Chapter Eighteen
LOR
soft hand rests on my forehead. With my eyes closed, I lie still as theA hand travels down to my cheek, fingers ghosting across my bottom lip before skimming over my chin and then leaving. I frown at the loss of the soothing sensation when I hear a low, deep chuckle and the hand resumes its
voyage across my skin.
When I feel the mattress dip, my eyes flutter open.
Atlas sits next to me, a gentle smile on his face. “Hello there,” he says, his warm, honeyed voice as soothing as a balm. “Welcome back, Lor.”
I close my eyes and suck in a long breath before I open them again.
“Am I alive?” It’s hard to be sure. I shift in the bed, testing for a sharp sting of pain, but the movement is surprisingly easy. There’s an ache, but it’s
not the lashing pain I felt lying on the beach before I passed out.
“You’re alive and you were amazing out there,” he says, awe in his voice
as he runs the back of his hand down my cheek. I shake my head, squeezing my fists in frustration.
“No, I answered too late. I failed the test.” I push down the tears, pleading to be released. Of course, they were going to send me back to Nostraza at the first opportunity. I’m shocked I’m not already there. My ridiculous dream to become the Sun Queen is over. What was I thinking? Of course, this wasn’t
my future. My future has always been far more uncertain. At least I’ll get to see Willow and Tristan. At that, I nearly start crying again.
“You didn’t fail,” Atlas says, and I peer up at him, my brow furrowed.
“You passed the test, Lor.”
“What do you mean? I fell into the water.”
“But you got out,” he replied. “The trial wasn’t only about answering the questions—anyone could read a book and do that. The challenge was also a test of your determination if you failed. That’s why the rescuers didn’t go in right away when the Tributes fell in. They were giving them a chance to get out on their own. If you made it back to shore alive, then you passed the test.”
Tears burn my eyes for an entirely different reason now. “I passed.” It’s
not a question, but a statement. I passed. They’re not sending me back to Nostraza. At least not today.
Atlas smiles and winks. “You did. And I’m happy I could help with my little book.”
“Right, thank you.” Except I’m not sure how much it helped, since I still
had to swim back to shore after fending off two deadly monsters, but I guess it’s the sentiment that counts.
“What about Elanor?” I ask. “She fell in and had to be rescued.”
Atlas shifts where he sits next to me on the bed, his hip pressing against my thigh. “I’m afraid her role in the Trials is over, but eliminated Tributes are
given a place of honor in my court. She’ll be fine.”
“And Solana…” Her name comes out as a breath. The Tribute that never resurfaced.
“That was unfortunate,” Atlas says, his expression grim. “It’s always a tragedy when we lose a Tribute during the Trials.”
“But her family,” I whisper.
“They’ll be taken care of.” Atlas squeezes my hand, lifting it up and holding it in his lap. Bandages are wrapped around it, and I flex my fingers, wincing at the dull pain that shoots up my arm. My heart clenches at his words, as though gold or treasure could ever make up for losing a daughter.
A sister. I knew nothing about Solana, but surely someone will miss her.
Even this rat from Nostraza had two people who loved her.
“The healers are allowed to give you something for the pain,” he says gently, brushing the bandages. “But they’re not to heal you, except to prevent your death.”
That’s when I remember. I shoot up, my body protesting at the sudden movement.
“Marici,” I ask, panicked. “Is she okay?”
Atlas presses down on my shoulder, settling me back on the soft pillows.
“She’s fine. They revived her on the beach, and she’s going to make a full recovery. What you did was very brave, Lor.”
“Is she out of the Trials?” I ask, knowing how much this must mean to her,
too. She told me how much her family was counting on her to win.
“She is, but she’s alive, thanks to you.” Atlas traces a delicate pattern up the inside of my arm, sending tingles to my fingertips. “Why did you do that,
Lor? You risked your life going back to save her.”
I shake my head, my hair rustling against the pillow. “I couldn’t just leave
her there,” I say, angry that he would doubt me. “What kind of place is this, where anyone would question that?”
The look on Atlas’s face turns inscrutable, his eyes darkening. “You’re right. I’ve grown so used to Fae who exist only to serve themselves and their own ambitions that it’s hard to comprehend when someone acts out of selflessness.” He peers at me, his gaze intense. “Was it not that way in
Nostraza?”
“Of course it was. That doesn’t mean I had to give into it completely.” I bite the corner of my lip. “Though you should know I did plenty of things I’m not proud of to survive.”
He nods as if he understands. And maybe he does. I remember what Gabriel said about the difficult choices kings and queens must make.
“Then you are even more remarkable than I originally thought,” he says, rubbing the back of my hand.
I scoff, sure he’s mocking me, and look away. He grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my face towards him. “I mean it, Lor.
When you walked into that throne room the first day, I thought you were the
most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
“I was an hour from death,” I say, wanting to dispel this strange sensation in my chest at his words, but he only shakes his head.
“No, you shone like a star. The determination on your face, the fierceness in your eyes. I knew right then you were no ordinary Tribute. You already
carried yourself like a queen.”
My breath puffs out from my lips as I absorb the absurdity of what he’s saying. But what does he have to gain by flattering me? I am nothing to him.
And with Elanor, Marici, and Solana out of the contest, he has six far more beautiful and far more cultured Tributes to choose from.
Atlas leans down, his face so close to mine, I inhale his scent. Without meaning to, I take a deep breath as the aroma of cinnamon and honey fills my lungs. The corner of his mouth ticks up, his bright blue eyes playful. He can probably hear my heart pounding. Being this close to him is overwhelming.
“How are the others?” I stammer out, trying to focus on something other than the line of his throat and the way his shirt allows me to glimpse the
exquisite curve of his collarbone. His hip presses against mine harder, and I wonder at the appropriateness of him being this casual in my bedroom, recalling the humiliating conversation with Madame Odell.
“I think they’re fine,” he says, his mouth still inches from mine, his bright eyes lighting up like the sun is awake in them. “When you’re feeling better, will you join me for dinner again? I promise there will be no interruptions this time.”
“You’ve spent time with the others?” I ask, not sure why I’m trying to push him away, but I’m acutely aware of the sensations he’s inciting. This is nothing like what I’d felt for Aero back in Nostraza or any of the boys who’d come before him. This is all-consuming. This is like drowning in fire. I could
perish in those eyes. Lose myself in his scent. Wrap myself in those strong, muscled limbs and never resurface, content to die and never draw another breath, all with a smile on my face.
His soft chuckle rushes through me like a handful of sparkles dropped from above. It’s indulgent but kind. “Don’t worry, Lor. I am giving due
attention to all the Tributes, as is my duty. But I am only a male and I am searching for my queen. I’m allowed to have my favorites.”
I swallow a string of fiery nerves. His favorites? Am I happy to be counted
among that group or should I be worried he said favorites, plural? Who else is on the list?
“What if the Mirror chooses someone who isn’t your favorite?” I ask, sure the hallowed Artefact of this court can’t possibly think I’m fit to be its queen.
The look on Atlas’s face grows thoughtful. “It has happened in the past,” he says, “but it’s understood the Mirror knows and takes into consideration the feelings of all parties. It’s never been wrong about who would make the ideal queen.”
I let out a deep breath. “Well, that’s good.”
He chuckles again and shifts closer, his big body leaning over mine. Our hips are still pressed together, our chests nearly touching, and my breath flees from my lungs.
He picks up a lock of my hair, twisting it between his fingers gently. It’s grown a bit more since Callias’s visit and is looking far more respectable. He tucks it behind my ear and then presses his hand into the pillow next to my head.
“I’d very much like to kiss you, my lady,” Atlas says, fire burning in his expression. “Would you allow me to do so?”
Unable to speak, I let out a ragged gasp and then nod. His smile grows
wide as he lowers his head and, like the softest brush of wings, presses his mouth to mine.
The kiss starts out warm and tender, a delicate touch of silky lips. But then his tongue sweeps against the seam and I part them, wanting more. Wanting to feel him in my mouth. He makes a low sound in his throat before he
deepens the kiss. He tastes like cedar and wind mixed with something smokier, like an ancient tree standing in an enchanted forest.
It’s then the mood in the room shifts as our kiss grows hungry and frantic.
He leans closer, his chest brushing against mine until he’s poised above me on the bed, the barest space separating us. I don’t have time to wonder why
this beautiful Fae is kissing me before he lowers his body, and I moan at the sensation of his weight crushing me.
“Lor,” he says, my name filling his mouth in a strangled breath as we writhe against each other. There’s the sensation of his hardness between my legs and I lift my hips, pressing harder into his stiffening cock. I marvel that I’ve been able to incite this kind of reaction in such an ethereal male. He’s
lived a long time. Surely he’s been with many other women and females. I’m just another in a long line of conquests, I remind myself, but right now I don’t care, because this feels amazing.
He groans as he swivels his hips. I can feel everything through the thin material of my nightgown, the insides of my thighs growing damp as his tongue plunders my mouth, a hand gripping my hip with possession. He sucks on my bottom lip and then drags his mouth down the line of my throat, where he leaves a scorched path on my skin, like someone has painted me with a brush made of flames.
“Atlas,” I say, my hands sliding into his shiny hair, gripping it as I pull him closer. Whatever this means, whoever he is, I want more. I’ve spent my life
surrounded by darkness and the cold, relentless echo of stone. Atlas is the very embodiment of lightness and warmth. The opposing force of ardent fire against unrelenting ice.
The Sun King. Glowing and golden and glorious. I touch his cheek, running my fingers along his smooth skin. I’ve been peeled out of a
nightmare and anchored on top of a golden mountain. Arms thrown wide, I stand at the peak, screaming a tattered song that sounds almost like freedom.
He moves against me, making my back arch and my hips lift. His hand
slides down the side of my thigh, dragging my nightgown up with it. When his palm stamps into my bare skin, it burns straight to my core. Fingers dance
along my ribs, his thumb coming so close, but not quite brushing the bottom of my breast. His mouth continues exploring, his lips questing over my throat and down the angle of my collarbone. I moan, drinking in every sensation.
Every moment.
This is nothing like I’ve ever experienced. Atlas isn’t a boy, he’s a man grown. I can tell from the way he touches and kisses me that a night in his
arms would be like being undone and put back together in the best possible way.
“Lor,” he begs, his voice cracking on the rhythm of my name.
“Ahem,” comes a polite voice from the door. We snap apart to find Mag, a tray laden with food and a silver pot suspended between her hands. “I see you’re awake, my lady. The kitchen sent supper.”
To her credit, she pretends she sees nothing. Shuffling closer, her eyes on the floor, she sets the tray next to me as though she hasn’t just caught the Sun King practically devouring me. Atlas pushes himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed and squeezing my hand with a tipped smile before he stands up, smoothing down the front of his now rumpled shirt. My cheeks heat when he
throws me a roguish grin.
Mag keeps her eyes on the tray of food for another moment and then looks up.
“Your Majesty,” she finally concedes. “It’s kind of you to check on my lady during her recovery.”
Atlas sketches a bow, the picture of a proper gentleman. “Of course. It is my sworn duty to ensure the safety of every one of my Tributes.”
Mag nods, her lips pressing together as if holding back a clump of words
fighting for space on the tip of her tongue. Atlas looks at me where I’m now seated on the bed, my nightgown arranged back in place.
“Mag,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. “Once Lor is feeling better, I’ve requested her presence for dinner. You’ll send word?”
Mag drops into a curtsy. “Of course, Your Majesty, but perhaps this should be cleared with Madame Odell? I was told all Tribute activity was to be approved through her first.”
Her expression is uncertain as Atlas’s smile drops off his face.
“I wasn’t aware Madame Odell was the king of Aphelion?”
Mag shakes her head, her eyes falling to her feet, her hands clasped. “Of course not, Your Majesty. I just thought—”
“When I want the opinion of the Trial Mistress, I’ll be sure to ask for it,”
Atlas interrupts, cutting off whatever Mag was about to say next. I frown, watching the exchange with a curious eye.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Mag says, her voice small and quiet.
Atlas looks at me again, his smile returning. “Excellent. I look forward to seeing you again soon, Lor.” Before departing, Atlas takes my hand, pressing his lips to the back of it before he spins on his heel and tosses me a wink over his shoulder.
