Page 7 of Heart of the Raven Prince

“No?” The prince repeats, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. He leans against the desk, his knuckles white as he grips it hard. His wings puff out behind him before he snaps them in tighter. Tension seizes the room as Caden and I stare each other down like two rabid dogs fighting over a bone.

“I want to return to the others,” I say, breathing heavily, but refusing to back down. I know it is foolish to argue with the lethal fae glaring at me, but I also know I cannot spend the night in his tent. I refuse to think about the ways he would use me, and how powerless I would be to stop him.

“I don’t remember giving you a choice,” he rumbles, the wooden desk splintering as his grip tightens.

“I’m not staying in here,” I say, gripping my fists tightly at my side.

Gods and demons, just shut up already, Fawn. You cannot protect anyone if you’re dead.

I blame my father for this, for stoking that fire inside of me and for raising me to be a hunter and never prey. What I wouldn’t give to have my bow in my hands now. I could probably launch three arrows directly at him before he even moves. Well, I could…if he were human. But he is most assuredly not human, and he is staring at me with my death clear in his eyes.

I don’t fucking care.

He may think he can steal everything from me, but I’ll be cold in the ground before I let him take my body. Besides, I have people that are waiting for me to return. My people. I will not leave them alone in this camp of faes and traitors.

“You would be wise to rethink being mouthy around the prince,” the general says behind me. “You would be better off shutting up and smiling.”

In response, I turn and snap at him, my teeth clicking loudly in the quiet tent. They might consider me prey, but I’m going to show them how hard I bite.

“Leave us, Doran. You have your orders. Make sure you hear from Velen before she leaves.” He narrows his gaze at me, his voice dropping low as he says, “I do not give a fuck what you wish, I suggest you remember that.” Snapping his eyes back to the general he repeats, “She stays with me.”

The tent flap opens, sending another blast of icy wind at my back, hammering the final nail in my coffin. The general leaves, trapping me in with this monster. My breaths come in short, sharp inhales; my hands clenched into tight fists at my side. Tilting his head, he studies me. The indignation in his eyes bleeds into an almost curious expression. He holds up a hand and crooks a finger at me. “Come here, human.”

“I have a name,” I say, holding my ground. What the hell is it about this fae that keeps stoking the fire inside me? I want to snap him like kindling and feed him into that raging inferno. I wait for him to strike me down with a burst of his dark magic. But he just tilts his head to the other side, crosses his arms, and studies me.

“Then why don’t you tell me your name,” he says, a light dancing in his eyes that I do not miss. It is the look of a warrior sizing up his next opponent.

“Tilly,” I blurt out the name of my childhood cat. I instantly want to kick myself for the inability to think of a name that didn’t sound quite so fake. The quirk of his eyebrow tells me he believes me about as much as I do.

“If you say so, Tilly,” he says, stressing the name. “You would rather spend your night in the cold elements, chained somewhere with the other prisoners—”

“Survivors,” I say, and both his eyebrows shoot up at the interruption. His wings flinch in irritation, a muscle in his jaw twitches. That single word hangs in the air with the weight of interrupting the Raven Prince as we stare at each other. His wings jerk again as though they want to stretch out, to fill the space of the tent and reclaim some of his authority.

He pushes off the desk, and slowly starts prowling toward me, one heavy boot in front of the other. He tries to force himself into my space, but I hold my ground. A low growl rumbles from deep inside his chest and still I do not back down. He is trying to be foreboding and domineering.

Gods and demons, he’s succeeding.

But he doesn’t need to know that. I remain resolute, stubbornly holding his intense gaze. I only gasp, nearly stepping back, when he strikes out and grips my chin roughly, leaning down to me. I’m suddenly convinced he’s going to kiss me. I try to jerk back, but his other hand snakes around me, yanking me forward and holding me against him.

“You seem to be under the misconception that you have any say in the matter of what happens to you from now on. Allow me to help rid you of that thought,” he whispers cruelly.

I squirm against the feel of his icy hand on my chin; his firm body presses against mine. Any moment now he will press his lips to mine and then I’ll know what death tastes like. I’m so convinced of it that it takes my mind a moment to register that he is not leaning down to kiss me. Instead, he dips lower and places his cold tongue on my flesh. Dragging it up my chin, he licks the strip of my dried blood.

Gods and demons I’m going to be sick.

A cold chill drags its claws down my spine. I try to pull my face free from his grip but fuck he’s so much stronger than me. He presses his lips directly against the shell of my ear as he says, “You are mine now, Oisín. Forget again and I will only be too glad to remind you.”

I stare at the swaying tent door from my spot curled up on the ground, my hands bound behind me once again, the rope knotted around the tent pole at my back. Grunting, I twist my wrists, trying to tug the knot loose. My fingers are raw and no doubt bleeding from having been working at the harsh ropes for so long. After his chilling proclamation, the prince had dragged me across the room and bound me to the pole before I could even register we were moving. He ignored my shouted protests, turning from me and swiftly marching into the night.

It has been hours and not a soul has stepped foot in the tent since. I don’t know what I think I’ll accomplish by freeing myself from these bindings, it isn’t exactly like I can march openly inside the camp. Still, I loathe the idea of being bound before him. The rope loosens marginally and I stifle a gasp. I’ll take any win I can get, but I will not let myself lose focus as I continue to work at the bindings. Another twist, and the rope pulls loose once more. A satisfied grin spreads across my face, my eyes staring determinedly ahead as my mind focuses solely on the knot. If I can just work free this last knot, then—

The tent flap yanks open and Caden swarms back in with a gust of snow which quickly melts in the warm tent. He’s carrying a cup and a bowl of something steaming. His shadowy gaze quickly finds mine. I freeze. Yanking my fingers from the knots, I curl them in to try and hide the injuries. His brows knit together at my suddenly innocent expression and he rounds on me. I begin to scramble back, but before I can move more than an inch, he is behind me. The bowl and cup are placed on the ground before me. His icy fingers graze my wrists and I inhale sharply at the deathly feel of his touch.

He pauses, but I feel his fingers begin to trace the outline of the knot, sitting nearly undone before him. Then he grips my hand and slowly uncurls my fingers. He lets out a huffed chuckle before untying the last knot and letting my hands fall free in front of me.

“Eat,” he commands, standing and walking toward his desk.

“Have they eaten?”