Page 73 of Heart of the Raven Prince

I don’t fucking care.

Growing angrier the closer I get to his room, I embrace that sparking ember of heat that builds in me. I’m so fucking furious at him for filling me with this all-consuming desire, the one I know will end in despair. At the end of the hallway is a massive wooden door, firmly shut, but that certainly doesn’t stop me. Twisting the doorknob, I shove it open and stand in the doorway, staring at the confused and startled Caden. He’s shirtless, lounging in a four-poster bed, canopies draped around him. He’s holding a book, an arm tucked behind his head, that decaying black scar a stark contrast against his pale chest.

“Fawn, what are you—”

“Shut up,” I snap, kicking the door shut behind me, and glaring at him.

How dare this infuriating man tell me I am too scared to admit my own feelings when he won't do the same?

“You think I’m fucking scared? Did you want me to tell you that you’re right?” I hiss. He watches me with wide, confused black eyes as I march to his bed. Flinging his down comforter open, I crawl beneath it. “Yes, you’re right, Caden. I’m terrified. Every day. I’m scared of failing. I’m scared of succeeding more. Of doing everything right and still not being enough for the people who rely on me. I’m so blind with terror every second of every day, with each breath I pull in. Fear is a weight I carry with me always; one I cannot drop.”

Caden is as still as a statue, not even bothering to breathe as I scoot over and press my body against his. I move to lie down, until I sit up and grab the book in his hands. Because my mother taught me that books are treasures, I do not fling it over my shoulders as I want to. Instead, I pluck it gently from his grip and set it reverently on his bedside table. Then I grab his arm, yank it around me, and let out an angry huff as I flop on his pillow and forcefully shut my eyes. “But I’m not weak, Caden. That fear may be strong, but I’m stronger.”

I’m pulling in shallow breaths, trying to quell some of this burning anger inside of me. I hate the gods, the beings that determined we were worthy enough to bless but not enough to protect. I’m so fucking mad at them for ignoring us and letting those in power seize control of the weak. What use is a blessing if that power is just going to be consumed by monsters that believe they are more deserving of life than us?

And I’m also so gods-damned furious that this man is pretending that the only reason he wants me is for my body.

No words are spoken between us. The reality is that there is a great chasm of things we don’t know about each other, things we may never truly grasp. But we see each other, perhaps better than anyone else sees us, and in doing so we understand the finality of us. The inevitability of our eventual end. So, I simply lapse into silence as I curl against him, and he gently tugs his arm around me. A spark of his power flies out, and the lights wink off, plunging us into darkness. He buries his head in my shoulder, inhaling deeply as his muscles relax and I melt into the feel of him.

“What’s Bealtine?” he asks, his lips moving against my skin. His fingers begin to trace gently up and down my arm. I consider not answering him, but the darkness gives me courage. I can hide in the dark, I can pretend that he is not the Raven Prince, and I am not the one that’s going to kill him.

“It’s our summer festival…on Gaelynn,” I say, and his hand stills for a moment. It’s strange to talk about my home with him of all people. But…I want him to know about it. I want him to know about me. “It’s a tradition, to chase away the long nights of winter. The final night before the first sunrise of summer, we spend the evening building raging bonfires and dancing around them.”

“I would like to see you dance,” he chuckles, and I smack his hand, which only makes him laugh harder before he threads his fingers through mine. His laugh is like velvet sliding over my naked body, and I'm desperate to hear that sound again.

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent dancer. Even better after an evening of cracking open casks of summer wine.”

“Dancing and drinking? You’re quite the little heathen.” His free hand dips, beginning to swirl down my stomach, stoking a low heat in me. A soft moan escapes my lips at the feather-light feel of his touch, and I make no move to stop him.

“It’s actually a spiritual ceremony,” I say, trying to focus. “But when I was younger I suppose it was just an excuse to get drunk. We’re so stir-crazy after being cooped up from winter, and then the following rainy spring, we need something to do with all that energy.”

“So, you spend the whole evening spinning around a fire?” he purrs, his breath hot on my neck.

“Dancing, drinking, or pulling someone into the woods to do—” My breath hitches in my throat when he grips my hip, pulling me hard against him. My eyes widen when I feel every rigidly hard inch of him pressed against my back. I cough, my throat suddenly far too dry, every nerve in my body on fire.

Am I doing this…are we doing this?

Caden’s lips brush the shell of my ear as he whispers, “To do what, Oisín?”

His hand has stopped on my hip, his fingers tantalizingly close to a very sensitive part of me. He’s completely still, and I realize suddenly he’s not asking what carnal acts someone would perform on Bealtine. He’s asking which ones I want to perform now. Biting my lip, I stare straight ahead, and I nearly grab his hand and put it directly between my thighs.

Nearly.

Instead, I cough and wiggle away from him, putting a few inches of space between us. I hear him let out a shaky breath before he adjusts himself. My cheeks burn, and desire courses through me like wildfire, but I still cannot make myself cross that line with Caden. I wait for him to dismiss me. If he is truly only interested in my body, and if I’m not going to give it to him, then surely he’ll demand I leave his bed. I am offering him a very real, very raw part of my soul and I’m ready for him to reject it. To reject me. Instead, he returns to gently stroking my arm and asks, “What happens when the sun rises?”

“Oh,” I say, my throat tight for reasons I don’t fully understand. Coughing, I clear my throat and say, “We let the fires die the closer it gets to dawn, and we watch in silence as the sun rises. There is no grand finale, just a quiet sunrise at the end of a very long night.” We lapse into silence, but he never stops tracing my skin. He pulls me tighter against him, but he does not attempt to do anything more than hold me.

“I think I would like to see that.” He swallows hard, an intense longing clear in his quiet voice. “I want to see the sunrise again, when it isn’t over a battlefield.” I twist in his arms, looking up and holding his eyes. They’re endless black pools in the darkness of his room. He reaches out and cups my cheek, rubbing a thumb over it.

“One day I’ll take you to Bealtine,” I promise, placing my hand over his and holding it there. He gives me a mournful smile, one that says he knows it’s a lie as much as I do. He wraps his arms around me and tucks me under his chin, one velvety soft wing curling around me and enveloping me in his scent. He doesn’t answer me, because the reality is too damning. I was speaking like we have forever.

We don’t get forever. We barely get now.

This cruel fucking world has taken so much from me already, but I’ll be gods-damned if I let something as foolish as fear take these moments too. He doesn’t kiss me. We don’t move in the dark. Our bodies are entwined only in an embrace. Our breathing syncs, and I think if he had a heartbeat, it would beat in time with mine.

As I drift off, I realize falling asleep next to this man who sees me for who I am is the most intimate thing I have ever done.

It’s odd, how fascinating I find watching her breathe. Her shoulders gently rise and fall as she sleeps deeply beside me. I’ve been awake for hours, simply watching her sleep, and I think perhaps I could do this for the rest of my life.