Page 36 of Heart of the Raven Prince

I refrain from asking her to use her fucking eyes. The way she stares at us, the way she speaks to us like we’re beneath her, it sets my blood on fire.

Letting out an irritated huff, she snaps, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go back and get it.”

Gods and demons, I want to kick her teeth in.

Yasminda walks toward the door, and I follow a few steps behind her. Which proves to be the very wrong move, because before I can step into the hallway after her, the Duchess has grabbed my wrist and pulled me to a stop.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she says, tugging me back toward the open parcel. I shoot a wide-eyed stare straight at Yasminda, who is caught halfway in between this room and the hallway. Her face is pale, but I can tell she’s trying to give me a reassuring look. The Duchess shoos Yasminda away dismissively, keeping a firm grip on my arm. “It won't take two of you to retrieve my gown. I need one of you here to dress me.”

“I’ll hurry back.” Yasminda does not say it to the Duchess, but directly to me. My heart races, but I quickly even my breathing. I’ve certainly found myself in worse situations with the fae than simply having to dress them, but I still don’t relish the idea of being alone with one. Especially this one, who is already insufferable.

“Are you just going to stand there?” she scoffs, snapping her fingers at me to get my attention. I allow myself a single moment to get lost imagining her across the sparring ring from me. Crossing to her, she spins around, tossing her fur shawl casually over a chair and waits. I begin the task of unfastening the row of black pearl buttons trailing in a single line down her back. As I pop the buttons one after another, I look about, surprised she is undressing in a public room, in front of an open window. My mother would faint on the spot if she caught me attempting to undress in public. I’m reminded once more how little I know about them, their ways, even something as simple as what they consider proper.

When the dress begins to slip off her, she turns and reaches for me to steady her. Ignoring my outstretched hand, instead she digs her fingers into my shoulder as she steps out of her gown. She’s left in nothing but a tight corset, and thick petticoats, once more unfazed as fae stroll by her window.

“Do I have to do everything myself?” she sighs exasperatedly, gesturing toward the new gown. In my mind, I crack her chin with a perfectly aimed uppercut. But in the nightmare that I live in I scoop up the garment and begin the awkward task of trying to dress her. There are so many pearl buttons and silk ribbons adorning it that I’m having a hard time figuring out what is decoration and what is utilitarian. It’s intricate in a way I’m unaccustomed to, and my fumbling only seems to fuel her ire.

The Duchess shouts at me more than once to hurry up, and screeches at me when she thinks I’m cinching the bodice too tight. I’m physically biting my tongue to keep from snapping at her that if she’s so fucking good at it she should try dressing herself. Even pummeling her into the ground in my mind is providing little warmth. I try to soothe myself with the knowledge that Yasminda will return soon, and I keep darting my eyes to the hallway, hoping to see her standing there.

With the outfit finally secure, she shoves me aside and sweeps across the room. Once again, I am nothing but furniture, relegated back to obscurity now that I’m no longer useful. There is a small silver framed mirror situated on a side table that she leans over. She tugs her bodice down, pushing her breasts up and admiring herself from different angles in the reflection, twisting and turning as she preens. Catching my gaze in the mirror, she balks. “What are you still doing here?”

“I-er, Yasminda has not returned—”

“I have no time for your excuses. Out,” she cuts me off, flicking her hand toward the door dismissively. I don’t want to be in her presence for a moment more, so she doesn’t have to tell me twice before I am hurrying out. The problem is I only have a vague idea of the way back to the Alley. I’ll need to find a place to wait for Yasminda’s return, hopefully somewhere that won’t draw too much attention my way.

Stepping outside, I descend the stairs and exit the twisting iron gate before I come to a slow halt. I’ve no idea where to go. Standing directly beside the gate leaves me feeling far too exposed, even as the milling crowd of fae mostly ignore me. I spot a small alcove across the street, nestled between two homes, and decide to wait there. It’ll give me a perfect vantage point to watch for Yasminda.

Moving across the road, I situate myself in the alcove, just far enough back to be encased in shadows. There is a chill in the air, brought on from the looming storm clouds, and the brown dress they gave me is this side of threadbare. Hugging myself, I rub my hands up and down my shivering arms, my eyes trained on the Duchess’s home.

Several minutes pass, and my eyes begin to wander, trailing over the teeming streets, when I notice something odd. There is a line of covered carriages stopped along the road. They’re similar in design to the one Lochlan trapped me in, though not nearly as extravagant. They are covered in the same thorny vines I see displayed everywhere; I am beginning to suspect it is the royal insignia. My eyes follow a guard as he moves from one door to the next, pulling Vessels out at random and pushing them into the carriages. I frown, wondering what they’re doing, when a familiar mop of sandy brown hair catches my gaze. My breath freezes in my throat, my heart skipping a beat.

“Falen?” I whisper his name, disbelief coloring my voice.

He can’t be here. He can’t.

I’m moving before I’m thinking. Stepping into the throng, I’m instantly surrounded by fae lazily strolling the streets, and the occasional Vessel that is moving with far more urgency. I’m pushed and shoved indiscriminately, all the while trying to keep my gaze firmly latched on the back of his head as a guard drags him toward a carriage.

“Falen!” I shout, my voice swept away in the swell of the crowd. Someone walks by me, bumping into my shoulder so hard I am knocked back. The man in a well-tailored suit shoots me a disgusted scowl, before shaking his head and storming off. Stifling a growl, I whip my head back toward the carriages. A strangled noise gets caught in my throat—I’ve lost sight of him.

My heart is beating a chaotic tune in my chest, my breathing spiking as I dart my eyes around, desperate to find him. It’s useless. Of course, it is. Everything I attempt here in this realm is fucking useless. There is no telling if that was Falen or not, I only got a few glimpses. But, if there is a chance that he is here, in one of those black carriages…

Chewing my lip, I whip my head once more toward the Duchess’s house. Yasminda is nowhere in sight. Glancing back to the carriages, I see the first few beginning to pull away. If I wait around for Yasminda to return, the carriage potentially carrying my brother will be gone. But, if I leave without a word, my people will have no way of knowing what’s happened to me.

Make a decision, Fawn.

There is no time to think, not that I need it. When it comes to Falen, there is no decision to make. I will always try to protect him. Pushing through the crowd, I scurry up to the final carriage. The guards have a group of three humans waiting outside of it. Ducking my head, I step up to the rest of the Vessels, who all give me curious looks, but don’t say anything.

“Alright, in you go,” a man barks as he jumps down from the coachman’s seat and opens the door. The Vessels move one by one into the carriage. I am the last to step up to the waiting open door. I don’t falter, but he still feels the need to shove me forward and snap, “Move it, girl, the queen’s waiting.”

Normally the gesture would have filled me with a burning rage and the desire to flip him over my back and land him flat on his ass. But his words have sent a bucket of ice water splashing over that rage, banking it.

The queen’s waiting.

Taking a deep, settling breath, I step inside and sit in the last remaining seat. The door is shut and locked behind us, and I grimace at the distinct lack of windows. They’re taking us to the palace, to the queen. The last time I was in her presence rises in my mind like a phantom. I can’t stop thinking about the look in Caden’s eyes when I narrowly escaped being whipped into submission.

Because my mind is cruel and enjoys attacking me when I am at my weakest, it takes that memory and replaces me with Falen. The image runs circles in my mind, refusing to give me a reprieve as I fixate on it. He’s bound, on his knees in front of the Raven Queen. His back is left in bloody tatters, crimson rivulets running through the jagged slashes of what remains of his skin.

I forcefully close my eyes, focusing on shoving that image far from my mind. I know the visceral image was conjured from my deepest fears, but the fact that it can easily become reality fuels that resolve. I do not second guess my decision for a moment. Because the reality is that if there is even a chance my brother is in one of these carriages, then I’m exactly where I need to be.