Page 58 of Heart of the Raven Prince

“You did well, daughter,” the figure says, her childlike voice oddly ancient. I’m snapping my teeth like a rabid dog, jerking against my limp body, fighting through the drug that is beginning to lose the battle. The woman turns her face to me, her bright red eyes sparing barely a glance for me.

“The blood of the crown,” Sorcia says, nodding toward the chalice. The winged woman smiles, revealing sharp fangs. My back is on fire, like bones are jutting out of it, ripping my skin apart as they splinter out. I’m finally able to move, but I only succeed in rolling myself over, screaming into the ground as a searing, heavy weight grows from between my shoulder blades. Turning my face to the side, I’m panting wildly, trying to push myself up.

My heart. I need it back.

That one thought presses through the pain and the blind animalistic energy that is coursing through me. It’s useless, of course. What little control I had was spent on flipping onto my stomach. I can only watch as the woman dips her hand into the chalice and pulls my heart out. It’s still beating. How is it still beating? The living vines twist around her wrist, boring into her flesh, though it doesn’t seem to pain her. My blood looks so bright against her ghostly-pale skin.

The air is thick with the presence of death and black magic as I watch my dismembered heart continue to beat. My ragged mind tries to make sense of this nightmare; how am I still alive? Then reality hits me like a bolt through my chest:

I’m not alive anymore, and that heart no longer belongs to me.

“We are ready for your blessing, mother,” Sorcia says, closing her eyes and holding her arms wide. “Bless your children with eternal life.”

The figure glances up from studying my heart in her hand. She turns and looks at me again, and this time her eyes widen in surprise, her angelic wings stretching out behind her. She’s focused on whatever has grown from my back. Wonder and awe cross her face, then she flashes a cruel smile at me.

“Wings of a raven,” she muses, her bright voice echoing around the quiet glen. Turning back to a still waiting Sorcia, she eyes her up and down, before frowning and looking at the prostrate dancers. “Yes, my children. You will live eternally.” At that, Sorcia opens her eyes, beaming wide when the woman places a bloodied hand on her cheek and says, “I’m sure you’ll live forever in his mind.”

She curls her hand into a fist, squeezing my heart until it bursts into a cloud of red mist.

I pull in a sharp breath, ready to let out another soul-rending scream. Instead, all that burning agony washes from my body. A cold, creeping numb has set in, blooming from my now hollow chest and spreading throughout me. The winged goddess turns her ruby gaze to me and says, “Feed, my son. You’re going to need your strength.”

Sorcia’s face falters as she quickly whips her head to me. I’m standing now. I don’t know how I have the strength to do it, but it’s then that I realize I’m no longer in control of my body. That wild beast inside of me is, and he has eyes only for Sorcia. For the bloody handprint on her cheek. She parts her lips, but whatever she’s about to say dies there.

One moment she has a head, the next she does not.

I’m vaguely aware of the screaming, as the cloaked figures rise and attempt to flee. They are no match for the hellish creature I have become. I watch behind a cage in my mind as I tear through them like paper. Blood and viscera rain down, and it’s mere moments before I am coated in it. I don’t know how long the carnage lasts, I only become aware when I am kneeling in a pile of gore, looking at the blue-eyed face of my love. Her head is resting atop of a mound of limbs that are not her own. There is something in my hand. I think it’s an eyeball, or maybe a tongue, judging by the thick, slimy feel of it. I won’t look away from her eyes to check.

Quiet steps fill the clearing, but I cannot look away from her cerulean gaze. Eyes like the sky. A pale hand reaches out and cups my chin, tilting my head up. I am snared in her ruby gaze, just as my heart was snared in her ivory grip. She grins down at me, swiping her thumb through the thick layer of blood on my cheek.

“My son,” she muses, before reaching forward and touching the mass behind my shoulders that ruffle like feathers. “My wings of death.”

Swiping my hand across the foggy mirror, condensation runs a trail down the glass. Gathering my dripping wet hair, I twist it into a bun and secure it with one of the many pins I found in a drawer in this bathroom. I barely slept last night, tossing and turning until I finally gave up the battle for sleep and decided on a bath. It was the strangest thing, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw a burning fire with figures dancing around it, and for some reason it filled me with uncontrollable terror.

The bath helped a surprising amount, considering nothing in this realm has felt soothing. The clawfoot brass tub seemed to hold heat, and the water never cooled, even as I stayed submerged up to my nose for hours. I helped myself to the collection of scented oils, salts, and a bar of soap that smelled like honeysuckles. I nearly drifted off surrounded by steam and the perfumed air. Even if I didn’t quite sleep, I was able to rest my body.

But my mind didn’t stop for a moment.

I’ve been turning Caden’s story over, weighing my options. Am I really going to agree to work with my sworn enemy based on nothing more than a swiftly told backstory and a promise to end him?

Do I even have a choice?

I told my people I would see them safely back on Gaelynn, and the only way there is through a rift he seems to be able to control. It’s hard to think of him and not feel hatred, but that hate is becoming…complicated. If I’m to believe his story, then he is not as complicit in the terror he has rained down on the mortal realm as I first assumed. He’s controlled, a collared dog, unleashed at the queen’s whim.

Should the rabbit blame the hawk for its death, or the falconer that commanded it to kill?

I shake myself from that thought, stepping away from the mirror. It doesn’t matter. He’s killed thousands and enslaved even more. He is responsible for the destruction of my kingdom. He’s responsible for the death of my parents. That is something I can never forgive. He can try all he wants to put the things he broke back together, but this will still end with me killing him. Unbidden, the image of his face last night rises in my mind, the look in his eyes moments before he turned and walked away from me. Like something inside of him was pleading with me to see him as he once was. To see him as good.

He is not.

I remind myself that firmly, as I shove away any sympathetic thoughts that try to grip me. Holding the towel tight around myself, I march to the door and yank it open. I’m about to hurry across the hallway back to my room, when I come to a halt. Or, at least, I try to, but my wet feet slip on the polished wood, and I lose my balance. My feet slide out from under me, and suddenly I’m falling flat on my ass. All because I wasn’t expecting to see him here.

Caden is standing before my door, his hand raised like he was just about to knock. At the sound of my graceless landing, he turns, his eyes looking directly in front of him, where he expects to see me standing. It takes a moment before he looks down and catches me clutching the towel around my naked body as I scramble to stand. The carnal look in his eyes hits me directly between my legs. I have never seen someone so entirely consumed by desire. But the moment is here and gone in a flash; I might have imagined the whole thing.

“Fuck the old gods, where are your clothes?” he snaps, forcefully yanking his gaze up to the ceiling, turning swiftly so that his back is facing me.

“I was bathing,” I seethe, finally standing, holding the towel tight around me. “You told me to make use of the bathroom.”

“I also provided you with a wardrobe full of clothes.”