Page 60 of Heart of the Raven Prince

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Caden?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“I think you are far too brave for your own good, and I think right now that is doing you a disservice. Listen to me, Fawn, we walk a knife’s edge when we enter that throne room. If you breathe wrong, she will kill you. So, for the love of the fucking old gods, please just be silent and let me handle this.”

I inhale deeply, but finally nod to him, and I see his shoulders deflate in relief. He lets out a breath as he runs his hand through his hair, and it hits me then that he’s essentially just asked me to trust him.

And I agreed.

Caden begins straightening his jacket, but I don’t think he’s realized his tie is askew. I move without thinking, stepping forward and gripping his tie, adjusting it for him. He freezes under my touch, but he does not push me away. Tucking the tie into his vest, I pull back and walk into the hallway without giving him a passing glance. He follows a beat behind me.

“We’re about to enter a den of wolves, Oisín,” he says as we step toward the towering doors that encase her throne room. We’re waiting outside for our moment to be called in, and I shift nervously on my feet for when those doors will open. My heart races, my body tensing the way it always does before a sparring match. This is so much more than a simple training session. The fate of my life is about to be decided and I have no say in it. I still haven’t told him my decision but I’m starting to believe I never truly had the option to choose. Everything in this realm is dictated by the queen, including if I live or die.

“You were wrong, earlier. Just so you know,” Caden says, and even though blind panic tries to control me, I snort out a sarcastic laugh.

“And what was I supposedly wrong about?” I ask, tilting my head up to hold his gaze.

The pure, primal want that swims in his eyes is strong enough to take my breath away as he whispers, “The sight of your skin has never offended me.”

The throne room is a gothic abyss. The lightless void gleams black, shadows cloaking every surface. My boots click along the polished floors, their echoes bouncing off the tall stone walls and blending in with the hushed voices that gossip as I pass. Muted flickering light drips from the massive chandelier, barely illuminating the ominous space. My steps are slow but resolute as we walk a straight line toward her throne. Hundreds of members of court line the walls, and nearly every gaze that meets mine is red. The more elite members of her flock gather near her, and I see Duvessa standing behind the throne with Arawyn’s other inner circle. Her eyes narrow in on Fawn, a scowl knitting her brows together, her mouth falling open in surprise.

Fawn, to her credit, has remained stoic beside me. I can hear her heart beating, and it is a relaxed, even pace, matching her regulated breaths. Glancing to her, I see her face set in a stony mask, free of any expression. She is a vault, impossible to read. Doran informed me of the scene at the blacksmiths, when she demonstrated far more of her skills than she should have. I had suspected from the way she holds herself that she is trained in combat, but it’s one thing to suspect and another thing entirely to see her in action. She looks like a warrior about to enter the battlefield.

Which, I suppose she is.

I don’t look at her long, instead training my eyes on the radiant creature seated on the throne that used to be my father’s. Arawyn is blinding as always—stark white in the pitch-black space. She’s draped in a gown made of dripping strands of pearls and wearing a crown of silver and rubies. Her wings flex behind her languidly as she crosses her legs, the pearls clattering quietly as she adjusts her skirts. She has not looked at Fawn once.

It was Sorcia’s biggest mistake to assume that Arawyn would ever see humans as anything more than a meal. If she had truly understood the goddess she worshipped, she would have known that Arawyn would never waste a drop of her power changing her dinner into a creature of her court. Another sideways glance at Fawn shows the shining ruby bumping against her neck, dangling from the silver chain in her ear. At least she is doing a good job of playing the role of a silent, dutiful human. I wasn’t sure she had the ability to keep her mouth shut.

It takes both an eternity and no time at all before we stop in front of the raised dais the queen sits atop. Two lesser thrones flank her. One is empty, it’s the throne I normally occupy when the queen demands my presence at court. Lochlan sits in the other, whispering something to Gregor as they both sneer at me. Gregor laughs but abruptly stops when the queen speaks. She does not have to ask for silence; the court is so intent on her every move that they all snap to attention the moment she opens her mouth.

“How strange, to see my son standing before me and not seated in his rightful place at my side.” Her silvery voice sweeps around us, echoing like shattering crystal across the hall. I bow my head, my hands clasped tightly behind my back, waiting. She has not directly addressed me, so I do not speak.

“I’ve always thought his position of power has been vastly overinflated,” Lochlan snorts.

“Is that so?” she hums. I’m watching it all in the reflection of the perfectly polished black stone, never once raising my head to look at her. Not until she bids me to do so. A decaying wind swirls around her as she drops her voice and says, “Come to me.”

Her words are filled with enough power that I am jolted forward, but at least I’m still in control of myself. Fawn remains behind, but I can still hear her even heartbeat as I ascend the dais and stop before the queen.

“You forgot to kneel.”

I drop instantly to my knees.

“Should I question your loyalty, Caden?” she breathes, and I’m certain I’m the only one who hears.

“My loyalty is to you and your crown; it has been since the moment you made me your son,” I say. A lie, one she is clearly aware of, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t need me to be truly loyal, not when she can control every part of me. Not when she still has my heart. She just needs me to play the part in public, to make sure the strings to her puppet are still intact.

“Are you sure?” she croons, her ethereal voice bouncing around the cavernous courtroom. She leans forward, the clicking pearls of her gown remind me of the scurrying sound of hundreds of beetles crawling over each other. “Do you truly hold no fondness for the false king that ruled before me?”

“You know that I have left every part of my old life behind.”

“Then why did you dress the human in the colors of your old house?” Her question is barely more than a whisper, and every breath in the court is held in an attempt to hear it. I inhale deeply, forcing myself to not turn to look at Fawn.

I knew I should have made Fawn change before we left for the palace, but even the mere minutes it would take to dress her were more than I could spare. When the queen calls you, you do not wait, you run. Besides, I had…not hated seeing Fawn wearing the exact deep green and bright gold of my family’s crest.

“My house is no more,” I say. “Since I do not deem any human worthy of wearing your colors, what harm is there in dressing them in mine? Disgraced colors are fitting for a slave, don’t you agree?” I hear Fawn’s heart skip a beat, and I can imagine her fighting the urge to scowl.

It is a game, Fawn. I am merely a pawn. Please see that.

The queen sits back, pursing her lips. Drumming her fingers on her throne, her sharp nails clack a disjointed tune against the armrest. Her nails are painted a sharp white, with diamonds and pearls set in intricate designs on them flashing at me in the low light of the courtroom. Her light, angelic voice drips with malice as she asks, “And yet you believe this slave can help you win a war?”