Page 13 of Heart of the Raven Prince

“I told you not to come here unless it was an emergency,” the old fae grumbles, shutting and locking the door behind us before shuffling back to the barrel and retrieving his lantern.

“One of Lochlan’s men saw me,” Caden says, and the fae male nearly drops the lantern at that.

“And what exactly do you expect me to be able to do about that?” the old man lobs back. Caden’s grip on my arm tightens.

“I want you to hide her.”

“What?” the old man and I say at the same time. He finally flicks his gaze to me, like he had been trying to avoid acknowledging my existence. I wonder if he feels less complicit in Caden’s crimes if he doesn’t look the victims in the eyes first. Caden shoves me forward, and I only stumble a little before I can turn to glare at him. He doesn't even notice, he’s already heading back out the door.

“I’ll be back to get her later,” he calls over his shoulder.

“My fee is double this time!” the old man shouts at Caden’s retreating head. He slams the door shut in response. I stand rigid in the center of the strange room, with this new fae male eyeing me up and down. He lets out a series of muttered words, and they sound vaguely like a string of curses, before he passes a hand over his face and lets out a deep, weary sigh.

“Come on, then. I suppose I better hide you—”

I barrel into him, and together we crash to the ground.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Agitation radiates through my body as I guide Rory toward the castle as fast as the city streets allow. Rory can’t careen through the town like he does in the war camps, and I know he despises cramped space as much as I do. I would travel the rift and appear back in my room if it wouldn’t alert the queen of my return instantly. If she isn’t aware already.

Dammit to the old gods.

I specifically left without the army to avoid notice. She would have been watching for my return and I cannot allow her to lay eyes on Fawn—to suspect for even a moment what I have planned for her. But Gregor just had to be out with his cronies in the Lower East, a part of the city I have never seen him and his friends in before. Almost like he was looking for me.

Knowing Lochlan, I wouldn’t put it past him to have ordered it.

This part of the city still houses many of the fae who lived here before the queen ruled, residents that would sooner slit their own throats than try to gain an audience with her. I don’t have to worry about my every move being whispered to her. The fae who reside here avoid me like the pariah I am. Bearing the weight of their disdain is a small price to pay in exchange for secrecy. Still, it was foolish of me to assume there wouldn’t be prying eyes.

I knew it was a gamble to travel so exposed. But my options were limited. My ability to split the realm and walk through it is a gift directly from the queen; she senses every time I use it. I could either traverse the city as quickly as possible and stash the princess away or travel the rift and have the queen know my exact location.

A frustrated grunt escapes my chest. Those are just excuses, and I know it.

The truth is I am exhausted, starving, and I let myself make an idiotic mistake. All I was focused on was getting her to my apartment in the city and locking her there before anyone else could take note of her. I should have thought this through, planned better; I should have given her a cloak to at least hide her face. If I had been well fed, I might have been able to push down that feral creature inside of me—the one that is forcing me to react on animalistic instinct rather than logic. My chest twinges, a voice in my mind whispering that I could be bursting at the seams right now, filled with her rich, peppery bl—

No.

I grit my teeth, ignoring the ache in my fangs at the thought of sinking them into her neck. It’s a far greater effort than I would like to admit to shove those thoughts aside. I take a sharp left and pull Rory to a staggering halt in front of my estate—a tall apartment building nestled between a row of identical houses. I own the entire row. No lights flicker in the lamps out front. They haven’t since the day my father and mother took their last breath. My own silent vigil, my own damning remembrance. Dismounting Rory, I give him a grateful pat before handing his reins off to a coachman that came running the moment he saw me arrive.

My door flies open before me as I storm inside, ripping my armor off and leaving a trail of it behind me as I march toward my room. It takes only a moment to don a new pair of pressed trousers and a crisp dinner shirt, my hands deftly looping a tie around my neck. I step into the polished boots that are nestled next to my door. I scoop up the jacket slung over a chair and tug it on. It’s a deep red jacket, a thorny design stitched along the collar in black thread. I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror, running a hand through my hair and attempting to slick it back.

That’s when I notice the blood on my hand.

I grimace, remembering the feel of the human’s bones breaking against my fist. Another foolish mistake that I will have to think of an excuse for. I couldn’t help it. When the bastard had laughed and I felt Fawn stiffen, that feral creature inside of me had risen up and taken hold, then all I could see was red. The audacity of the sniveling little worm to speak about what is mine.

Gods, I really need to eat.

Sighing, I move to my bathroom and quickly rinse my hands under the faucet before hurriedly toweling them off. One last glance in the mirror to make sure I look partway presentable, and then I turn as a rift opens in the air in front of me, smoky tendrils of darkness reaching out and attempting to lure me in. I take a single settling breath, resist the urge to rub at my aching chest, and step through the split in the world.

The brassy accents of her formal sitting room are illuminated by the gently glowing chandelier. A few ladies turn, their black eyes narrowing on me, sultry smiles spreading across their painted lips. One fae, a woman draped in glittery ivory and black lace, flicks a black feather fan open, wafting it lazily in front of herself before winking at me. The Countess Duvessa.

She was only too quick to side with the queen during the regime change and has been worming her way up the ranks ever since. I wish I had seen her for what she was when we first met. Another one of my blind spots, I suppose. To her I am only another rung on the political ladder. Like some relentless bloodhound she is an expert at sniffing out my presence. A talent of hers that has become increasingly bothersome.

Tonight, however, I welcome the excuse.

“Countess,” I say, sauntering up to her, my arms clasped behind my back, until I take one of her gloved hands in mine and pull it to my lips, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it.

“Prince,” she purrs, dipping ever so slightly into a delicate curtsey, “I hadn’t heard that you returned.”