Chapter 1 #3
Growing up, I learned about the seers’ foretelling on the day of the battle that ripped our world apart.
Their runes covered in the enemies’ blood; they spoke of one with noble blood who would possess magic.
The child’s power would blossom on their nineteenth birthday.
They would heal the land and reunite the clans, breaking the curse locking us here.
King Gavric was not married, nor ever took a queen, while King Vorian and Queen Elsara tried for a long, long time to conceive.
Their sorrow each time she suffered a miscarriage tore at them until she got pregnant over eighteen years ago.
And no one doubted, when the queen finally delivered a child, a girl, that she was the one the seers prophesied.
Even more so when Elsara died in childbirth, verifying to the people that the baby girl held exceptional power.
Wrennlyn Stallard was their savior.
It was why my father was determined to keep the White Raven safe. I was looked upon as a savior, and my father’s rightful reign to rule this land with me at his side.
And why I didn’t understand the change of heart now.
“You can keep me safer here. You have an army!”
“Wrennlyn.” He gritted his teeth. “Do not question my motives. You know how barbaric and bloodthirsty the Northerners are.”
Yes, I’d been told about Night Ravens’ cruelty and hate. They tortured and killed Day Ravens for fun.
“If they attack here and there is even a chance they found the White Raven . . .” He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing. “Marrying you to Blaxhall is for the best. They can protect you. Hide you.”
I blinked at him. “Blaxhall?” I barely recalled that name, but I knew it was a noble family from Snowfern, a village in the southernmost part of our domain.
It was where blacksmiths worked to produce weapons for the kingdom under the Blaxhall clan.
We hadn’t had a war since the one which split us into three territories, but my father was always ready.
There was too much tension and history between the Night and Day Kingdoms not to be prepared for a raid. “Isn’t he old?”
“Miika is younger than me.” The king chuckled when I lifted my brow.
“Don’t worry. His eldest son, Brynden, is twenty-four.
” He watched me, his shoulders lowering.
“Believe me. I don’t like you being away from me either, out of my protection.
But I will set decoys in place, letting the enemy believe you and your new husband are still here, while they protect you and your handmaidens somewhere safe. ”
I could not say no. This was my duty.
“Very well.” I swallowed. The thought of leaving my home burned my nose with emotion. “Maybe I can return when the threat is over?”
Father’s lips pulled into a slight smile, his head nodding.
“You are strong, Wrennlyn. You can handle anything.” His knuckles brushed over my cheek; a rare moment of fondness warmed the king’s eyes.
“I made sure of that.” He let his hand drop to his side and cleared his throat.
“The Blaxhall clan is arriving later today for the engagement ceremony. Your handmaidens have been made aware of the plans and are ready for you.”
“This is happening now?” I squeaked, anxiety gripping my chest, my hand fluttering at my neck. This had already been planned and agreed upon. I was just the last to know.
“Yes. The sooner the better. The wedding will be in two days’ time.” His mouth pinched, seeing the signs of my anxiety attack. His disapproval of this flaw in me had me taking in gulps of air, willing myself to stop my shaking hands. “Elvina is aware of everything and is waiting for you right now.”
Why Elvina had been so keen on retrieving me from training.
“You’re not married . . . yet.” Sarina’s words returned to me.
Did all my handmaidens know what my future was before I did, even Sarina? Why wouldn’t she tell me? Warn me what was coming?
“By the looks of it, you better get going.” Father observed what I was wearing, the mess of my attire and hair.
“Yes, sir.” I dipped my head. Giving Iskald’s head a last pat, I headed for the door, trying to hold in my emotion until I was out of his sight. He did not have a fondness for tears and weakness. Not from me.
A pained choke welled in my throat as I closed his chamber door, my eyes blurring, not seeing clearly in front of me. My foot hooked on a pail the moment I took a full step, tripping over a man crouched down, scrubbing at the mud I had trampled into the white rugs.
“Faen!” I stumbled, catching myself before I fell, taking in the dark hair and olive skin, which stood out like ink on blank paper.
A Northerner.
A Night Raven.
His massive physique was bent over on all fours, emphasizing the cut muscles under his grey cotton pants and tunic—the colors of a captive thrall. The lowest of beings.
His head jerked up, his dark-as-night eyes meeting mine. There was a strange buzz in my chest.
I recognized it as pure hate.
He was a loathsome Night Raven who represented cruelty.
It didn’t matter that at one time, centuries ago, our clans had been friendly.
My whole life all I heard was they were brutes who thrived off torture.
The darkness seeped into their minds, rotting them with viciousness.
My father told me Gavric was never satisfied, always hungry for more power.
It was he who killed Greythorn, spilling his blood and cursing our land.
The entire reason my world was flipped upside down, forced to marry because I needed to hide from men like him.
A snarl hitched my lip, anger blistering through me, his bold stare not lowering from mine.
His hair was shaved short and only a light scruff lined his face, displaying his strong cheekbones and jawline.
A scar cut into his top lip, and he was covered in wounds and bruises.
Rune tattoos could be seen inked up his neck, down his arm, and over his knuckles.
It was jarring to see a man’s face so bare.
Beards and hair in our culture were a status symbol, a mark of pride.
For men, a thick beard was a representation of their manhood, while a woman’s intricate braids and long hair boasted of her position in life, the fact she could afford to keep her hair clean and styled.
Only the lowest of thralls and criminals were forced to keep theirs short.
It was a punishment, a lesson in humility.
Thralls weren’t allowed to look me nor my father in the eyes, another signal of their low standing, yet he stared back at me without humbleness or reservation. It riled me. It provoked me. It ripped away the mask I kept up of being the obedient daughter.
“How dare you look at me!” I screamed, slamming my boot into the dirty water pail, kicking it.
Mud splashed into his face and spilled onto the rug, smearing what he had already cleaned and ruining more of the carpet.
“Fucking Night Raven.” I leaned over, grabbing the back of his tunic until it cut into his throat.
I poured out my anger, using the kindling my father started and aiming it at him.
“You filthy piece of shit. I hope someday my father destroys your whole kingdom and burns it to the ground.”
His bruised jaw twitched but he didn’t respond.
His black eyes gripped mine with such authority and abhorrence that I could feel it piercing my chest, unsettling me.
Made me realize how close I was to him. The fact I was touching him, my fingers twisting into the stiff, itchy fabric and brushing the back of his neck. His skin.
Jerking back, I stepped away, my lips curling, my heart thumping in my chest.
“Wren?” A familiar voice called me, but I couldn’t break from his stare. “Wren!”
My head twisted to the side to see Sarina waiting for me, her eyes darting curiously from me to the thrall on the floor.
Regaining myself, I brushed off my hands, trying to get the feel of his skin off me, and pushed my chin up, looking down my nose at him.
“Clean that up, thrall. And it better be immaculate,” I said coolly before strolling away, heading toward my chamber, where I was no better than the rug that needed to be cleaned and tidied before being presented for someone else to walk over.