Chapter 1 #2
It was the same thing I heard three years ago, when I had sex for the first time in that very stall with a previous drunken stable boy. He even passed out right after he came, snoring into the hay, never once looking me in the eye.
Men couldn’t seem to handle who I was sober.
Henrik looked up, his blue eyes catching mine. A cocky smile hitched the side of his face like we hadn’t been interrupted by Linnea and he had made me see all of the lost realms and the stars in between.
Sarina made a squealy noise next to me, gripping my hand in excitement. “He likes you.”
“Rina, you know I can’t do anything about it.”
“You’re not married . . . yet. Take him as a lover.”
I had no plans to ever get married. My father thought the White Raven was above such things.
I peered over at him again, and he shot me a wink and a smile. Maybe Sarina was right, he was just really nervous. At least he could look at me without drink. Maybe his kisses wouldn’t be so messy and awkward next time. And I would feel all the giddiness and excitement Sarina claims I should.
“Sarina!” The voice stilled us both, the nasally tone we knew all too well. “White Raven!”
“Grybba.” Ugly hag. Sarina rolled her eyes.
“Rina!” I hit her arm, turning to see Linnea stomping for us, her blue dress somehow looking more pinned up and conservative next to Sarina’s. Her blond hair sleeked back in a stiff bun; her stone-blue eyes narrowed on us. She was only twenty-six but somehow looked decades older.
“Fun got stuck up her ass along with her youth,” Sarina had said one time.
I hated her so much, but I couldn’t speak up to my father about her. He wanted her there and his rule was law, even more for me than the people of this kingdom.
“Elvina told you to come right back,” Linnea hissed, her thin lips pinched. “The king has called for Wren to come to his chamber, immediately.”
My spine went rigid. There weren’t many reasons my father had to call on me now with urgency. He had so many people watching over me, I was a well-oiled system not needing his involvement.
“I told Elvina not to send you. You can never just do as you’re told.
” She glared at Sarina. “Now hurry!” She snapped her fingers, motioning us to get moving.
Her demand would have most thralls fired for addressing me with such disrespect—my father would never put up with such a thing personally—but my handmaidens were different.
I was the motherless child they had either tended since a baby or acted like they did, forgetting I was almost nineteen, the age at which I would take a seat beside my father on the throne.
The year the White Raven was foretold to come into her powers.
Following Linnea, I glanced quickly back at Henrik. His baby face and blond hair brushing the tops of his shoulders, his features gentle and pleasant. He was good-looking, except nothing in my heart sputtered to life. And if I looked away, he would be lost to the sea of my memory. Forgotten.
I turned and rushed toward the castle, to my father.
My muddy boots left tracks on the snowy white rugs placed throughout the castle, the familiar corridors leading to my father’s chambers. The walls were decorated with elaborate weavings of our history, each tapestry a part of the tale.
Growing up, I used to stare at the intricate stitching with fascination.
My favorite showed the silvery wings of my own people and the inky hues of the Northerners, flying in our raven forms on errands for Huginn and Muninn, the faithful servants of Odin.
A magical time when the Ravenshadow tribe to the north, and the Silvervale tribe in the east, were the sole Messengers of the Realm, delivering messages and warnings to other worlds far away.
Older Ravens—my tutors and others who lived before the Battle of Blood—taught me more of our history.
Centuries ago, the sun and moon were not at war.
My own people did not live in constant daylight, and eternal darkness didn’t plague the northern kingdom.
King Gavric Helvig, leader of the Northern Night Ravens, and King Vorian Stallard, ruler of the Eastern Day Ravens, were trading partners, not fierce enemies as they are now.
But all that was before the Leatherwings. Before the Battle of Blood. And before Huginn and Muninn took away our magic and barred us from ever leaving our world.
The war splintered us, the curse divided us, but it was the foretelling which made us true adversaries.
The last tapestry displayed King Stallard and King Helvig in a great battle against the Leatherwings king, Greythorn. The frightening ruler of the bats.
“My lady.” A guard stationed outside the king’s office bowed, opening the heavy door.
I stepped in, my chin rising, my expression hard as if I was going into battle. I suppose dealing with my father was like going to war each time. King Vorian Stallard was not cruel. He showed his love in small gestures, but it was reserved. He was the king first, and I was the White Raven first.
On my entry, Iskald rose from his spot on the rug beneath the painting of the late Queen Elsara.
She was beautiful with her long regal nose, dark blue eyes, and blond hair, but she was a stranger to me.
The mother I never knew. The large wolfhound pranced over to me, licking my hand.
My fingers slid through his silky, white fur, using it as a security blanket.
“Your Majesty.” I dipped my head and curtsied.
His back to me, Vorian Stallard stood proudly at the window overlooking the gardens and village.
His hand stroked the fur of his other hound, Runa, who never left his side.
Standing just under six feet, he occupied more space than his lean body would suggest. His aura exuded confidence in his role, the power he held.
“Wrennlyn.” He turned to me, his white-blond hair tied back to show off his trim beard, white wolf fur over his shoulders, his crystal blue eyes on me. Handsome and regal, the king was only 349 years old, considered early mid-life in our realm. Most Ravens lived to be over 800.
Desired by many women throughout the kingdom, Vorian did not seek a wife after losing his love eighteen years ago in childbirth.
His kingdom was his only devotion. Though his bed was never cold, I heard of the many he invited back to his bedchamber, whisperings from noblewomen to the maids about his prowess in bed, hoping he’d take one of them as a wife, which had my ears bleeding.
Vorian flicked his gaze to his personal thrall, Ansfrid, and the guards at the door. “Leave us.”
“Yes, your majesty.” Ansfrid bowed stiffly, threads of silver discoloring his pure white beard. His shoes clipped fastidiously across the floor in measured steps, gesturing to the guards. The door clicked shut behind them.
Nerves rattled around my stomach. He never excused them. There were always guards around, so many we would often forget their presence.
Had he heard about last night? Had enough of me and Sarina sneaking out with lads from the village, ruining my reputation?
Women being virgins before marriage was not a coveted virtue in our culture.
Men, along with women, wanted someone who knew what they were doing in bed, had experience to please their partner.
Many houses in the village were so small, the whole family were in the same room while their parents had sex. It was normal.
Except, I couldn’t be seen with my legs wide open with a poor farmer in a horse stall. That was below the White Raven.
“You know I don’t waste my time with useless words.” He cleared his throat, walking closer to me. “I will get to the point.”
My heart amplified in my chest.
“You are to be married.”
“What?” The declaration hit me like a broadsword. “What are you talking about?”
Many noblemen had spoken to the king about either their sons or themselves marrying me. He always turned them down, stating it was not something he would even consider until I was much older, if at all.
Marriage was designed as a power move, to gain more command. We already ruled the Silvervale kingdom; no one could help boost my father’s wealth or status. And who I was, the role I was supposed to play, was above matrimony in my father’s eyes.
Or it used to be.
“The White Raven would never marry your useless offspring!” I heard my father bellow at one merchant who dared to offer up his son. “Get the hell out of my castle, before I toss you out the window myself!”
After that the proposals stopped coming.
“I’ve gotten reports.” He clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes slipping quickly to the papers sprawled over his desk. “There are rumblings from the north. Sightings and rumors of Night Raven guards near our border . . .” He tapered off, a strange, faraway look in his eyes.
“Rumors?” I sputtered. “You’re basing a marriage for me off rumors and rumblings?”
His jaw tightened, his nose flaring. My father’s temper was legendary.
He was in my face before I could even suck in a breath.
“Do not forget who you are. What you represent.” His voice spat with quiet anger. “What I’ve done for you. Your duty is to me. You do as I say.” He stabbed his fingers into his breastbone. “I will keep you safe no matter what, whether it makes you happy or not. Do you understand me?”
Fighting to keep the tears from showing in my eyes, I nodded my head, my teeth clenching. I knew it all too well. It had been ingrained in me since the time I could remember.
The king watched me for a moment, noting my trembling chin, still raised in strength. Royal. Strong. Never bowing.
He leaned back, exhaling slowly, his finger pressing into his brows.
“I’m sorry, Wren.” He let out another calming breath.
“You know I’m only doing this because I must. If the Night Ravens come here and are able to capture the White Raven?
We must do everything in our power to prevent that. Do you understand what is at stake?”