Page 67

Atlas

A tlas leaned against the ship’s rail, gazing out at the dark, churning sea. The endless blue stretched around them, offering no sign of his brother. And with every mile of an empty horizon, his frustration gnawed at him.

He cursed under his breath, recalling the vagueness of Blackwood’s instructions: Southern waters, he’d said, as if that alone was guidance enough. No map, no stars to follow, no landmarks—just the word of the realm’s most dangerous man.

Fighting his rising impatience, he stalked up to the ship’s wheel, where Samwell gripped the helm. “Anything in sight?”

Samwell sighed, glancing from Atlas to the empty waters. “Not yet, Prince. And if I might speak freely—it would be helpful if your source had given us anything more to go off of.”

“I figured as much,” Atlas admitted, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I don’t know the first thing about sailing or the sea. How are we supposed to find him when all we have for a lead is the vague notion to go south?”

“Are you certain your source is trustworthy?” Samwell asked, casting him a skeptical look.

Atlas nearly barked a laugh. “Not trustworthy in the slightest. But it’s the only lead we have. And I can’t see any reason for the man to lie.”

Samwell’s brow knitted. “Who’s your source, Prince? We’re risking a great deal on this.”

Atlas’s gaze hardened as he looked past Samwell, out toward the endless waters. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Respectfully, Your Highness, I’d argue it’s every bit my concern. We’re sailing south against our king’s orders, risking treason. If we’re acting on the word of a liar, it’s my neck in the noose as much as yours. Perhaps even more.”

Atlas let out a slow breath. Shadows swirled around his hands, twisting in response to his emotions, and he forced them to still. “Cyrus Blackwood.”

Samwell’s eyes widened, and he choked on a sharp breath. “Blackwood?! Why in all the gods would you ever speak to the man? Let alone take his word on anything?”

Atlas clenched his jaw. He knew the reaction was warranted, but his gut told him Blackwood hadn’t lied.

“Because it’s the only lead we have. My father hinted that Blackwood might know something about who took Draevyn, so I went to the dungeons and spoke with him myself.

He told me to sail south, and that we’d find answers there. ”

Samwell exhaled sharply, letting out a low whistle. “Did he say anything else? Anything specific?”

Atlas’s mouth tightened. “Only that if we don’t find him before…whatever they’re searching for is complete, may the gods help us all.”

Samwell let out a bitter chuckle. “Dramatic words from a dying man.”

“So it would seem,” Atlas agreed as a small smirk formed, but there was a dreaded feeling in his gut telling him that Cyrus’s warning was warranted.

Clapping Samwell on the back, he said, “Keep an eye out. Surely we’ll spot something useful within the next day or two.” He turned, descending the stairs toward the lower deck, his thoughts reeling.

As he made his way across the deck, a thin figure by the mainmast caught his eye—a young sailor with cropped brown hair coiling rope in silence. When Atlas met the man’s gaze, the sailor’s face paled, and he quickly turned away, shoulders hunched.

“Oi,” Atlas called, stepping closer. The sailor tensed, keeping his back to him as he approached. “What’s your name?”

The man stiffened but still wouldn’t turn, and Atlas’s irritation flared. He moved to face him head-on, stopping a few paces away. “Your prince asked you a question. I’ve ordered all hands below deck for supper, aside from myself and the acting captain. Answer me.”

The sailor’s head ducked slightly before he finally muttered, “It’s Owen, Your Highness.”

Atlas frowned, studying him. “Owen?” His voice grew sharper. “And you hail from Lephyrin?”

“Yes,” Owen said smoothly, his voice now low, his face wearing a half smile.

Atlas felt a strange, almost unnatural urge to let the matter drop. But then a glimmer caught his eye as the man continued to coil the rope, a small golden ring with a ruby in its center twinkled on the sailor’s finger.

His ring—the one he had made for his betrothed.

“Owen…” Atlas’s voice was taut as his fury surged, shadows building at his feet. “Where did you get that ring?”

The sailor half turned to face him, mouth breaking into a sly grin in the dim moonlight.

In the blink of an eye, Owen’s form shimmered, a faint gleam surrounding him as his cropped hair softened and lengthened into dark curls.

His slender form shifted into the familiar curves of the woman he’d left in his bed back at Castle Lephyrin.

Atlas’s heart raced painfully, his throat tight as he watched.

“Elowynne,” he hissed, grabbing her arm and tugging her into the shadows beneath the mast. His own swirled around them to shield them from prying eyes. “Are you out of your mind? Sneaking aboard in disguise? How did you even manage this?”

She lifted her chin, her golden eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Someone had to be here with you,” she replied, her voice fierce. “You’re out here defying the king’s orders, risking your life in search of Draevyn—and I wasn’t going to let you do it alone when I could help.”

Atlas’s anger lessened as he looked into her stubborn gaze, though worry still twisted his gut. “The sea is no place for you, Wynne, and I don’t need the added burden of keeping you safe on top of finding Draevyn.”

She scoffed. “Burden. You men…”

Atlas’s lips pressed in a tight line. “Apologies. Burden wasn’t the right word. I just want to keep you safe.”

“Which is precisely why I didn’t tell you,” she said calmly. “You would’ve fought me and won. But you know it as well as I do—my powers could be the difference between finding him and returning empty-handed.”

He sighed, pressing a hand to his brow. “How? How could you possibly help?”

She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing. “You forget that I’m not human, Atlas. I have magic beyond what you’ve seen. I can manipulate minds, control what others see and feel. I made you believe I was someone else without ever changing my form.”

His eyes flared. “You didn’t shift?”

Elowynne’s brows furrowed. “Do they teach you nothing in Lephyrin? Elven can’t shift. Our magic is that of the mind. We can break into them, make them see what we want them to. Their dreams—or nightmares. Even make them see things that aren’t there.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. “That is…terrifying.”

“And useful.”

He hesitated, his heart torn between his worry for her safety and the hope her abilities offered. “So that’s why you disguised yourself? To sneak aboard and offer your aid?”

“Well, yes. And I wasn’t about to be left behind and bored out of my mind in a kingdom foreign to me,” she answered. “Also, it was working beautifully, if I do say so myself. I would have fooled you, too, if you hadn’t seen the ring.”

Atlas couldn’t help his smile that formed at that. “You’re infuriatingly clever, you know. ”

She laughed softly, her fingers intertwining with his. “Let me stay, and I swear I’ll follow your every order.”

After a long moment, he sighed as his gaze raked over her. “Fine. But stay close to me. And if anything feels wrong, you come straight to me.”

Elowynne grinned, her eyes filled with excitement. “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise, Your Highness.”

Atlas took a step into her, their chests brushing against one another. “What exactly did you have in mind for your… use ?” A sly grin formed on his mouth.

“While my powers may not help you find him, they will come in use if we run into anyone who becomes an…issue. Any threat, or anyone who dares challenge you or gets in your way of finding Draevyn. I can break into their minds.” She gently pressed her palm against his cheek.

“Make them surrender to you. Make them see their fears.”

Atlas’s breath hitched as Elowynne’s words sank in. The intensity in her golden gaze, the promise threaded through her voice—it ignited something primal within him. Her beauty had always been magnetic to him, but this…this was something else.

The idea of her wielding her magic in his favor, bending others to their will, stirred a dark thrill inside him. He found himself drawn closer to Elowynne, caught between admiration and a fierce desire for her he never thought would come.

After all, she was chosen by his father.

His father.

Had the king known she was like this all along? Hoping she would give him the push his father always thought he needed? To give him the courage to rule with an iron fist.

The way she looked at him now, her lips curved in that knowing, mischievous smile, made him ache to press her against the rough wood of the mast, to run his hands through the dark waves of her hair and claim her lips with his own.

But even through the haze of want, he knew he needed to keep his head clear.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to take a step back, his gaze never leaving hers. “You’re beautiful, and insane, and the best possible choice I could’ve made that night.”

Her laughter was low and soft, like the promise of something wicked, and it took all his self-control not to pull her closer again.

“We need to talk to the crew,” he said, a trace of reluctance in his tone. “They’ll need to be made aware of the change of plans. And now, if danger finds us, we’ll have a weapon no one would expect from a ship that hails from the kingdom of men.”

Elowynne’s fingers traced lightly down his arm, leaving a trail of warmth. The only answer she gave was a slight curve of her lip.