Chapter 8 #2
Atlas grunted, finishing off his drink. “My future wife.”
Then he poured two more glasses of the bovgka whiskey. One for himself and one for Caedian.
“Yes.” Veros nodded in Atlas’s direction. “And apparently she’ll be able to conjure that raspberry chocolate cake you’re so fond of.”
Caedian’s face remained blank as he dropped onto the seat next to Atlas. He turned to face him. “Did you say wife?”
Atlas arched a brow. “You haven’t heard?”
“Oh, I have.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably. “I didn’t realize you’d found her already.”
“I didn’t.” Atlas took a final inhale from his stig, then tossed it into the hearth. The flames turned a deep violet from the skullcap, then returned to their normal fiery hue.
Veros smirked. “We’re simply going over some of the necessary qualifications.”
“I see.” Caedian swirled his glass, thoughtful. “And raspberry chocolate cake is a qualifier?”
“Might as well be,” Atlas muttered.
Caedian leaned forward, resting both of his elbows upon his knees. His gray gaze landed on Atlas. “How are you going to find this mystery female?”
“My father seems to think I should host a ball,” Atlas scoffed.
The mere idea of being forced to dress in court regalia while being fawned over like he was nothing more than a walking sex toy was enough to make the alcohol warming his insides sour.
“Because what better way to find my future bride than by choosing her from an overabundance of females all vying for my attention?”
To anyone else’s ears, his complaints might sound vain. But Veros and Caedian knew him, they knew he was more than the reputation he’d built for himself. More than the prince of pleasure.
“I wonder why the kralv is so intent on you throwing a ball.” Veros set his empty glass on the table, and a line of concern creased his forehead. “Seems a bit coincidental, if you ask me.”
“Yeah,” Caedian agreed, roughing a hand over his face. “Because it’s probably serving as a distraction.”
Atlas’s gaze slid to the door. He listened for any passing servants, any hint that the words they spoke would find their way back to the kralv.
Understanding his intent, Veros stood and quietly closed the door, then returned to his seat.
“Has it happened again?” Atlas asked, keeping his voice low.
Caedian sat back, nodding. “I’m afraid so, Your Highness.”
“Who was it this time?”
“Khiran Vespertine.”
Fuck.
Khiran belonged to the Morvayne, a clan of ancient and exorbitantly wealthy vampires known for their lavish parties in the underground of their estate.
Not only that, but they produced and marketed a concoction that allowed anyone to be bitten without fully turning.
Atlas had attended quite a few of their sexually charged festivities, had been given a personal tour of their extensive wine cellar, and was on a first name basis with Valaina, the clan’s leader.
In fact, she’d almost convinced him to fuck her until her mate threatened to cut off his cock.
Would’ve been nice if she mentioned she was taken at the time.
“They won’t let this disappearance slide.” Atlas blew out a breath, shaking his head. Valaina would take the head of anyone who stood in her way.
“No,” Caedian agreed. “They won’t.”
Already seven immortals had gone missing. Khiran made eight. Not that any life was insignificant, but those who vanished so far had seemingly gone unnoticed by the general public. Khiran, however…
It was only a matter of time before the entire vampire population was in an uproar. Before all of Starysa found out that immortals were disappearing without a trace.
“Does the kralv know?” Veros asked, his face a mask of indifference.
Caedian nodded sharply. “Yes, my lord. He does.”
A beat of heavy silence passed between them.
“And?” Atlas prodded.
“And nothing, Your Highness.” Caedian glowered, his frustration evident. “He didn’t ask any questions, he only mumbled something about bothersome pests, then walked away. He didn’t even care.”
Fucking bastard.
Oldrich didn’t give a damn about Prava. He might have once, before, but not any longer.
His greed for wealth far outreached the safety of his subjects.
But these vanishings, they were not some little conflict that could be shoved into a closet or swept under a rug to be dealt with another day.
They would inevitably cause a rift between the mortals and immortals, especially in regard to where the blame was placed.
Veros leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands across his lap. “Perhaps I made a mistake in taking away Everinne’s finances.”
Atlas’s brows pinched together with confusion. “How so?”
Veros rubbed his lips together, thinking. “All the immortals that have disappeared so far, what is the one thing they have in common?”
“They’re similar in age?” Caedian suggested.
Atlas thought for a moment. No, age would not matter. It would have to be something greater, something more significant.
Shadows fell across Veros’s face. “No. Their magic.”
“But, my lord.” Caedian sat up straight, then ran a hand through his white hair. “None of their magic is similar.”
“You’re right.” On his next breath, Veros closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a swirl of an emotion Atlas had never seen before lurked in their turquoise depths. “But each of their magic is rare .”
Oh shit.
“Oh, shit,” Caedian murmured, echoing his sentiments completely.
Veros made a painfully valid point. All eight immortals were blessed with obscure kinds of magic, and the only people who knew about Everinne’s magic were the ones sitting in his study. The only reason Caedian knew was because he’d witnessed it. Once.
“If I don’t protect her,” Veros whispered more to himself than to them, “who will?”
“We will.” Atlas looked to his Captain of the Guard. “I want Everinne watched at all times, but only send your best soldiers. The ones who move with the shadows, who track and remain undetected. The ones who stay out of sight.”
Veros made a derisive sort of noise, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “If she finds out she’s being spied on, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“None of us will.” Atlas grinned, knowing full well Everinne would make their lives miserable. Then he returned his attention back to Caedian. “I want reports of her every movement. Daily updates of her whereabouts. If she so much as breathes , I want to be informed. Do you understand?”
Caedian nodded, pressing one fist to his heart. “Yes, Your Imperial Highness.”
Atlas stole a glance at Veros. Worry haunted the planes of his face. There was a sliver of fear there too, the deep, terrifying realization that he may not be able to protect his sister.
“Relax, Veros.” Atlas leaned back, confident in his abilities to at least do one thing right. “We won’t let anything happen to her.”
He told himself he’d do it for anyone, that he would put such extreme precautions in place for anyone else.
But it was a lie. Everinne might be careless and a thorn in his side at times, but by the gods, she was powerful .
If she fell into the wrong hands, if her magic was controlled by someone with a corrupt heart, it would be devastating.
Atlas glamoured a deck of cards on the table in front of him, and a healthy stack of gold coins. He bent forward and started shuffling. “Who’s up for a round of Cups?”
Caedian’s robust laughter filled the study, pressing down on the tension until it dissolved completely.
“Last time we played Cups, you took all of my money.” But then he pulled out a velvet pouch and gave it a shake. The jingle of coins echoed loudly. “Deal me in.”
Atlas arched a brow, eyeing his best friend, wishing he could offer him more reassurance. “Veros?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold timepiece he always wore.
The chain glinted in the soft light. The face was made of a shimmery blue stone and silver dials spun in multiple directions at different speeds.
Runes were engraved along the outer edge, and while Atlas knew Veros controlled time, he’d never quite figured out the complexities of how his magic actually worked.
Veros slid the timepiece back into his pocket and then pulled out a stack of notes, dropping them onto the table.
“One round.” He grinned. “Hope you’re ready to lose those precious cufflinks of yours, playboy prince.”
Atlas laughed. Loudly. Fully.
Those fucking cufflinks were hand-cut sapphires and worth more than all the coins and notes on the table combined.
Atlas smirked. “Bring it on, time lord.”