Page 43 of Heart of the Raven Prince

I am painfully aware of how close I came to losing everything just now. We are not out of the woods yet, but I have at least bought myself some time. I have bought us some time. Rubbing my hands furiously through my hair, I try to expel the adrenaline that’s still sizzling through my veins. I pass a hand over my eyes and let out a bone-weary sigh; I’m already exhausted and the battle has only just started. Then there is nothing left to do but turn and look at Fawn. She’s staring at me like she can’t decide if she wants to run or snatch one of the daggers off my thigh and lodge it firmly in my throat.

I suspect the latter.

My power shoots out, slicing a rift open in the middle of the room. The entryway to my apartment sits on the other side. All dark, polished wood, and deep brass accents. It’s not vastly different from the gothic architecture of the queen’s palace. But where her home is the cold of a tomb, mine is reminiscent of the warmth of my parents’ estate. The last remnant of them, the one place Arawyn cannot scrub clean. No matter how much she tries. I hear Fawn suck in a harsh breath at the sight of the rip in the world, and I turn back to her. Cocking my head toward it, I say, “After you, Oisín. It appears we have a lot to discuss.”

I’m dead. I’m dead and this is hell.

Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t realize this sooner. It only makes sense when I think back on the horrific events of the past few days.

Gods and fucking demons, has it only been a few days?

I sway, shaking my head in an attempt to steady myself. Gooseflesh pebbles my arms; there is a distinct chill in the air inside this palace. Another reason I shouldn’t be surprised that I am in fact dead, what use is there in warmth in the afterlife? I must have died the night my home fell, and this is my punishment for failing my people. Because, when I think back on the events of this evening, that is the only explanation I can come to that makes any sort of sense.

“Oisín,” he says, and I shake my head again. Just once. I’m refusing to turn and look at him; my eyes trained on the rip in the world in front of me. I can see the room beyond, and I’m studying it. Anything to focus on. Anything else but him.

I can still feel his fangs in my throat.

I grunt, shoving that thought aside. I do not allow myself even a single moment to picture the twisted creature made of power and malice that he transformed into. I am certainly not remembering the queen, her jaw unhinged—an open maw of teeth staring me in the face and promising death. I am not thinking about how very close I came to dying.

“Oisín,” he sighs, annoyance tinging the words. I let out a strangled noise that sounds like a whimpered refusal. It’s too much. It’s far, far too much. My heart is hammering wildly in my chest, trying to beat its way clean out of my ribs. I suck in quick, jagged breaths, and every muscle in my body is tensed. I think I’m having a panic attack, but I’m so detached from my body it’s hard to tell. I’m tracing the whirls and loops of the filigreed gold and black wallpaper I can see lining the walls of the room within the rip. It’s beautiful, really, the swooping gilded vines that make up the design. I expect to see thorns twisting amongst the leaves like I do everywhere in this city, but there are none.

I remember what it feels like to have a thorn buried in my heart. Buried in his heart.

No, no, no, stop it.

I shut my eyes tightly, barely resisting the urge to slam my hands over my ears, as though that would do anything to keep the words out. To keep them from echoing in my mind louder and stronger, the harder I try to ignore them. The events of this torture my life has become demand attention, screaming at me to pull them to the forefront of my mind and focus on nothing else. I hear his boots clicking across the stone floor as he crosses the small space between us and that makes me snap. Yanking my eyes open, I finally meet his gaze. “D-don’t fucking t-touch me,” I stutter, having to work hard to get my tongue to move through the panic.

“Not an option, I’m afraid,” he says, and to his credit, he does sound apologetic. But he can take that tone and fuck himself with it. He reaches out, like he is going to scoop me into his arms. It might be a sign that my mind has finally broken, or maybe it’s because I might be dead and consequences don’t seem so big anymore. Either way, before I can think about what I’m doing, I’ve grabbed his arm, twisted, and tossed him over my shoulder and onto the ground, planting a foot on his chest and pressing down.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, shock etched into every line of his face and disbelief written across his features. I’m breathing heavily, still holding his arm. His power intensifies at our touch, and I quickly drop it and take several staggering steps back. Caden sits up slowly, draping an arm over a bent knee as he continues to stare at me wide-eyed.

“I said don’t fucking touch me,” I huff, my voice steadier now. Gripping my hands tightly into fists, I continue to take small steps away from him. It’s a useless effort though. There could be oceans of distance between us, and it would never be far enough.

“Walk through the rift, Oisín. You’re going in there one way or another, on your own two feet or tossed over my shoulder. The choice is yours, but I suggest you make it quickly. I’m not staying here a moment longer.”

“No choice in this gods’ forsaken place is mine, you miserable fucking prick,” I hiss.

“And do you think I’m any different?” he asks, his voice dropping so low I have a hard time hearing him. I blink several times, completely caught off guard by that.

I’m trembling now, shaking with rage. It’s an easier emotion to focus on than the panic coursing through my body, so I cling to it and ignore his quiet question entirely. His jaw clenches, a muscle twitching in his neck, and the look of absolute hatred in his eyes should fill me with fear. Blind panic and terror try to grip me, but I shove them aside like an unwanted suitor.

In battle, you don’t have the luxury of fear, Fawn.

I remember my father’s instructions and I slow my breathing, narrowing in on my opponent and forcing my mind to quiet. I will deal with this numbing panic later. Turning from him, I glance at the rift, as he called it. I don’t doubt that he will throw me over his shoulder and carry me through that opening in the world like I’m a flailing toddler. I don’t want to walk through that split on my own two feet or otherwise. I want to be out of this palace and back with my people. Back home.

Not that it fucking matters.

Again, I am reminded of how little choice I have. Caden, and every other creature that the gods decided to bestow with unimaginable power have used and abused it. They strip those choices from the beings they deem beneath them. My fingers pick nervously at the sides of my nails, something to keep me from itching for a weapon to attack him with. Letting out a shaky breath, I step toward the opening. It feels like the first step down a road that was inevitable.

I hear Caden stand behind me and quicken my pace. I don’t want to give him a reason to pick me up, a reason to ever touch me again. I cannot stand the feel of the intense power that only doubles when we make contact. Holding my breath, I brace myself for the suffocating sensation of passing through the rift, and step over the threshold. Surprisingly, the sensation is almost…pleasant. Warm, and soft, more like walking in a gentle summer’s rain than walking through a gale storm. Caden steps through after me, the rift stitching closed the moment he does.

Then it is just he and I, alone in this new strange place.

Caden stands before me, his brows knit together, a slight scowl tugging at his features. The bastard has the audacity to look annoyed with me. As though emphasizing the point, he crosses his arms and continues to study me. Narrowing my eyes, I frown in return, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a staring contest as I yank my eyes away from him and begin to take in my surroundings.

There’s a large ornate wooden door to my left, and the hallway with the gilded wallpaper to my right. Everything is richly decorated—from the sculpted molding, the brass sconces, to the patterns on the polished wood floors. The tones are dark, but somehow warm. Even the air here feels lighter, and I take in an easy breath; the first one I have breathed in this nightmare realm. Then Caden is moving, and I might be stubbornly ignoring him, but I am also smart enough to want to know where he is. I’m barely keeping the rising panic at bay, and I doubt losing track of my enemy will help ease that. He turns and begins heading down the hall when he calls over his shoulder, “Follow me.”

He doesn’t wait to see if I obey. I glance at the door and momentarily consider running through it. I do not want to give him an excuse to chase me, so I mutter a harshly whispered swear, and follow. He turns into an open doorway, and I’m greeted with the heat of a crackling fire. This room is blessedly warm compared to the castle, and some of the feeling begins to return to my fingertips. The wood hisses and spits behind an ornate iron grate, casting shifting amber shadows across the plush rug. One wall is made up entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows with draped velvet curtains that Caden is currently pulling closed.