Page 85 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Either way, Atlas knew he would have to reconcile with Everinne at some point, lest the kralv see fit to make their lives even more of a living hell.
He roughed his knuckles, now fully healed, along the jaw. “Where is Everinne?”
Veros shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and Atlas couldn’t recall a time he’d seen his friend so uncomfortable in his own skin. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and looked at his boots. “I expected to find her here with you.”
Atlas gave a short, humorless laugh. “She’s not in her room?”
“I have my team tracking her every movement, Your Highness.” Caedian stepped forward, rolled his shoulders, then tucked his hands behind his back. “They followed her out of the palace this morning.”
“And she hasn’t returned?” Atlas asked.
“Not yet.”
“Where was she headed?”
Caedian rocked back onto his heels and stole a glance at Veros. “Northeast, toward the Deszvila Forest.”
Atlas’s gut clenched, seized with worry. The forest was not safe for anyone. It was more than stories and folklore that haunted the wicked wood, it was a desperate kind of darkness. A ravenous evil. He knew she made careless decisions, but for Everinne to walk into the forest alone with the winter night steadily approaching, that was damn near a death sentence.
“If she has not left on her own by the time the sun sets,” Atlas ordered, his tone tainted with warning, “have them go in after her.”
He blew out a low breath. Either that, or he would go in and bring her back himself.
Caedian nodded sharply. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Captain?” Veros leaned against the far wall near Atlas’s closet, with his arms folded across his chest. Despite the fact that his features remained smooth and unruffled, his shoulders were taut with tension. “Might I have a word with the imperial prince?”
Caedian cocked a brow. “That depends, my lord. Are you planning on attacking His Highness again?”
Veros shoved off the wall and lifted both hands in surrender. “Only if he hits me first.”
“Fine.” Caedian motioned between the two of them, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “But the next time you two brawl, I want to place bets before I’m forced to draw my sword.”
He bowed once, then left the room, closing the door soundly behind him.
Atlas popped the collar of his shirt and gave himself a hasty once-over in the floor to ceiling mirror of gilded branches that stood opposite of his bed. “What’s on your mind, Veros?”
“I want to know why you proposed to Everinne.”
Atlas whipped around to face him. “I didn’t.”
Confusion clouded the turquoise of Veros’s eyes and he frowned. “What?”
“She claimed she was marrying me before I even had the chance to get down on one knee.” Atlas shrugged, spreading his hands wide. “I only gave her my mother’s ring after the fact.”
Veros remained silent for a few moments, then he shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head. “You don’t find that at all?—”
“Suspicious?” Atlas interjected. “Fuck yes, I do. I know damn well she wasn’t agreeing to marry me just to get away from that lord of starlight.”
“No, I imagine not.” He smoothed a few strands of dark brown hair back from his face, tucking them behind his ear. “Nor does it make sense for her to want to marry you, then deny the bond.”
Atlas blew out a harsh breath and grabbed another bottle of honeyfire from his wardrobe. “I’ll drink to that.”
“The hell you will.” Veros swiftly plucked it out of his hand. “You need a clear head when you meet with Eldress Valaina and High Priestess Rozalie.”
“If I must.” Atlas rolled his neck, wincing when it cracked loudly. He pulled open one of the drawers and rummaged through it, finding a crumpled pack of stigs. Flipping the top open, he plucked one out and stuck it between his lips. “Speaking of, have there been any more disappearances?”
“Not yet,” Veros muttered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. The brilliant blue flame sparked as Veros lit the stig for him, then he snapped it shut and returned it to his pocket.
