Page 64 of White Raven

Onyx was rough and masculine, but there was dark beauty in his structure and deep scars. Something that drank from my soul and throbbed through my tattoo. I turned away, denying the warmth spilling in my veins, the birds flapping in my stomach.

Something is really, really wrong with you, Wren. Do not forget who he is. What he did to you.

“I’ll take these.” He picked up metal cuffs, dropping coins into the seller’s hand.

“No, those.” I pointed to more expensive ones, the metal a pretty bronze.

Onyx’s eyebrow lifted.

“What, elskugi?” Lover. I pouted, batting my eyes at Onyx, putting on a show for the vendor. “I don’t get a say in my own restraints?” I purred. “Like the way you tied me up last night and had your way with me? You know your former lover could hear our bedframe hitting the wall . . . over and over. Hear my cries for mercy . . .”

He inhaled sharply, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He nodded to the vendor, pocketing the cheaper cuffs, while his other hand pressed at my lower back, steering me away from the table.

“Guess I don’t deserve the nicer manacles?”

“Sounds like you need another lesson, kanin,” he gritted through his teeth.

“And it sounds to me like you need another reminder you almost had your head chopped off,” I hissed, dropping my saccharine tone. “I’m surprised you didn’t get a muzzle too. Keeping me bound in chains until you reach your master.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He peered around, again searching for something. “But I won’t muzzle you.” His attention dropped on me for a moment. “I like hearing you scream in pain, kanin.”

My throat tightened, warmth flushing up to my cheeks and down my legs.

Smirking, his gaze drifted behind me. His entire demeanor altered, his back going straight, any humor dropping from his face. I curved my head around, trying to find the reason for the shift. My focus bounced around the bustling activity, landing on a hooded figure in the shadows. The face was hidden, but by his wide stance and shoulders, I could tell it was a man.

“Stay here.” Onyx’s order swung me back around. “Can you do that for five minutes? Just stand here and not get into trouble?”

“You’re leaving me here?” I blinked up at him. “How do you know I won’t take the opportunity to escape?”

“Because.” He bent closer, his mouth skimming my ear, his fingers grazing over my raw ink. “Deep down you know it’s useless to run. There is nowhere you can go I won’t find you. So, stand right here, and don’t move.” He brushed by me, striding for the hooded form. I watched him stop in front of the man. I could make out them talking, then the hooded figure turned and walked down a narrow alley. Onyx peered back at me, his jaw clenched, his gaze drilling into me, demanding I stay put, before he followed the man into the passage.

Part of me wanted to follow, to see what he was up to, but the other part wanted to defy his orders and run anyway. It would be a pointless mission—my gut knew I wouldn’t get far—but I wasn’t going to stand here like an obedient dog.

Turning, I blended into the hustle of the street. Men, women, and kids went about their business, grouping around fires, drinking, buying stuff from the limited vendors, or playing gambling games on makeshift tables. In some ways, it wasn’t any different than the markets in Silvervale. It was strange to find that in the place you were told was barbaric and savage. Your mind never imagined they were just people trying to make it through the day too.

Laughs and cheers drew me down the lane to a puppet show. Children and adults crowded around the small doll-size stage and a man crouched over it with marionettes. Drawing up closer, I noticed the two puppets had yellow strings for hair and white paper crowns on their heads. One was dressed like a king with a robe, and the other one was a girl, dressed in white.

My stomach sank.

“Let them all starve!” the puppet king declared as he threw food to the puppet dogs next to him. The resemblance to Iskald and Runa could not be discounted.

The crowd booed in unison.

“Oh Father . . . you are the best king in the world!” the girl squealed in a high-pitched voice. “Because that’s what you tell me.”

The crowd laughed. I did not.

There was no doubt the girl was me.

The puppeteer flounced them around the set, the king a controlling tyrant, the girl a mix of foolish, vain, and entitled.

The puppeteer brought on a dark figure with a gold crown, a mirror in one hand, a knife in the other. He laughed with menace as he stabbed the Day King. “I am the ruler now!”

The crowd clapped and laughed as my father’s puppet died a long, over-the-top death, declaring poetic language as he lay over the abundance of food like it was his deathbed. The girl just as overdramatic, crying over her father’s body.

Tears caught in my throat, bile swimming in my stomach. Was this how they saw us?

“You are so pretty.” The dark king held up the mirror, talking to it instead of the girl. “You are mine, you gorgeous thing you!”