Page 68 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
He made atsking noise and stalked back around to the desk, leaning one hip against it. Rolling the cuffs of his black shirt, he shook his head once. “If only it was that simple.”
Everinne’s breathing hollowed out. If it wasn’t lashings, it must be something far worse.
“Under normal circumstances, there are usually two types of punishments, depending on the severity of the crime.” Kralv Oldrich cracked his knuckles, the corners of his mouth lifting into a placating smile. “A permanent trip to Rizenrok Forge. Or death.”
Dread slammed into her, and a tiny bead of sweat slid down her back.
“Now,” he continued, his eyes roving over her, “you will have to be an exception to the rule. It would look rather shameful if the Lord of Time’s sister was put to death or sent off to the mines, which is why I’m willing to offer you a deal. You’ve been keeping your magic a secret for averylong time, Everinne. It was wise of Veros to keep you hidden away. But someone of such power could prove to be quite useful to their kingdom.”
Her heart squeezed in her chest, her lungs were too tight. “I don’t understand.”
“In exchange for my forgiveness and sparing your life, you will marry my son.” He pushed off the desk once more, closing the distance between them. Snaring her chin, he lifted her face. “And once you are engaged, you will utilize your magic at my every request.”
She tried to pull away, to escape his firm grasp, but the kralv only tightened his hold.
“You don’t understand,” she pleaded, tears springing to her eyes. “It’s too dangerous, I can’t control?—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he crooned, his sinister laugh ringing in her ears. “I control you now. Do as your kralv commands, or else.”
Kralv Oldrich’s magic exploded in a fit of tempered wrath. Its acrid stench of sulfur and smoke consumed her, stealing into her mind as he tore through her, bringing her worst fears to life. Visions swarmed her, awful images that left her trembling in terror with tears streaming down her cheeks—Veros being beaten and forced into submission, Atlas slogging through the mountains of the mine camp, battered and bleeding, and then Everinne, naked on her hands and knees, as a faceless man drove into her from behind while vicious laughter drowned out her screams.
A choking sob escaped her.
“That’s right.” The kralv’s cold voice pierced the horrors breaking her. “If you refuse to accept my offer, you will become a pet to the kralv’s guard. A toy for them to use and discard as they see fit. A proper repayment for the lives you so carelessly took.”
Everinne squeezed her eyes shut, convulsing against the onslaught, but the fears the kralv enforced upon her did not ease.
“Do we have a deal?” he asked.
“Yes,” Everinne rasped, opening her eyes to find the kralv staring down at her.
“Good. The ball is tonight. Make sure you dress the part.” He slowly loosened the cuffs of his sleeves, his lips pressed into a firm line, and his magic finally ebbed. “One word, one breath about this arrangement toanyoneand I will ensure the severity of every last one of your fears.”
Then he snapped his fingers and Everinne was being hauled out of the chair, her limp body dragged from the study.
“Take her to one of the guest rooms and be discreet,” Kralv Oldrich ordered. “Then send a maid to bathe her. She reeks of the street.”
The guards removing her from the study muttered their assent, their voices echoing quietly from somewhere above her.
“Death-touched,” one of them snarled.
“Can already imagine what they’ll call her.” The other chuckled as they lugged her out into the darkened hall. “The princess of pain.”
But Everinne didn’t hear them.
The only sound she could focus on was the shattering of her soul.
Twenty-Two
Atlas loosened the collar of his shirt, undoing the top two buttons. Beads of sweat slid down his spine, clinging to the fine fabric of his shirt, dampening it. The ballroom was stifling. The heat from the throng of dancing bodies had forced the palace staff to throw open the windows and doors, allowing the brisk night air to circulate through the crushing room. No one else seemed to notice the excessive heat, they were too busy grinding against one another to the blaring music pulsating through the space. The obsidian dance floor was packed with fae, vampires, witches, humans, and the like, all moving to the discordant beat of pumping music that set Atlas’s teeth on edge.
Rolling the cuffs of his sleeves, he propped his forearms on the gilded balcony overlooking the ballroom.
It reminded him of the Grand Cru—red and blue lights swirled overhead, the beams crashing into one another, drowning the space in mesmerizing hues of purple. A band was positioned in the corner upon a structured stage where lights slanted across them, illuminating the vibrant paint smeared across their bodies and instruments. With every new song, paint rained down on them from above, and they played through thecolorful mess, their smiles electric as slashes of pigment stained the air like a rainbow waterfall. There were cocktails filled with shimmery blue liquid topped with red cherries and pitchers overflowing with frothy ale. The females were covered in swirls of iridescent glitter, the males all coated in a light sheen of sweat.
His mother would be so disappointed.
Fucking skies, he was disappointed.
