Page 92 of White Raven

“Thanks,” I replied again, setting them on the bed and glancing back at Sven. He shifted like he was slightly nervous of me.

“I’ll be right outside,” he muttered, moving for the door.

“You want to stay and eat with me?” I had no idea what possessed my mouth to ask him. All night I had wanted peace and quiet, but the idea of being alone here, letting my mind wander and think, had me gripping my hands. “I’m assuming you hadn’t eaten yet.” I nodded to the bowls of stew.

He stared back like I had lost my mind. “That’s for Hersir.”

“Do you see him here?” I motioned around the room with a thread of resentment. “For all we know, he’ll be out all night.” Maybe finding release for his anger other places. “It will get cold. Someone might as well eat it.” I moved to the chairs set near the fireplace, my upbringing so used to no one ever refusing me that I laughed at his paralyzed state.

“Sit.” I patted the opposite chair. “I promise, I don’t have claws and wings.”

Sven looked around, his expression tight with hesitancy.

I picked up my bowl, tearing into the bread and scooping up the thick potato soup. The cream burst over my tastebuds, melting me into the chair. It was a simple dish, something I hadn’t had since I was a child, but it tasted delicious.

Sven shuffled closer, cautiously perching himself on the chair ready to bolt. Like a nervous dog, I let him settle in on his own. Eventually, Sven picked up the bowl, smelling it, taking a cautious bite. The one bite turned into two, then three, the warm soup luring him past caution. He scarfed down the bread, tucking into the stew like he was starving to death.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” he muttered between slurps.

“That seems young for a Night Hunter?”

The spoon stopped at his mouth, suspicion shifting his regard to me. I went back to eating, leaving the question hanging, as though I didn’t care whether he answered or not. We both stayed quiet, finishing our meal.

“Yes.” He lowered his bowl, staring at the fire. “I’m younger than anyone who joined before.”

“You must be very good then.” Sarina was always the one to tell me: Stroke a man’s ego, and he will tell you anything.

His mouth pursed, lost in thought.

“I can shoot a man straight through the eye at three hundred meters.”

“Wow.” My brows lifted at his comment; that was almost impossible.

“But that’s not why I’m here,” he said quietly.

“That man, Stigr, said something about the Night King being your uncle?”

Sven’s expression darkened, his jaw crunching down. “Why does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t.” I shrugged. “Guess I’m curious, since I’m being taken to him, and nobody will clearly tell me what he is going to do with me or what he’s like.”

Sven set down his bowl, his expression darkening.

“My uncle is⁠—”

“Sven.” A growl came from the door, leaping the boy up to his feet, whipping us both to the figure standing in the doorway. Onyx’s dark eyes danced between the pair of us, his jaw straining.

“Hersir, I’m sorry . . . she made me to come sit⁠—”

“Get the fuck out.”

Sven didn’t even think twice, his boots darting past his leader and out the door like a punished puppy.

“Made him?” I huffed. “Like I forced him to sit with me.”

Onyx didn’t respond. His arms crossed over his naked chest, his trousers barely gripping his hips, sinking low. Dried blood and sweat streaked over his torso and face. His presence loomed in the room, taking full dominance of it, like he owned every part, including me. A shiver ran through me, understanding the difference between him and every other person I had met here. Others could throw their weight around, be terrifying in their manner, but none of them devoured a space like him. Held the weight equivalent to a king.