Page 2 of Heart of the Raven Prince

I know our end is soon. There is no way they will let a single one of us survive. His army is known for being ruthless, leaving behind a trail of bodies in unmarked graves. I risk turning and looking at my brother, desperate to see him one more time before our execution.

These monsters stole everything from us, including the urge to speak. They took my parents, my home, my whole world, and now they take my ability to bid my brother one final farewell. So, instead of speaking the words that would make no difference to our impending death, we simply look at each other. I trace his face, memorizing it one last time.

I’m used to seeing my brother laughing or studiously pouring over a book. His smiles come easy and his eyes are always kind. Except for now. His look of abject horror seems so out of place on someone this gentle. His lips are thinned, his brows furrowed. If I know my brother, his sharp mind is working quietly behind his eyes. He’s trying to think his way out of this, to find a solution that doesn’t involve violence. We may share our mother’s moss green gaze, but I hold none of that calm pacifism. He wants to use words; I much prefer steel.

We turn as one, looking blankly ahead. I can only hope that my brother will keep his mouth closed this time, knowing it will only add more pain to the short time he has left. He always tries to reason his way out of situations, looking for a logical resolution to a fight. Again, my bound and aching hands itch to hold my bow or a dagger. Even just a shard of glass would be enough. Something that I can use to exact as much revenge as possible, take down as many with me as I can.

“Bow your heads in the presence of your betters,” the guard barks, gripping his sword hilt tighter as he looks over the lot of us. I assume he means to exude dominance, but I note the trembling in his hand on his sword.

He’s terrified.

A sideways glance at Falen shows me he is obeying the command; his head bowed in mock reverence. All I can do is turn back to our home, to the death of it, and watch.

“I gave you an order,” the guard growls. He grips my cheeks, forcing my face toward him, but my eyes remain locked firmly on my home. It would be just like me to hope for silence and stillness from Falen and be completely unable to follow that same path of self-preservation. “Maybe I need to carve your eyes out of your head to make you obey.”

With a shuddering deep breath, I finally peel my gaze away from my home and train them on him. He is hideous. His skin, littered with scars and pox marks, speaks of the sort of life a soldier in his army lives. A long scar from the tip of his brow runs through the middle of one milky white eye, creeping down the rest of his face. Even fully healed, the indention in his skin is deep, and I shudder at the thought of what could have caused such an injury. Or rather, who caused it. I flick my gaze to his ears. Rounded. He’s human.

Traitor.

“Is there a problem here, soldier?” a dark voice asks behind me. I bristle at the crackling power that accompanies it. The prickling in my back intensifies, and I do not need to turn to know I’m being stared at.

“I. Said. Bow,” the guard spits out between a clenched jaw, shoving me hard enough to send me crashing into the ground. My chin hits the snowy cobblestone with a wet smack, sending a blinding burst of pain ricocheting through my skull. I grunt, biting my lip hard, determined to keep from crying out. I struggle to twist and turn in the bloody snow to right myself again. With my ankles and wrists tied behind me, it is a useless effort.

I'm so fucking mad I'm consumed by it. I want to scream into the ground in front of me. I want to let the low blue flame of my rage explode. I have never so badly wished that the blood of the fae ran through me. The rumors of their power vary, but one thread carries through every tale: their magic is unstoppable. I wish so desperately that I could harness that power. That I could cage it, chain it, and turn on them. If only to show them what it is like to be made to feel weak. I close my burning eyes, inhaling deeply and trying to calm myself to find that numbness again. I’m not fae; I’m merely a mortal woman—the queen of nothing. And now I am about to be dead.

It's hard to remember that a mere ten years ago, the very notion of the fae was more a nursery tale than reality. But in those tales the fae were creatures of light, pure and bright beings that granted wishes and boons if caught.

Then the Raven Queen pierced the veil to the mortal realm, and we saw the fae for who they truly are—monsters. She sent her army to our realm in a flurry of shadows and dark magic, raining feathers from the sky like the ash that coats the ground around me. It seemed impossible that creatures from our nursery tales were now suddenly waging a war against us. A war they were winning.

But our absolute disbelief in them only fueled their victories. There was no warning and even if there had been, who would have listened to a monarch calling for aid against an army of fae? The queen was clever. After each battle was won, she slaughtered entire kingdoms swiftly and mercilessly, leaving no survivors to warn the neighboring monarchs of the coming storm. Well, she had not slaughtered them. No, she sent someone else to do her dirty work. Someone much worse.

She sent Caden, The Raven Prince. Her Wings of Death.

“Is it done?” that deep voice asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Yes, General,” the guard answers. A ragged breath lodges in my throat as I go rigidly still at the sound of that title.

“Is this all that is left?”

“We’re still rounding up those that ran, but they will not survive the night for their cowardice.”

I stifle a grimace. They’re speaking so flippantly about the murder of innocent people. My people. The thought strikes me like a thunderbolt, stilling me momentarily as I struggle against the binds around my wrists and ankles.

My people.

I realize now I do not have the luxury of walking into the grave willingly. I cannot embrace this quiet, inevitable death. There may be only a handful of them beside me, but there are many more throughout the isle. All of them are survivors. All of them are mine. And I need to be the ruler they deserve.

“On your feet,” the guard bellows, as though any of us can move with our ankles bound beneath us. Rough hands grab me under my arms, hoisting and dropping me on my feet. I sway, unsteady with the bindings, and nearly fall over before I center myself, exactly like my father taught me.

Balance, Fawn. Balance is going to be the difference between you and someone three times your size.

His words fill my mind, gnawing at that ache in my chest. Ignoring the piercing pain of his memory, I start to glare at the guard that hoisted me up. I barely stop myself from spitting in his face.

You are a queen now. Act like one.

I have a duty to the survivors. I have to protect them for as long as I’m able, and I can’t do that by getting myself killed. Swallowing my pride, I move to cast my eyes to the ground, but at that exact moment the general comes into view, and I am stunned into staring at him.

He is a large, muscular man sporting the same armor that the rest of the army wears. Soot black with vines of thorns etched into either shoulder, the Raven Queen’s sigil. His wild brown hair is stuck to his brow, coated in sweat and blood and a dark beard covers his chiseled face. But it’s not his armor, or his intense eyes that catch and hold my attention.