Chapter 2
Two
T he last thing Atlas Skye expected to see tonight was his best friend’s sister dangling from a chandelier, looking like a damn sex goddess.
What the fuck was she thinking?
She moved like a sultry ballerina, grasping the golden arm of the fixture with one hand as she arched and twirled. The dress she wore barely covered her curves and the heels of her shoes reminded him of daggers poised to strike.
On any given day, Everinne Auvyre was wildfire.
Impulsive and reckless. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her, in fact, Atlas wasn’t sure she gave a damn about anything at all.
Her mouth spewed words sharper than his finest blade, and her eyes could send the most loyal of males to their knees.
But suspended from the ceiling like that, she looked like she was dancing among the stars.
Like she was forged from dreams and nightmares.
A fantasy in the making. Her graceful movements held him captive a moment longer until she peered over her shoulder and those eyes of hers landed on him.
Pools of turquoise with bursts of gold around the center, laced with venom.
He maneuvered his way further inside the Grand Cru, carrying himself with the sort of authority one would expect from him.
Careless, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants and a cocky half smile on his face.
Besides, he was the heir to the throne of the Korvny Fae, and he was acutely aware of the effect he had on those around them.
The nickname they gave him kept him up at night—the playboy prince.
He reigned over pleasure, possessing the ability to elicit lust and desire with barely lifting a finger, and everyone knew it.
It was also the main reason he could count the number of people he trusted on one hand.
A cluster of females surrounded Atlas, cooing, simpering, and fluttering their lashes. His gut clenched but he forced an easy smile. “Ladies.”
“Your Highness.” One of the females preened, tugging on her red top in an effort to put the fullness of her cleavage on display. “It’s such a pleasure to see you tonight.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
“I bet it is,” she murmured, and Atlas arched a brow. Her insinuation was not lost on him.
It wasn’t as though the females encircling him weren’t attractive.
On the contrary, they were lovely creatures.
He could take his pick if he wanted. Hell, he could probably have all three of them at once and guarantee they’d be on board with the idea if it meant they got to fuck the prince of Prava.
Whispers of his bedroom activities were widespread, even though he only used the sexual nature of his magic when the willing participant asked for it—begged for it, more like—but tonight he wasn’t in the mood for mindless sex.
Not since his father had berated him in front of his entire court earlier in the day by calling him a walking whorehouse . Atlas’s blood boiled at the thought of his father’s booming voice, of his constant ridicule.
Another female, this one with skin the color of freshly fallen snow, looped her arm through his, pawing at his bicep. He spared her a withering glance.
“Bold of you, milazk.” Atlas disentangled himself from her clutches. “But I choose who to take to my bed. Not you.”
Her mouth fell open in shock. She looked like he’d struck her.
Good.
He could easily morph from lackadaisical prince to royal asshole.
Shrugging away from the brazen female, Atlas put space between himself and everyone surrounding him, then summoned his wings.
Magic thrummed through his blood when they appeared, sleek black feathers streaked with gold.
Unfortunately, all they did was garner more attention, including that of his ever-vigilant Captain of the Guard.
Caedian Trivaris took one step toward him in warning. His brow furrowed in concern. “Your Highness…”
Atlas held up his hand. “I’m not going anywhere. I just have to take care of something.”
“And by something, you mean?—”
But Atlas didn’t give him a chance to finish. Instead he shot upward, then aimed for the massive chandeliers rotating around the expansive ceiling of the Grand Cru, where a particular female was about to find herself in a shit ton of trouble.
Behind him, Caedian’s stream of curses faded away under the blast of music.
He flew a little higher, close enough to where she would hear him, but far enough away to avoid her fist if the opportunity arose.
“Everinne.” He crossed his arms over his chest. If Veros found out about this little stunt, he was going to be pissed. “What the hell are you doing?”
Her icy glare cut to him. She hated him, and for good reason. “None of your business.”
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He kept his voice even, but when she released the chandelier and simply held onto it with one hand, his heart almost stopped.
“No,” she spat, then dragged one ankle up to her knee.
Her skin looked like velvet, all smooth and supple, and Atlas forced his gaze to stay focused on her face.
“Showing off your wingspan a little early tonight, aren’t you, Your Radiance?” She smiled then, but it was poisonous.
He wanted to wipe that stupid grin off her pretty little face. There was nothing he loathed more than when she called him that. His next words held a bite.
“No more than you’re showing off whatever it is you’re wearing under that pitiful excuse of a dress.”
“Joke’s on you.” Her smirk sharpened. “I’m not wearing anything under this pitiful excuse of a dress.”
His jaw clenched. Godsdamn, she was trouble.
Everinne lengthened her leg, and suddenly all the lights in the Grand Cru went out completely.
A roar of excitement sounded from the swelling ocean of people beneath them as shooting stars exploded across the glass dome ceiling.
The music pitched, the once frenzied beat dulling to a more calming rhythm.
Orbs of silver flashed in incandescent beams of faerie light while glitter fell around them like a waterfall of confetti.
The glitter collected on the collar of his shirt, coating his forearms and boots. It would take months to get this sparkly shit out of his wings.
But Everinne, her face was tilted upward like she was walking in the sun.
Her hair shimmered, her body glowed. It clung to the pointed tips of her ears, where purple stones pierced each one.
She looked as though she’d been kissed by the stars.
The makeshift stardust sprinkled across her cheeks and nose, down her neck, then further still to the swells of her breasts.
Atlas tore his gaze back up to her face only to find her watching him.
He shoved his hands back into his pockets, then shifted, stretching his wings.
“If you’d excuse me, I’m trying to finish my performance.” Everinne’s gaze dipped to the crush of bodies below them. “So I can have a celebratory drink.”
Atlas glanced down and spied Zoryana in the throng of people. He didn’t miss the look of worry in the witch’s eyes, or the two glasses she held in her hands. One nearly full of spiced wine, the other completely empty. He had no doubt which one belonged to Everinne.
A scowl marred his brow. “I think you’ve had enough to drink.”
“You’re not my babysitter, Your Radiance,” she taunted, reaching up to grab the chandelier with both hands. “Or are you going to run back to the palace and tell my brother?”
“I might,” Atlas snapped back, his anger rising. It infuriated him that she cared so little for Veros, no matter how many times he came to her rescue. “Especially since you blew him off tonight.”
There was a brief look in her eyes, an emotion he couldn’t place, but then it was gone. She simply stared at him.
“Do you mind?” Everinne’s voice dripped with disdain.
Atlas flew back, a little lower, just in case. “By all means, Wildheart, be my guest.”
Her jaw clenched at the use of the nickname, but it encompassed her in every essence of the word. Whether she liked it or not.
She spun away from him, her unruly dark waves tumbling down her back, glimmering in the splashes of silver light. In the next moment, she was swinging, rocking back and forth, using the momentum from the chandelier to assist in launching herself to the one across from her.
Atlas held his breath when she let go.
Everinne’s fingers just grazed the gilded arm of the fixture, but it wasn’t enough. Her painted nails clawed at the metal, yet she couldn’t find purchase. The gasps and screams of everyone watching her little show echoed in his ears as she fell.
With his heart stuck in his throat, he shot forward, wings ripping through the air. He caught her in his arms, soaring over the dancers, and a collective cheer rose up around them when he landed by the bar.
If she didn’t already hate him, she certainly would now.
“Veros was right,” he muttered as she struggled against his hold. “You do have a death wish.”
She scowled up at him, her mesmerizing eyes flashing with fury and something else. Something darker. “I don’t have a death wish.”
Atlas set her down, and she tugged on the absurd length of her dress in a poor attempt to straighten it. She took one step away from him and stumbled. He grabbed her arm and hauled her backward, spinning her so she faced him fully.
“Oh really? You just fell from a fucking chandelier. What if I hadn’t been there to catch you?”
“I’m sure someone else would’ve saved the day instead.” She tried to wrench herself free of him, but he only tightened his hold, not caring when she winced at the strength of his grip.
“Look around you, Everinne.” He spat out her name like a curse. “Last I checked, I’m the only fae in Starysa with wings. No one would have saved your ass.”
The brilliant purple and blue lights from before returned, flashing across her, cutting through the darkened corner where they stood. She attempted to yank her arm free again, but his hand slid to her wrist, pulling her closer.
“Let me go,” she demanded, glaring up at him.