White Raven (The Messengers of the Realm Trilogy #1)

Chapter 1

Wood banged in loud clashes, the cold air billowing with our frenetic breaths. Sweat trickled down my back as I tried to scuttle away from my opponent, my boots sinking deeper in the grimy snow.

“Can you take yourself out of the calculation?” The man stepped to the side, countering my steps. “Fight when you need to but always be looking to take yourself out of the equation.”

I glanced around, calculating ways I could escape, my foggy mind taking too long on how I could use the objects around me.

He took advantage of my slowness. The blade sliced toward my neck, plucking panic up my chest in bubbles.

Grunting, I twisted my body hard to the right, throwing up my weapon to block, barely stopping the chopping hit.

The meeting of blades vibrated through my bones, a rush of adrenaline from the close call burning through my layers of clothes.

A triumphant smile quirked my lips, my gaze meeting my adversary for his reaction.

“Good.” The man across from me nodded in approval, his expression firm.

I tried to hide the joy at getting the praise. With him, good was the equivalent to “You did outstanding, Wren! I see you as an equal in battle.”

“Don’t be too pleased. I was able to get close enough to strike.” He circled back around, giving me no time to bathe in my pride, lurching at me with more determination.

“My lady?” a woman’s voice called out from the edge of our makeshift battle ring. “The king is waiting for you.”

My gaze dropped away for a second to see my handmaiden dropping into a curtsy several yards away. Her fair hair was tied back in a simple braid, her long, stately nose wrinkling with disgust at my dirty clothes and knotted tresses.

A blunt stab hit my chest, drawing my attention down to the dull blade grazing my stained, white, long-sleeved training shirt. Whether it was a fancy dress or my training clothes, it was always the color of snow.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

“Never take your eyes off your opponent, Wrennlyn.” Yanric leaned in, his light blue eyes and white hair bright against his black skin.

“Your focus needs to be one hundred percent on them until they are defeated, or you could lose your life in a moment.” He stressed his words, hinting at the severity of what would happen if I let myself get killed by such a careless mistake.

He never had to remind me; it was ingrained in my bones since a child.

He dropped his wooden sword away from me, irritated at being interrupted during our session, but had no say against it.

Not against my father.

The satisfaction from my tiny victory spun into frustration. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I exhaled, disappointed that I let Sarina pull my attention so easily. Yanric had trained me to block out noise, to always be intent in my purpose and not to let silly mistakes trip me up.

Today my brain was full of hungover butterflies, my focus fluttering too easily.

“We are running late.” Sarina put her hands on her hips.

We were the same height, with the Day Raven features of pale hair and light blue eyes that long ago would have matched our feathers.

However, where I was lean from training, Sarina captivated men with her curvy figure and small waist. She never let any of the freshly made delicacies at my beck and call go to waste.

Though she was my handmaiden, we were more like sisters, being raised together even as babies. Both of us would be turning nineteen in a handful of months, our birthdays only a day apart—“creating a frenzy of hormones and silliness,” as Elvina put it.

“You cannot be late, Wren. And you know how Elvina gets when we are not on schedule.” I wanted to roll my eyes.

I’m pretty sure the king chose Elvina as my primary handmaiden solely to drive me crazy.

She was twenty years older but looked and acted like a grandmother.

Strict, unpleasant, and always exasperated with me and Sarina.

None of my handmaidens were my age except Sarina, which made us even closer—one of the only friends I was allowed to have.

We giggled, gossiped, and got wrapped up in the young men at the market who cheekily smiled, bowing their heads and addressing me with interest when I walked by.

Except Sarina would be the one they could bed and she made it known with a wink she was up for it.

It was our culture to be open to sex, but I was held to a different standard.

My station robbed me of being a normal adolescent girl.

I was the White Raven.

“Your father calls, my lady.” Yanric bowed his head at me, shifting from my trainer to my subject. “I will see you tomorrow.”

I nodded, handing my training sword over to him. No one was allowed to have sharp blades around me during training, only wooden child’s toys, the king too afraid something bad would happen to me.

“Thank you, Yanric.”

He clasped the dulled weapon between his hands, dipping his head again, gathering the equipment we used to train.

King Vorian Stallard had his best guards hovering around me, yet he started my training at twelve, terrified of the moment one of my sentinels might not be there to protect me.

He needed me to know how to defend myself.

He also made sure every one of my five handmaidens was trained in combat enough to battle an intruder.

Sarina hated it with a passion. She despised being sweaty and dirty, unless it was with a boy, preferring to wear the pretty dresses and attend the parties, flirting with the young men parading around hoping to gain my notice. Or more preferably, my father’s.

“Come on.” Sarina tapped her foot impatiently, the urgency for me to hasten crawling over every inch of her body.

“If we hurry, we can go through the village market.” She tugged me forward, already heading out toward the parish, which was in the opposite way of the castle.

“You know Henrik will be there.” She wiggled her eyebrows with a knowing glint in her eyes.

My cheeks flushed with the memory of last night. Sarina and I snuck out of the castle after Elvina and the other handmaidens were asleep, meeting Henrik and his friend, Thomas, in the horse stalls.

“I thought my father was asking for me?” I burrowed my boots in the snow, feeling my hot sweaty face, sticky skin, and tangled strands loose from my braid sticking to my face even more.

Sarina rolled her eyes, threading her arm with mine.

“I just said that so Yanric would let you go early.” She yanked me forward, giving me no chance to deny her.

Sarina was a force, someone who didn’t take no for an answer.

“Elvina ordered me to get you, but she didn’t say it had to be straightaway.

” Unless you were specific, Sarina would interpret an instruction how she wanted.

Allowing her to drag me, I ripped the tie from my hair, letting my long silvery-white hair cascade down my back, hoping to hide my scarlet face and sullied clothes.

Elvina and my father would throw a fit if they saw me walking in the village not properly dressed, wearing my training trousers and tunic. And with no bodyguards.

“Hurry. Before Elvina sends Linnea for us.” She curled her lip in irritation.

Linnea loved to throw her authority around, always the one to snitch on us to Elvina or my father.

I was actually surprised Elvina sent Sarina to retrieve me, instead of Linnea.

When it was just the two of us, we tended to get distracted and in trouble.

Sarina rushed her steps, her signature handmaiden light blue dress flowing behind her in the icy breeze.

Fat clouds rolled in overhead as the white stone castle loomed behind us like a stunning ice sculpture, strategically placed on a snowy peak behind stone walls.

The Day Raven banner flew atop the highest turret—the image of a raven bearing a letter and dagger in its beak, a symbol of what we once were.

The village in Silvervale expanded around the castle in layers, the frosty gabled roofs standing like lines of soldiers ready to protect the heart of the Day Territory.

Nestled within the snow-tipped forest, Silvervale Castle was the home of the widowed King Vorian Stallard and his daughter, Wrennlyn Stallard, the White Raven.

Mud and horse manure mucked up the cobbled lanes, flecking the hem of Sarina’s dress. Sarina and I wove through the empty market stalls, the rush of early-morning shoppers long gone, leaving most merchants trying to hawk their last items before they shut down for the day.

“He’s there,” Sarina hissed, her fingers latching on tighter to my arm.

My gaze lifted to Henrik’s family stall. His tall frame bent over to pick up a box of his family-grown brussels sprouts, a vegetable we ate with everything, since it grew in a cold climate.

“He’s so good-looking, Wren.” Sarina knocked her hip into mine.

Nodding, I let my gaze fall over him, recalling the feel of his hands moving under my skirts.

While Sarina and Thomas moaned from an empty stall over, Henrik had laid me back in the hay, his mouth working sloppily up my neck.

Still, the biggest thrill I got was when Emil’s apprentice, the new stable boy, told Linnea where we were, forcing us to run half-dressed back to the castle.

Thankfully, Sarina and I had gotten good at evading her.

Sarina was so giggly over Henrik and Thomas, I expected to be more caught up in him while he kissed me.

Instead, I was highly aware of the pokes from the straw underneath me, the stench of horse manure, the pawing of his fumbling hands and chaotic kisses, finding him less cute than Sarina seemed to think he was.

He was so drunk his eyes blurred, not saying anything more to me than hello before he started kissing me.

Sarina said it was because he was nervous around me, to be in the presence of the White Raven.

His solution was to get so drunk, his lips struggled to find their destination.