Page 39 of Heart of the Raven Prince

I get lost in it momentarily, in the blessed heat, something I haven’t truly experienced in centuries. This close I am engulfed in her warmth, her scent. My fangs ache, screaming at me to lean down and sink them as far into her—

Something sharp presses against the side of my neck, digging into my skin. Blinking, I realize I had been bending slowly down to her exposed throat, swept up entirely in the haze of my bloodlust. That is, until she pressed a knife against my flesh. Pulling back, I see her holding one of my blades, one of the three I keep strapped to my thigh. She disarmed me and I didn’t even feel it.

“Back. The fuck. Off,” she hisses, pressing the knife deeper into me, a stream of blood beginning to trail from the wound. It always surprises me when I bleed, so few people are ever able to make it happen that I forget I still can. She’s got the hint of a cocky grin tugging at her lips, and I let out a low chuckle. She thinks she’s bested me. I let her see my own taunting smile stretch across my face, relishing in the momentary doubt that flares in her eyes, before I move in a whirl.

One moment I have her back pinned against the wall, the next it is held firmly against my chest. The dagger slices my neck in the process, a spray of my blood flecking the wall. Covering her hand on the hilt with mine, I grip it tightly and force her to hold the blade against her own throat. She’s smart enough to still in my arms. I, however, am smart enough to not ease up, caging her in tight. I know she is poised, waiting for her next moment to attack.

Why do I find this so thrilling?

I blame it on that demon screaming to be unleashed. I’m so close to her exposed wound. All I would have to do is lean down and lick it up. My cock twitches at the thought, and I’m sure she feels it, her ass pressed firmly against me. She’s so fucking warm I can’t help but wonder how she would feel wrapped around my—

I grunt, shoving that thought aside, trying to regain even a scrap of my restraint. I need to get out of here, away from the smell of her. I need some gods-damned control. She remains rigid in my arms, and for that I’m grateful. I’m not sure I could stand her writhing against me right now.

“Where did you get the earring, Oisín?” I whisper, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. I inhale deeply. She smells like the sea and the winds—a wild scent. It’s befitting of someone as untamed as her.

“I already told you, the Barracks Mas—”

“You really don’t want to lie to me again,” I warn, barely resisting the urge to nip at her earlobe. The fight in her is driving me fucking crazy. I should be trying to tame her but all I want to do is rile her up. I feel closer to a beast than a man, and it would be so easy to give into that wild creature.

“I’m not lying,” she lies.

“One more chance to tell the truth.” I feel her tensing beneath me. I wonder if she’s going to try to run again. Fuck, I want her to. I’m a frayed rope, snapping nearly clean in two. Any moment now my fragile control will falter, and the demon I have been fighting succumbing to is going to rise up and take hold.

“The Barracks Ma—”

“The gods-damned Barracks Master gives me an updated list of Vessels daily, and I don’t recall seeing the name Tilly on that list.” Fawn pulls in a small, sharp gasp at the fake name she gave me. “Since most people are smart enough to not lie to me, I doubt she left your name off. So Tilly, I’m going to ask you one more time, who the fuck gave you that earring?”

There is a beat of deafening silence, tension seizing the room and holding us captive. I think perhaps she’s finally decided to stop lying, but instead of answering my questions, she whispers, “Why do you care?”

This fucking woman…

Why can’t she just be compliant and answer a simple question? I open my mouth to respond, when an all-too-familiar voice says, “I was going to ask the exact same thing.”

My mother nearly died giving birth to me.

The story has been told to me my entire life, how she labored for two days, how they nearly lost her numerous times. My mother may not wield a sword, but she is still a warrior, and with my father by her side the entire time begging her to fight, she did. My father often told me that I got my fiery spirit from her, no matter how she may appear to be the meeker of the two. Even though we both came through it mostly unscathed, I know the near loss sat heavy on my father’s shoulders. He was terrified of her ever attempting to give birth again, but my mother wanted a son, and my father could deny her nothing.

So, I wasn’t surprised to learn that she was pregnant. I was, however, surprised to learn about it from the servants. I was a child at the time, having only just started to train with my father. I sat in the kitchen, blurry eyed, yawning, and stuffing eggs into my face to prepare for the day when I heard the cooks whispering. One of them was making a pot of tea that smelled awful, but she was speaking openly about how the herbs would soothe my mother’s morning sickness.

I can still perfectly picture my father’s face when I asked him what morning sickness was and why my mother had it. I was wondering if I could get morning sickness too, and then be allowed to rest in bed all day instead of training. The blood had drained from his face, and he questioned me intently on where I had heard that from. We returned home from our morning ride as soon as I recounted the tale of the cooks, a faint green sheen coloring my father’s stricken face.

Later that day, my mother pulled me into her chambers and put my small hand on her stomach, as she told me I was going to have a sibling. I was too young to understand it then, but as I look back, I realize it was the first time I learned that our servants knew more than they let on. They knew more than the king, aware of his wife’s pregnancy before him. Like Yasminda moving about the town, our servants were invisible in their own right. Quiet ghosts in the background, listening and gleaning untold information.

The ruby earring bumps against my neck as I drift around the dark ballroom, feeling like my own version of a shadow. The ride to the palace was not long, but it was certainly long enough for me to begin questioning my plan. The icy fissures of doubt crept in as I was bustled along with the other Vessels, told to strip and dress in one of the identical blood red outfits that were little more than undergarments. As I tied the black silk ribbon over my eyes, I tried to not think about how much of my flesh was on display, a feast for anyone’s taking. Instead, I focused on studying the milling crowd of Vessels around me.

There are easily over a hundred of us, all being rushed in and out, making it near impossible to get a good look at everyone. I’m beginning to panic the longer I go without seeing Falen’s familiar sandy brown hair. I dress slowly, trying to give myself as much time as possible to examine every male Vessel within sight. But I cannot stay in this room scrutinizing the other Vessels forever, and all too soon I am herded into a long dark hallway by one of the guards and told to get to work.

I plan to.

“They’re thirsty tonight,” a girl says as she passes by us, a bloodied cloth covering the dozens of seeping wounds lining her wrist. The haunting call of a cello drifts down the hallway, growing louder the further we go. A draped velvet curtain is pulled aside, revealing the eerie ballroom filled with swirling bodies. We scatter the moment we step inside, with most of the Vessels losing themselves in the crowd. I stick to the edge, creeping along the wall as I scan over anyone with a ruby earring.

My heart is at odds with itself as I study the Vessels interspersed amongst the crowd. The vast majority of me is praying to the gods that Falen is not here, that he is safe in some royal’s castle in the mortal realm. But there is that small, wickedly selfish part of myself that aches for him. I have always been close to my people, training alongside the men in our army went a long way to make me feel like one of them. I may have been their princess, but I never felt separate. Not until this realm of eternal night. After that abysmal meeting with my people, and Bryan poking holes in whatever faith they still have in me, I can’t help but feel like an outsider.

So, no, I do not truly wish to see my brother in this gods’ forsaken realm. I just don’t want to be alone in this.

I’m creeping along the wall, staying hidden for as long as I can, when I feel an intense prickling. Like static hands running over my arms, my shoulders, and trailing down my neck. I would know that power anywhere.

Caden.