fae—something that was almost unfathomable for the sole reason that faeries and vampires weren’t exactly known to be anything more than cordial to one another. All that aside, Khiran had been one of the first well-known immortals to vanish and it was no small coincidence that the last place he was seen was the Mystic Obscura.
Veros swiped at him, the tip of his sword just licking Atlas’s shoulder. The blade cut through the sweater and grazed his skin.
“You’re distracted.” Veros jabbed with his weapon again, and Atlas barely avoided the hit.
“I’m thinking,” Atlas countered, tossing the hilt of his sword from one hand to the other, weighing it as he ran his tongue along his teeth.
He knew the hunting of immortals with rare magic and the Mystic Obscura had to be connected somehow. It was like he was staring at a puzzle, and there was only one piece missing, the one that would mesh the image together. He never should’ve trusted Reine.
Fucking blood magic.
“We’re going to the Marzena,” he announced, lowering his weapon. “Tonight.”
“Giving up already, Your Imperial Highness?” Veros teased, twirling his sword with one hand. His dark hair fell in front of his eyes and tiny snowflakes started to fall from the graying heavens like a dusting of frost.
“No.” Atlas sheathed his weapon, he would not be caught without again. “I’m merely saving my energy for whatever dangers await us in the Marzena.”
He nodded toward Caedian, whose scowl only continued to deepen. “Make the necessary preparations. You’re coming with us.”
Caedian cocked his head to the side, his breath misting before him in an icy fog. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me?”
“I’m planning, because contrary to popular belief, I have every intention of ruling Prava one day. And since we’re bringing Everinne along with us, I want to make every effort to ensure hersafety.” Atlas rounded on Veros then, pointing one finger in his direction. “And before you say anything, if you don’t think she should come with us, then you can be the one to tell her she has to stay behind.”
Veros lifted both hands in defeat and took a step back. “Point taken, Your Highness.”
Atlas pinned Caedian with a look, quietly daring his captain to contradict him. He might be the prince of pleasure, he might smoke and drink and carouse into the early morning hours, but he was still the fucking prince. One day, he would wear the crown. One day, all of Prava would belong to him.
“Fine,” Caedian grumbled, then raised one hand in warning. “But if you pull another stunt like you did the other night, trust you won’t be able to take a piss without someone watching you.”
Atlas smirked. “Fair enough.”
Maybe his captain was coming around after all.
