Page 102 of White Raven

“Kara, watch your mouth,” the head of the handmaids scolded the older sister.

“But Meya, the Night Hunter marked her.” Kara dragged out her words dramatically, in a giddy tone.

“That is not our concern,” Meya snipped at them, though her gaze kept coming back to the ink on my neck and chest. The sisters looked at each other, giggling, the other two thralls trying their hardest not to respond the same.

I sat up. “You’re talking about Onyx?”

As if uttering his name out loud would conjure him, the girls twittered with elation, reminding me so much of Sarina, how giggly and excited she would get over a boy from the market. All of that felt like a lifetime ago.

“Hush,” Meya yelled at them, though the sisters still bounced with enthusiasm, as if this was the juiciest gossip they had ever been privy to.

“But he marked her with his personal tattoo! That means she more than serves him dinner!” Kara gestured to me. “Especially if she’s supposed to be the king’s intended!”

“Kara!” Meya snapped in warning. “I know we’ve never been handmaidens before, but you know to keep your mouth shut and do your duty.”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Oh please, stop acting so uptight. You would be on your back with your legs open the moment he looked your way.” Kara turned back to me. “What was it like? Please don’t spare us any details.”

“What was what like?” I asked.

Kara slanted her head. “He bedded you, right?”

“What?” Heat pinked my cheeks. “No, of course not.”

“What?” Kara and another maid, her nose long and bird-like, said in unison, blinking at me. “But your tattoo . . .”

“Kara. Hedda. Shush,” Meya warned. “She’s for the king. His betrothed. The hersir would never touch her.”

“I’m just saying every woman here, noble or thrall, would gladly give their arm to be his property in that way, and he marks a Day Raven?” Kara leaned in, her energy so much like Sarina’s it hurt and comforted me in equal measure. “I’ve heard he brings that same determination and vigor to the bedroom that he does to his kills.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Could you imagine what he could do with that beast between his legs?”

All five handmaidens turned to me with curiosity, confusion, and a twinge of jealousy, their eyes digging into me to see why I was special.

“He had to,” I sputtered under their gazes. “Going through the Shadow Rift . . .” I swallowed, shifting under the water as I looked over them, noticing the lack of tattoos. Not one had a thrall mark on her neck or chest, like my father had done to all our thralls. “He had to mark me as his thrall. He said the king could change it. Mark over it.”

Kara and Hedda exchanged a glance, not looking convinced.

“I’m just saying, he has never even had a common thrall, let alone a private one.” Kara’s tone hinted at more.

“What’s the difference?” I only had my handmaidens and guards. My father had his own personal thralls, but they weren’t treated any differently from how he treated most of them.

“The king has his exclusive thralls.” The ones I must have seen around the throne. “They are all tattooed down the neck like yours, which means they are his until death. They cannot marry or have a family, but they have far more privileges and rights than we do.”

“Bunch of vain, pretentious assholes,” the girl, Hedda, scoffed. “They think they are so much better than us.”

“A mark on your neck like that means they are far more than regular thralls.” Kara’s eyebrows wiggled with intrigue, her gaze shooting down to my healing ink. “It means you service his every need. Publicly and privately.”

“Neck tattoos are only for a private thrall?” I swallowed.

“Yep, and you got the most coveted of all!” Kara became more and more excitable. “That mark screams you are the hersir’s property. That no one can touch you because you are his. In every way.”

“I’m surprised his majesty didn’t kill him for that.” The shy one finally spoke up.

“Unna.” Kara rolled her eyes at the girl. “No secret, the king is obsessed with him. Like I think he’d like the hersir to mark him.”

“Shut your mouth,” Meya barked. “I will have none of that talk about our king. Unna, go retrieve her robe and slippers.”

Unna rose, hustling out of the room.

My heart thumped wildly in my chest. Why would Onyx tattoo me like this, with such an intimate mark, if I was meant for the king?