Page 50 of Heart of the Raven Prince

“My village is all Offsprings,” she mutters, studying me with that wide-eyed look of wonder.

“Still,” I say, distracted by a piece of her black hair that has fallen into her face. “It’s strange you’ve not met my kind yet; don’t most Offsprings find work within the capital?” I don’t even realize what I’m doing until I’ve plucked up the loose strand and tucked it behind her ear. A gentle, rosy blush dusts her ivory cheeks, her eyes sparkling. They’re so vibrantly blue they remind me of the skies.

“My sect is, shall we say, a fairly private group. We don’t get out much,” she giggles as the blush continues to bloom on her cheeks.

It’s true that the vast majority of Offsprings remain closely tied to the crown, but there are those that choose a quieter life of worship, thanking the goddess that blessed them with magic. If she’s been raised in one of these private sects, if she’s never met a fae…then that means she truly doesn’t know who I am.

“I’m Caden,” I say, smiling at her when recognition doesn’t instantly light in her eyes. It’s odd, but I think this is the first time someone has not realized I am the prince of Fomoria, the heir to the throne, her future king. I quite like it. She smiles back at me, extending a hand.

“I feel like my goddess orchestrated this meeting,” she whispers, something like desire beginning to pool in her bright blue eyes. Then a grin spreads across her face as she grips my hand in hers and says, “I’m Sorcia.”

“Would you look at that, dear? Our son decided to grace us with his presence,” my mother says as I come to a staggering halt in the middle of my dining room. Aching for freedom, I moved out of the palace several years ago, taking up residence in one of the apartments at the foothills of the palace. True, it’s not terribly far away, but at least it gives me privacy.

Or it would, if my parents didn’t insist on breaking in any time they felt like it.

“He’s only an hour late this time,” my father grunts, his voice just as deep as mine, but weathered with age. I barely glance at him, taking in his salt-and-pepper hair, shorn short like his well-trimmed beard. We are so similar, that it’s difficult to look at him seated at the dining table and not think I am looking at my future self. It’s one of the main reasons I keep my hair longer and my face clean shaven. Anything to set us apart.

“My apologies, I did not realize we had a dinner engagement,” I say, quickly morphing into the dutiful son as I round to my mother and place a kiss on her cheek. I may be a carbon copy of my father, inheriting his tanned skin and black hair, but I got my dark teal eyes from my mother.

She smiles, squeezing my hands and murmuring, “It’s good to see you, son.”

“I didn’t realize we required an appointment to visit the heir to the throne,” my father scoffs. It’s an effort to keep the grimace off my face as he narrows his sharp brown eyes at me. Things have been frosty at best between us since I left the palace. To say we left things on a bad note is beyond an understatement. We haven’t spoken since the day I asked him for a favor—when he responded by attacking me. I still remember my back slamming into the stone wall, can still perfectly picture the splintering result of the impact. All at his hands.

“What your father is trying to say,” my mother says, shooting him a pointed look, “Is that we just wish we saw more of you.” She’s trying, gods I don’t know why, but she’s trying to settle things between us. He’s drumming his fingers on the table, his chin propped on his fist as he leans on the arm of the chair. He looks like he wants to be here just as much as I do. “Maybe, if you moved back in—”

“Out of the question,” I cut in curtly.

“Watch how you speak to your mother, boy,” my father seethes.

“Please,” my mother begs, placing her hands placatingly on the table. “Please, no fighting. Let’s just have dinner together.”

There is a beat when my father and I do nothing but glare at each other. I break first, like always, and sit down in the chilly silence that creeps. The moment I do servants teem about us, serving our plates and filling our cups. I pick up my fork, more than ready to get this forced family dinner over with. The sooner this meal is done, the sooner I can see them out.

“How’s Sorcia?” My mother asks, and just like that the frosty truce shatters.

At her question, my father ceases his drumming and says, “Yes, where is your devout little priestess?”

“It’s your turn to watch your tone, boy,” I snarl, tossing my fork down. “That’s the future queen of Fomoria you’re talking about.”

“You assume she’ll still be alive by the time you take the throne,” my father says, and I jump up, my chair slamming to the ground behind me as my mother shouts in surprise.

“You miserable fucking prick,” I bark, slamming my hands on the table and glaring death at him. “You’re so mad that for once you can’t dictate every last detail of my life. You’re so gods-damn furious that you don’t get to control who I love.”

“And you’re such an idiotic, lovesick fool that you’re abandoning your family and your throne for that human,” he says, his quiet voice somehow so much louder than mine.

“She is an Offspring!”

“And as one she should know better than to go around asking the type of questions she did,” my father bellows so loudly my mother slaps her hands over her ears, a stream of silent tears trailing down her face. My heart is hammering wildly in my chest. I hate seeing her like this, but I refuse to cow to him just to placate my mother.

“What an abhorrent crime, asking a fucking question. All she wanted was to borrow a book.”

“You have no idea what is inside the book she asked for,” he growls.

“You’re right, I don’t. Because you cage that knowledge and keep it for yourself. I might be a fool, but at least I know that the blessing of a goddess shouldn’t be chained up like a prisoner.”

“We guard that blessing,” he says between gritted teeth.

“You don’t guard it, you hoard it, you gluttonous fucking pig,” I yell loud enough that the crystal glasses shake.