Page 84 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“I see your talk with Everinne went well.”
Atlas swung his head in the direction of the other voice, instantly regretting the action. But he saw Veros lounging against the door frame with his arms crossed, a look of mild amusement dancing across his usually somber expression.
“You should be thrilled.” Atlas turned on the faucet and hastily brushed his teeth. He washed his face until his fingers were numb from the frigid water. Then he pointed in Veros’s direction. “She rejected me.”
Veros blanched, his brows lifting slightly. “I honestly didn’t think she would.”
“Then apparently you don’t know your sister as well as you think you do.” Grabbing a towel, he scrubbed it over his faceand disheveled hair. At least for now, with the mirror busted, he wouldn’t have to face his own reflection.
“Everinne claimed she would be my wife in name only, and that I could fuck whoever I want.” He tossed the towel aside. “As if I would.”
To this, Veros said nothing. Atlas kept his mouth shut while his friend and captain helped him change his clothing. He kicked off the soapy pants and shrugged out of the wet shirt, discarding it on the floor. Though why they felt the need to make him wear proper royal attire was beyond him. They forced him into a pair of black pressed pants with freshly polished boots, a crisp shirt of deep evergreen, and a dark brown vest embroidered with golden threads. At some point, Maxim entered the room and deposited a silver tray filled with a basket of buttery rolls and a steaming cup of tea that smelled faintly of mud and brewed herbs. Since his poor valet had been relieved of his usual duties by both the Lord of Time and the Captain of the Guard, he set to cleaning the disaster left behind from Atlas’s drunken rage.
Guilt swarmed him.
His bedchamber was freezing, no thanks to the fact that he’d shattered the glass door leading to his verandah last night. Two walls were in a state of disrepair from his fist, the stench of alcohol hung heavy in the room, and the bathing suite was covered in glass and drops of blood.
“Thank you, Maxim.” Atlas grabbed a roll and shoved half of it into his mouth, hoping the bread would soak up some of the honeyfire still churning in his gut. “I apologize for the mess I’ve created.”
Maxim just hummed in response. “I’ve seen far worse, my prince.”
Of that, Atlas had no doubt. His valet was once a great warrior. He reached for the tea next, already knowing what would come.
He glared into the cup of sludge, and while he was grateful for the palace healers and their numerous remedies, he wished this particular one looked a little bit less like the muck scraped off the bottom of his boot. It didn’t help matters that it tasted of wet dirt and moldy herbs, either.
His lip curled. “I hate this stuff.”
“Unfortunately for you, Your Highness”—Caedian clapped him loudly on the back—“there’s no faster way to cure a nasty hangover.”
Atlas gulped the murky contents down, then quickly bit off another hunk of bread to get the foul taste out of his mouth. “Can’t you just let me go back to sleep?”
“Not a chance.” Caedian’s gaze slid to where Maxim was sweeping up the remains of the glass door. The sky was the hue of gold and burnt orange. “You slept most of the day away in a drunken stupor and now you have a meeting.”
Atlas ran a hand through his rumpled hair, and the messy curls fell into his face. “What meeting?”
Veros cleared his throat. “The one with Eldress Valaina of Morvayne and High Priestess Rozalie of the Coven of the Scarlet Moon.”
“You know,” Caedian ventured, adjusting the silver leather cuffs on his wrists, “the one you requested as soon as possible.”
He arched one white, prominent brow.
Shit.
He was supposed to meet with the Eldress and the High Priestess to discuss the vanishing immortals, but he’d been so caught up with the announcement of his rather abrupt betrothal to Everinne that he’d completely forgotten. Not only was he trying to recover from a self-inflicted hangover, but he wasn’t at all prepared for a discussion with two of the highest-ranking members of Prava’s society. They would expect him to have aplan, they would demand answers, and he had neither to give them.
“That’s today?” Atlas pressed his fingers to his temples, massaging slowly, grateful the pounding ache in his head was already beginning to ease.
“Tonight, yes,” Caedian confirmed.
Atlas’s gaze slid to Veros. “Are you coming, too?”
The Lord of Time gave a small bow. “If you’d like for me to be there, then I will.”
Atlas nodded slowly. He supposed he should ask Everinne to join him, but if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see her. Didn’t know if he would even be able to face her. Not so long as she continued to deny him and reject their bond. And after he’d kicked her out of his chambers last night, he wouldn’t be at all surprised if she didn’t want to see him either. There was a good chance his father already knew about their premarital falling out, Atlas hadn’t gone to any great lengths to disguise his anger, and every servant and guard Everinne had passed in the halls once she fled his room had likely witnessed her outpouring of tears.
Knowing Oldrich, he’d likely force them to marry sooner rather than later to avoid any chance of scandal. Or escape. The last thing the kralv would want was his reputation smeared by the announcement of a sham engagement, especially one that tied his already scorned son to a female of no noble rank or birthright.
Perhaps this was the kralv’s way of inflicting yet another form of punishment upon him.
