Chapter Twenty
he thundering crash of the ocean is audible even before the doors swingT open. Made of glass, they reveal the horizon stretching across my view.
It’s nearly evening, and the sun is setting, casting the water in watercolor hues of orange and pink while the sand sparkles in the waning light like a carpet made of crushed diamonds.
I take a steadying breath, remembering the last time they brought us to the sea, where they dangled us like worms on hooks as we fought for our lives. I think of poor Solana, gone forever, and the ferocious burn of my wounds
when I fell into the water.
But tonight, there is no trial.
As promised, Atlas has invited me for dinner post-recovery, and I’m eager
to see him. Despite my worries and misgivings, I also can’t stop thinking about the way he kissed me. I’ve turned Apricia’s words over and over,
trying to uncover how I feel about him kissing her, too, but this is a
competition. He has every right to see who he’s compatible with, and he’s promised me nothing.
Tonight could be my opportunity to stand out from the crowd, though. I’m good at this. I know how to use my body to get what I want. I’ve certainly whored myself out countless times for much more insignificant prizes than a crown. This is a completely different situation, anyway. The two aren’t comparable. Atlas is a glorious king who makes my heart race, not a sleazy prison warden with an inferiority complex.
My hands ball into fists when the doors swing open, and I resolve to do whatever it takes to win. I need to stand before the Sun Mirror. It may be the only chance I’ll ever get to reclaim everything that was taken from me and Willow and Tristan. Though nothing will ever give us back our mother and father, maybe I can still find a way to honor their memory and make them proud.
A wide boardwalk traverses the sand, the planks sun-warmed beneath my bare feet. Mag dressed me in a stretchy two-piece suit made of soft, silky material that exposes the skin on my legs, stomach, and arms. Over it, I wear a sheer golden robe embroidered with hundreds of tiny beads. It floats behind me on the breeze, exposing my bared legs.
On my ankles are delicate gold chains that tinkle like miniature wind chimes as I walk. My hair has been left loose, and it tosses in the breeze. I shake my head, reveling in the sensation of free-flowing locks. I’m living in a dream, and I keep pretending the rooster won’t crow at any moment.
Gabriel marches ahead of me, down the length of the boardwalk, to a white
tent erected at the end. He’s still furious with me after what happened with Apricia in the garden and has resorted to speaking to me only in
monosyllables. That’s fine—I’m pissed at him, too. What a self-righteous prick.
Gabriel stops, pulling back one of the tent flaps, and gestures me inside.
The boardwalk widens into a large round platform, sanded down so the planks are as soft as velvet. The far end has been left open, offering a dazzling view of the water.
In the center of the tent sits a small table laden with a sparkling gold tablecloth and golden plates. Glittering goblets and silverware nestle next to a
centerpiece made of creamy white and shiny gold roses.
And while the setting itself is beyond coherent words, it’s the Fae male standing next to the table that truly sucks every shred of breath from my lungs.
Atlas waits with a casual tilt to his stance and smiles, his bright aqua eyes glowing like tide pools lit by fallen stars. His coppery brown hair hangs loose around his shoulders, and it’s all I can do to resist walking over to grab a fistful for myself.
He, too, wears a scant costume, the same silky material covering only his bottom half. A loosened robe hangs off his shoulders, exposing everything he isn’t wearing.
My gaze drifts over the curve of his thighs, the arch of his hips, and the prominent bulge between his legs I can’t help but notice. Gabriel clears his throat and I jump, realizing he's just caught me staring.
Still, I can’t seem to look away. My cheeks heat as my gaze wanders over defined arms and a carved stomach, soaking in the smooth planes of his
chest. Turns out he doesn’t have a tattoo on his ribs after all. There’s only a tanned canvas of warm skin just waiting to be touched by my itching fingers.
I admire the swoop of that collarbone I’ve glimpsed through the opening of
his shirt and note the bob of his throat when he swallows before our eyes finally meet. His gaze darkens and now I wish I’d left my robe untied. Would
it be too obvious if I did it now?
Something crosses his face—there for a moment and then gone, to be replaced by an expression that hooks into my center. No one has ever looked at me like that. This entire experience is like a fantasy I conjured every night I spent curled up on a rock-hard cot, barely covered by a thin grey sheet.
“Lor,” he says, stepping forward and holding out a hand. “I’m so happy
you’re feeling better.” He looks over at Gabriel and tips his chin. “You can let them know we’re ready for dinner.”
Gabriel says nothing as he turns and departs from the tent. Before he leaves, I cast a glance over my shoulder, noting the shrewd look in his eyes.
He’s still wondering why Atlas is bothering with me, and quite frankly, I’m wondering the same. But then I remember what Apricia said and wonder if he’s already invited her here, too. I’m just another Tribute here to give him access to his full power. We are all a means to an end, and I can’t lose sight of my true purpose.
“Please sit,” Atlas says, directing me to one of the plush chairs at the table.
The velvety seat is soft against my skin. “You look beautiful tonight.” He
smiles and tips his head. “Well, you always look beautiful, Lor.”
I can’t help the flush that his words cause, a blush feathering up my neck.
Either his expressions of interest are genuine or he’s an excellent actor. When I’m seated, he pours me a glass of wine and then one for himself. The tent flap opens and a stream of servants pours in before they set out large
steaming platters on the table.
After these weeks in Aphelion, I’m learning to recognize the cuisine.
Platters of saffron rice dotted with peas. Tureens of chicken floating in
creamy, spiced sauces. Fish poached in rose water and flat mounds of fluffy white bread to soak up the sauces. I could never tire of any of it.
When the food has been laid out, Atlas dismisses the help with a wave.
“You may leave us. We can take it from here.” They bow their heads and scurry off, leaving me and Atlas alone again.
“What would you like to try first?” he asks as I survey the bounty.
“Everything,” I say, breathless, and he chuckles indulgently as he scoops heaping piles onto my plate.
“It’s such a wonder to behold your joy,” he says. “I forget how special this all is.”
Though my mouth is stuffed full of rice, I say, “It’s hard to believe this all exists in the same world as Nostraza. How can anyone be okay with this kind of disparity? Why does anyone deserve this any more than anyone else does?”
His elbows on the table, Atlas frowns. “The people in Nostraza are criminals. Murderers and thieves. They deserve their punishments.”
My throat twists tight. “Most of the people in Nostraza were born with less than nothing,” I say, trying to regulate the anger in my voice. “They steal and kill because it’s the only way for them to survive. They have nothing. And no
one—least of all the Aurora King, or any of the other rulers of Ouranos— does anything to help them.”
Atlas’s expression is thoughtful as he leans closer, a line pinching between his brows. Have I said too much? Crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed?
Does one speak this way to a king? Not in my experience.
“Is it any different from the people who live in The Umbra? Based on the fact that everyone thinks it’s where I came from, I can only assume the people there aren’t that different from the prisoners of Nostraza.”
His eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Is that what happened to you? Did you grow so desperate?” His voice is so tender in support of my defense that
it shutters my mounting anger. I shake my head, looking down at my hands in my lap, pushing away the sting of my tears.
“No. I don’t know why I was in Nostraza,” I say, and though that’s not the entire truth, I’m ever wary of revealing too much without understanding all of his intentions. “I was a child, and I remember little of my life before that time.”
“They locked up a child.” He says it with dark condemnation.
“Are there children living in The Umbra?” I ask. The idea of that shadowy dark place plagues my thoughts, though I try to block them out. I want to forget the darkness exists until I’m forced to face it again.
“Of course there are,” Atlas says, taking a sip of his wine. “But The Umbra isn’t a prison. Anyone is free to leave and make a better life for themselves. I can’t control how people behave.”
He says the words with such certainty, I resist the urge to slap him.
“Just because there are no walls and no guards doesn’t mean it isn’t a prison,” I say, sure I’m going too far now. He’s going to get angry and send me away. No one questions a king.
But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he stops what he’s doing, dropping the piece of bread in his hand on his plate. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s the same situation. When you have nothing, you can’t build anything. When your days are spent wondering where your next meal is coming from or how you’re going to survive the night without having your
throat slit, you don’t have the time or the energy or the motivation to make your life better. You’re too busy simply surviving.”
Atlas picks up the bread again and pops it in his mouth, chewing slowly.
“I’ve never thought about it that way,” he says, the words coated in carelessness.
“I suppose not, as you sit here in your golden palace, never venturing anywhere near the poor.” The words slip out like serpents lashing out their tongues. When Atlas cuts a sharp glance my way, I worry I really have gone too far this time.
When he reaches for me, pushing down the shoulder of my robe and his fingers gently brushing the blackened brand of Nostraza charred into my
skin, I hold completely still. Am I about to suffer for my insubordination?
But then his face softens. “Thank you, Lor.” He takes my hand in his. It’s large and warm and the touch shoots tingles down my arms. “I already had a suspicion you would make a good queen, but hearing you speak this way, I understand how lucky the people of Aphelion would be to have you leading
them.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” He shakes his head. “You’re right, I’ve rarely visited The Umbra, and even when I have, I’ve spoken to no one, nor tried to understand their plight.”
I can hardly believe he’s saying this. “So, you’ll do something about it?”
Atlas squeezes my hand before tucking an errant lock of hair behind my ear. His fingertips linger against my cheek, his thumb sweeping the scar along my cheekbone, sending another shiver down the back of my neck.
“I’m going to gather my advisors first thing tomorrow to see what we can do.” His smile is warm and genuine and if he wasn’t already the Sun King,
he’d be the brightest thing to rise on any horizon. “Thank you, Lor. One thing I’ve always hoped for in a bonded partner is someone who can make me become a better version of the Fae I am.”
“Thank you,” I say, hoping I’ve made a difference and wondering where his truth lies. He doesn’t seem to delight in cruelty like the Aurora King, and
it’s a relief to realize not every ruler in Ouranos possesses a completely withered heart, shrunk down to nothing but a dry mote of dust. While there’s no mistaking my physical reactions to Atlas, I sense there are layers to uncover, and I want to get to know him better. Maybe this is someone I could build a life with.
It’s at that moment my resolve to win the crown fossilizes into amber.
Not just for Tristan and Willow. Not only for my revenge on the Aurora King and everything he took.
But because for the first time in my life, I deserve some happiness too.
