Page 10 of Heart of the Raven Prince

Closing my eyes tightly, I push those baser thoughts away. It’s harder to ignore the animalistic side of me—the one the queen poured into me the night she made me her son. That fight gets harder and harder to win the longer I go between meals. The beast inside of me is begging for release, desperate for control.

She just had to be warm…

Her fucking flavor is stuck in my mouth, and now that animal inside me is howling at me to chase her, bite her, claim her.

It's a harder effort than it should be to shut that voice out.

Sighing, I turn and clap Doran on the back before I make my way further into the woods. He doesn’t question where I’m going. He doesn’t need to. He knows the hunger that plagues me nightly. The scent of a deer reaches my nose, and I turn, creeping toward the smell. It will do little to stave off the hunger pangs that are my constant companion, but it will be better than nothing. It will help me gain some control of that wild beast within me. Tomorrow we will leave this frozen wasteland behind and head back to the realm of the fae, back to my home. There I can find my favored Vessels and drink my fill.

Maybe then I can get the taste of the princess out of my mouth.

Stalking deeper into the wood, I follow the forest-rich smell of the deer, walking on near silent feet toward it. I come upon a clearing, where a doe and her fawn are munching on a barely visible patch of grass poking through the snow. The doe notices me, scenting a predator even if she can’t see me. Her head rears up and she bolts from the clearing. The fawn, however, is frozen in fear.

Terror clouds the eyes of the young deer, unmistakable in its big brown gaze. I step into the moonlit clearing; the snow glows a pale blue under the light of the full moon. The fawn trembles before me as I tower over it, hunger burning deep in my stomach. Her gaze—so bright and defiant—flashes in my mind and her taste lingers on my tongue. Letting out a frustrated shout, my curse echoes around the silent forest. The fawn finally bolts off after its mother, and I turn to watch it run away.

I do not chase it.

The gray light of the early dawn is just beginning to bloom in the skies, piercing the thick blanket of clouds that promise snow. Soldiers teem about me, paying me no mind as orders are barked and followed. It was not the prince, but rather a soldier who roused me from a restless slumber, pulling me from a nightmare of endless fires and the hanging bodies of my parents. He ordered me out of the tent, snapping at me to sit on a spot just outside of it. I’ve remained there, my hands bound before me, watching the soldiers methodically strip and pack up the tent.

My head whips back and forth, trying to peer through the hustle and bustle of the men as they dart around me. I know it is pointless; it is highly unlikely the survivors are being held captive within sight of me. I note that only a small portion of the camp seems to be packing up, at least that I can see. I’m studying a group of men that are carrying a bundle of tents over their shoulders when I feel him approach.

The needling prick of his magic traces down my skin, and I bristle as he draws close. I can feel him staring at my back but I keep my gaze firmly locked on the men. I’m sure he’s used to rapt attention, but I refuse to give it to him. His boots crunch on the frozen earth I’m sitting on as he slowly rounds me until he is standing in front of me. Crouching down, he tries to hold my gaze, but I stubbornly stare at anything but him. Grabbing my bound hands, he yanks them forward, which finally gets my attention when I yelp and nearly topple to the ground. He steadies me before I go down face first, and forces a steaming tin cup in my hands, the warmth instantly thawing my frozen fingers.

“Drink,” he orders, remaining crouched before me—a silent promise that he will stay until I have finished every last drop. I take a moment to study him. He’s dressed now in the black leather armor of the army, with trailing thorny vines etched into each shoulder, the grooves of the etchings painted a deep red. His wings ruffle in the chilly winter wind, and I suddenly find myself curious to see what the back of his armor looks like, wondering how it is constructed to allow for his wings. He clears his throat, snapping my attention back to him.

“Have the survivors—”

“Drink, Oisín,” he cuts me off, annoyance tinging his words.

“Is it drugged as well?” I ask, waiting to see shock splash across his face, ready to revel in it.

Instead, he holds my gaze steady and simply says, “Yes.”

My mouth drops open. I was expecting him to deny it. I had guessed either the water or the stew from last night were laced with something. When I woke to find myself foggy-headed and unsteady on my feet, that only confirmed my suspicions. Nothing in this world beyond a strong drug could have pulled me to sleep inside the prince’s cabin.

“You don’t need to drug me to get me to comply,” I say, glancing down at the steaming mug that smells vaguely of licorice root, a known sedative. “Just take me back to the others and—”

“What did I say about assuming you have a choice in the matter?” he says, his deep voice rumbling a low warning. “You’re right, I do not need to drug you, because you’re going to gain some gods-damned sense and do as I say. Drink, Oisín.”

I hold the cup up high to my lips, a triumphant smirk tugging at his mouth. Until I open my hands and drop the cup between us, the steaming liquid spilling out of it and seeping into the frozen earth at my feet, soaking into my boots.

“Oops.”

He blinks. Glances down. Blinks again. Then locks eyes with me.

“Very well,” he says, his voice completely free of any hint of emotion. It’s somehow so much more terrifying than if he had screamed at me. He grabs me under the arm and yanks me up, holding me tight as he brings his fingers to his lips. He looks off in the distance and lets out a sharp, high-pitched whistle.

There is a deafening thundering of hooves, and I hear men shouting as the noise draws closer. Whipping my head around I just catch a group of soldiers jumping out of the way when a massive Clydesdale comes careening through the camp. It comes to a staggering halt before us, rearing back on its hindlegs, then slamming to the ground with a thundering shake. It’s a chestnut red horse with soft blonde feathering and mane. A black leather saddle stands out in stark comparison to its bright coloring.

The beast huffs out a cloud of air, digging a hoof into the ground as it whips its head. It seems entirely wild, and like a creature I would normally have loved to try to ride given any other circumstance. He releases me, approaching the beast easily, running a hand down its neck. His eyes are trained on the horse as he speaks. But I know his words are for me.

“The other prisoners were given the same drink, and none of them had any hesitations about following direct orders. If you had simply obeyed me, you would be back amongst them the moment the drink lulled you to sleep—”

“What?” I snap, loud enough to have several men turn and stare at the noise. “You never said—”

“But since you decided to defy me, again,” he bites out, raising his voice to speak over me. “You will now be riding with me for the duration of the journey.”

The hell I will.