Chapter 40
Forty
E verinne couldn’t find Atlas anywhere.
As a matter of fact, she couldn’t find Veros either.
The obsidian halls and unsettling rooms of Prava’s opulent palace were oddly quiet.
Usually brimming with backhanded compliments and idle social chatter, it appeared as though even most of the loitering nobles had abandoned Starysa’s shining jewel in favor of other pursuits.
Not that she could blame them. Everinne could only force a smile through mundane conversations for so long before she’d rather walk the entirety of the gardens in her most ill-fitting pair of heels.
Every so often she’d pass a pair of guards, and though they said nothing to her, she could feel the heat of their questioning gazes burning into her while she walked by them.
Their stoic silence clashed with the decisive click of her boots along the obsidian floor.
It was nearly impossible to move with stealth through the palace.
Every time she took a step, she loudly announced her presence.
Glossy black walls mirrored both her reflection and the darkened gold glow of firelight from gilded sconces.
Though she knew it was impossible, it felt as though there were eyes behind the gleaming surfaces tracking her every movement.
The thought alone made her skin crawl, and she tugged her sweater up over one shoulder even as it slipped down the other.
She glanced behind her, finding the long corridor empty, despite the murmur of indiscernible voices whispering past her ear.
Everinne hated the palace.
Were she crowned the kralvina, she would have it destroyed, burned to ash, then blessed with sage by the Coven of the Scarlet Moon before rebuilding something less…imposing.
She focused on the thread binding her to Atlas, plucking at it gently like the strings of a violin. It thrummed in response, melodic and pure, yet there was the slightest waver. As though she couldn’t quite reach him.
Everinne twisted the ring on her finger, the one belonging to the late kralvina, Valentyna Skye.
In the dimly lit corridor, the large stone glittered like the teal waves of the Ladova Bay.
It was stunning, breathtaking really, and when Everinne lifted her gaze, she found her interest drawn to the row of arching windows where the frozen gardens had been kissed by winter.
If she remembered correctly, Valentyna loved the gardens, and they were especially useful in terms of her healing magic.
Right now, all the blossoms were decorated with frost, covering each petal with a layer of icy lace.
Sprigs of berries burst from the elegantly shaped evergreens, the small lake surrounded by smooth large gray stones was frozen solid, and snowflakes danced down from the somber sky, coating the ground white.
Maybe Atlas was outside in the gardens.
Maybe he, too, needed to get out of the palace.
Everinne reached for the door that would lead her into the cold afternoon, when a low, gravelly voice sent a chill of unease racing down her spine.
“Going somewhere?”
Swallowing the knot of anxiety that formed in the back of her throat, Everinne turned to face Kralv Oldrich.
He stood a few feet from her, as though he’d simply appeared out of thin air, and her panicked gaze latched onto the gleaming walls, but they gave nothing away.
She curtsied out of fear of repercussions and not out of respect, taking note of the way he was dressed in warming layers, like he’d recently come out of the cold.
His vest was a thick brocade, stitched with gold thread, and he wore gray wool pants.
A shawl of gray fur lined the overcoat he wore, and though it was long, it was barely wide enough to stretch across the broad expanse of his chest. She thought one of the onyx buttons would pop off at any moment.
Everinne didn’t care for the way his dark eyes seemed to absorb her, nor did she enjoy the way his tongue wet his papery lips as he sauntered toward her.
Refusing to cower, she locked her spine into place and gave him an answer she hoped would appease him enough so he would leave her alone. “I was only looking for Prince Atlas.”
The kralv nodded, scraping the back of his knuckles across his trim, graying beard. “Mm. He has a tendency to run off when he thinks no one is looking.”
Everinne’s brows pinched together in concern. She wasn’t sure what the kralv meant by such an insinuation, but she imagined whatever he was hinting at, it certainly wasn’t good.
“Have you decided on a date for the wedding?” he asked, easily whipping her from one topic of conversation to the next without giving her a chance to recover.
“Ah, no, Your Imperial Majesty.” She clasped her hands together, covering her engagement ring with her palm, leaving her amethyst with the dagger ready to spring in full view, just in case. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss it.”
“I thought as much. A spring wedding would be lovely.” His large hand cut through the air in a dismissive wave, and his mouth curled into a sardonic smile. “But then again, the fates would favor one on the Winter Solstice as well.”
Everinne startled and backed away from the kralv. “The Winter Solstice? But that’s?—”
“Days away?” Kralv Oldrich interjected. “Yes, I know.”
He tilted his head, his gold crown embellished with black diamonds and etched with a wolf head glinting like a beacon in the dim light. Then he did the unthinkable, he offered her his hand.
“While we wait for Atlas to return from his pleasure parlor, you can come assist me in the dungeon.”
She balked then, shrinking into herself as his words took root inside her, worming their way like a disease into her heart. “I’m sorry, what? Did you just say pleasure parlor?”
The kralv chortled, his massive frame trembling like a mountain on the brink of collapse as his hand fell to his side. “Don’t tell me you thought it was just a rumor?”
At her shocked silence, he arched a wiry brow. “I take it you’ve never seen it, then? Consider yourself lucky. It’s one of the more discreet parlors where patrons lounge on silk and satin pillows, drink copious amounts of whiskey and wine, and fall under the prince’s sexual spell.”
Kralv Oldrich scoffed, his upper lip curling into a sneer. “Vile place. Nothing but a frenzied orgy most of the time.”
Everinne’s stomach soured, and she bit back the urge to heave.
She didn’t want to think about the possibility of Atlas between the thighs of another female, even though she’d foolishly told him to do exactly that.
She clutched the hem of her sweater, twisting it with her damp palms. The kralv had rendered her speechless in the worst way.
She wanted to deny his accusations, to claim that Atlas would never partake in such activities, at least not since he was going to be marrying her.
Except she couldn’t find him. The bond was foggy, a distant pull she could scarcely hold on to, and there was no sign of him anywhere.
“Come along. You can ask Atlas to show you his parlor when he returns.” The kralv snared her elbow and she staggered forward, letting him lead her without question.
Guards materialized on both sides of her, and gradually, Everinne’s heart tumbled as her chest hollowed out.
“And if he refuses, then I will take you there myself, so you can see exactly who it is you’re really going to marry. ”
The dungeon was just as awful as before. It reeked of urine, sweat, and the pungent, metallic tang of blood. Something dripped in the permeating darkness, the steady plopping noise enunciated by the pervasive quiet that seemed to linger between the hushed groans of despair.
Everinne’s only consolation was that Aisling was no longer behind the metal bars.
Hopefully, Veros had safely taken her to the Astralplane, and with any luck, she would be free from Prava and the Mystic Obscura.
If Kralv Oldrich had even noticed she was missing, he made no show of it.
He simply strode through the dank corridor, his chest puffed, his hands curled into meaty fists capable of pulverizing flesh.
Maybe he was too consumed with other things, like being an asshole ruler intent on ruining the lives of his people, to realize Aisling was gone.
The cell Everinne stood before was smaller than all the rest, yet it housed two occupants—one male and one female.
The male looked absolutely terrified. He was tucked into the far corner, his knees pulled up to his chest, where he rocked in time to the haphazard beating of his own heart.
The clothing he wore was nothing but scraps—the brown pants were shredded around the ankles and his threadbare sweater had been torn at the upper arm, where a festering wound bloomed against his discolored skin.
His eyes were wide and bulging, his face gaunt as though he hadn’t eaten in days, and his lips were moving.
No words were spoken, at least none that Everinne could hear, but she imagined he was likely repeating some kind of prayer over and over in an effort to save him from whatever fate awaited him.
However, the female…she looked ready to rip off the face of anyone who took a step near them.
Her eyes were wild, an unnatural shade of yellow, and they flashed with raw loathing.
She bared her teeth like a feral animal, pacing the short length of the cell, waiting to pounce.
Her navy pants were tucked into a pair of scuffed boots, there was a small gash on her thigh where her blood soaked the cotton fabric, and her ivory blouse was covered in filth.
She gripped the bars with such strength, Everinne thought for sure she would bend the metal until it bowed like a tree branch.
But the cell held firm, containing the female and her seething rage.
“Everinne.” The kralv spoke her name like a curse. “I’d like you to meet Alevka and Wilhelm.”