Page 5 of Heart of the Raven Prince

Of the withered and drained bodies they leave behind…

Shivering, I force that thought out of my mind. Holding my wrists to my chest, I begin to massage them. Taking several shaking steps away from him, I’m only marginally relieved when I see he does not instantly follow. I keep the prince in my line of sight. I did not like him being behind me, but I also don’t want him any closer.

“You served in Castle Windspire?” The prince asks as I rub at my tingling wrists. Now that I’m not bound and on my back, I can get a good look at the interior of the tent. It’s sparsely decorated, yet every item inside the tent speaks to the status of the sole occupant. There is an expertly carved dark wooden desk covered in maps and parchment and a belt of daggers. My hands itch to hold one to his throat. Besides the desk, the only other piece of furniture is a large cot shoved on one side of the tent, several fur blankets thrown across it.

Flicking my gaze to him, I see he’s in simple leather trousers and a loose shirt with buttons lining the front. I pause. The style is…strange. I’ve never seen the like of it before. Then I note the pile of bloodied armor on the ground behind him that I quickly look away from. I do not wish to see the discarded armor of the prince who captured my kingdom—the armor covered in the blood of my people.

“Are you going to answer me, human, or do I need to give you a reason to speak?” the prince asks, drawing my gaze sharply back to him. I doubt the threat is hollow. He taps the dagger against his thigh, as though reminding me how he gets people to talk. My throat is dry, painfully so. I can’t seem to get myself to utter a single sound in his presence. I’m no stranger to speaking with nobility. Gaelynn might be small, but it saw its fair share of dignitaries and royalty. I spent the majority of my life training with my father, but my mother still employed a string of governesses who instructed me in the finer customs of court.

You’re going to be queen one day, Fawn. You'll need to know how to do more than just fight.

I can’t help but disagree with my father. All those dance lessons, every etiquette class, none of it matters now. It didn’t keep my people safe, and it certainly didn’t prepare me to speak to the Raven Prince. Instead of answering his question, I simply nod.

He moves behind his desk, grabbing the wooden chair, and dragging it behind him before he sets it firmly in front of me. “Sit.”

It is not a request.

Breathing in deeply, I drop my hands by my side and hold my head up high. I’m sure I should cower, should act meek in front of him. It’s the prudent thing to do. But that damn fire inside of me refuses to die, even in the presence of a murderer. Especially in his presence. The longer I stare into the void of his gaze, the closer I get to snapping. I want to snarl at him, to barrel forward and stab him with his own blade. I’m terrified, and smart enough to admit it. But I’m also so consumed with grief and fury that all I want to do is fucking fight. I want to do something to avenge my people.

My parents.

Their loss is an ever-bleeding wound inside of me, but I cling to the pain that slices through me at their memory. That fiery rage is warming me more than the magic heating this space. So, I do not back down; I do not cower. I hold my head high and move across the room to sit on the chair as he commanded. I’m proud to say my legs only tremble a little.

“How long have you served the Branán family?” he asks, and I flinch at my surname.

He thinks I’m a servant.

I blink rapidly, trying to think quickly. He notes the movement, his gaze narrowing. Moving to the desk in front of me, he leans against it. Casual. Uninterested. Like we are having nothing but a mundane conversation. Like I shouldn’t be fearing for my life. My eyes track the dagger he flips in the air, alternating between catching the hilt and the blade. He tosses the weapon with a grace that I will never be able to obtain, no matter how many years I train. “You really don’t want to test my patience, human.”

“My entire life,” I say quieter than I would like. The dagger is midway through a flip when I answer, but at the sound of my voice, he goes rigid. His nostrils flare and his eyes widen with shock. The blade sails through the air before his outstretched hand.

He misses.

It slips through his fingers and lands with a thud on the ground at his boots. He doesn’t even appear to notice as he takes a slow step toward me—the gesture looks involuntary. He studies my face, trailing over every dip and line of it—his brows knit together. Pure shock radiates from him as he takes another step toward me, and I think for a moment he is about to reach out to me. His gaze is far too intense, and I fidget under it. The small movement seems to break him from his stupor.

He stands up tall, shaking his head and blinking rapidly. Now it’s his turn to fidget, as he adjusts the collar of his shirt and slicks back his hair. I get the strangest feeling that his façade just slipped and I had a glimpse behind the mask. With a blur of motion, the dagger has returned to his hand. He once again flips the blade through the air, as though nothing happened.

“And how many years have you seen come and go in Castle Windspire? How old are you?” he asks, holding the blade steady and tapping his finger against the tip of it.

“Twenty-six,” I say, confused at this line of questioning. Magic races around the room, and the feel of it is beginning to make me lightheaded. Sweat trickles down my back, my nerve endings are on fire as I am all too aware of the male standing close enough to slide that blade across my throat. The prince’s reputation is far reaching, so I expect torture. I expect pain. I’m waiting for him to cut and bleed me and toss what is left of me to the wolves.

I saw the evidence of his cruelty myself in the desecration of my parents’ corpses. So why is he just standing there asking me about my age? I remind myself that just because he hasn’t attacked me doesn’t mean he won’t. He’s a fucking murderous fae, and I won’t let my guard down for a moment around him. My fingers curl into fists on my lap, and he marks the motion.

Good. Let him see I still have fight left in me.

“So, then, you would have been there for the birth of Prince Falen. You would have been raised alongside Princess Fawn. If you’ve indeed been in their service for that long, then you should be well acquainted with the royal children.” His voice is edged with darkness. I wish he were bellowing, instead of speaking in that soft, terrifying tone. Crackling traces of his power rake down my skin. They serve as a sharp reminder that he does not need to raise his voice for his raw dominance to be fully displayed. I try not to quiver.

I fail.

But I’ll be damned to the deepest pits of hell if I don’t hold his midnight gaze through it all with a defiant stare of my own.

So, this is what he’s after. The heirs to the throne.

The queen may have begun to spare human soldiers to fight in her ever-growing army, but she has yet to let a single sovereign line survive. Anyone with even the barest hint of a claim to the throne is put to the death by none other than the fae standing before me. I resist the urge to pick at my nails, a bad habit of mine when I’m nervous. My heart is pounding at a breakneck pace in my chest, and I’m sure his fae hearing marks every beat.

I remind myself that Falen is alive, and he is not amongst the prisoners. The Raven Prince may want him, but he can’t fucking have him. All Falen needs to do is make it to the cliffs and then he can jump on the boat we’ve kept hidden from our parents for the last several years. As the queen’s reach began to expand, our parents became paranoid. They forbade us from sailing, even surrounded by armed guards. My mother refused to risk it, and my father would never go against my mother’s wishes.

But denying us the sea is like denying us air, so we did what any normal children would—we lied. We hid a small sailboat in one of the caves along the shoreline of the eastern coast of Gaelynn, relatively close to our home. The boat may be small, but my brother is an excellent sailor, and I have no doubt he can safely navigate it out of this nightmare.