Chapter 22 #2
“Already acting like my wife?” The playful glint was back in his eyes, but now I could see there was a fine line between amusement and fury.
“I love your spirit, and I hope I find that fight in other areas.” His thumb tugged at my bottom lip, parting my lips, his own mouth coming a breath away.
“For you, my beautiful dove, I will ignore your insolence this time but if you interrupt me again, I will have to punish you for everyone to see.”
He stepped back, his mood shifting again, speaking to the room.
“The return of my Hunters deserves a party!” He clapped his hands together.
“Summon the seeress for tomorrow night’s festivities.
” He spoke to no one in particular, but one of his female thralls dashed off instantly.
“And take her to the queen’s rooms. Make sure she is scrubbed clean and flawless. I will not bed a dirty urchin.”
Thralls I hadn’t seen swarmed around me like bees, tugging me toward an exit. Stumbling, I twisted my head back as they escorted me away, my attention falling on Onyx.
His dark gaze pointed down, purposely not meeting mine, his chest heaving.
Red trails trickled down his arm, reaching his hand.
He flexed his fingers as the blood settled into the space between his thumb and finger, the one with the matching ink.
His eyes closed, like he was in agony or finally finding relief.
Most likely the latter. The hersir of the Night Hunters had fulfilled his duty. Handed me off to the Night King.
I was no longer his problem.
“You will be staying here.” A woman frowned, opening a large wooden door, her gaze not hiding her aversion of me.
She was short and fuller, grey hair hinting through her dark braided hair.
She motioned me in, her abrupt personality reminding me of my handmaiden, Elvina, flooding my throat with homesickness.
Swallowing it back, I stepped in, my lips parting.
The large room was painted deep red, adorned with paintings and tapestries.
One wall had three curved stained-glass windows, the moonlight causing them to glow with life, spilling across the red rug.
A large fireplace burned with heat on my right, while against the opposite wall a massive four-poster bed I’d have to take a running leap to get onto was draped in red curtains and engulfed in fur blankets.
There were two large armoires on different walls, a trunk at the end of the bed, and a writing desk and chair under the window.
“This is my room?” I muttered, spinning in a slow circle, taking everything in. I’d expected a dungeon or thrall’s quarters.
“This is destined to be the queen’s rooms.” The woman’s nose wrinkled, clearly implying I was not good enough for the position. “But this is where he wants you.”
I turned to face her, seeing that the thralls who had escorted me here had been replaced by two guards in dark brown leather uniforms, their belts loaded with swords and blades.
“So, not freely here.” I folded my arms, nodding to them.
The woman frowned again.
“There is no reason for you to leave your chamber. You will have everything you need brought to you.” Her skirts swished along the carpets as she stomped to a door next to the hearth.
“This is your private bath.” She swung it open.
A chandelier floated above the tub and privy, light from the two-sided fireplace warming the space.
“I will send in your handmaidens to fill the tub and get you clean.” Her gaze flickered down me in disgust. “Looks like I will need extra soap and scrub brushes.”
I’d never had a thrall treat me with disdain, as though I was the one below her status.
“You do not speak to me in such a way. I may not be a friend here, but I am still the White Raven.”
“Respect?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Your kind doesn’t deserve respect.”
“Excuse me?” I blinked at her in shock. I knew many Day Ravens who were prejudiced against the Night Ravens, but it was disconcerting to hear it against us. “What did we do?”
She puffed up, anger shooting from her gaze.
“My boy was caught by your kind . . . turned into a thrall . . . and was murdered by your king.” She spat at my feet. I froze up, spotting the pain through her anger.
“I am truly sorry for your son, but don’t you do the same to us? Are we not someone’s sons and daughters?”
“What would you know about that?” she sneered. “You know nothing of true pain and loss.” She motioned around. “Look around you. You are in the queen’s rooms. Even your prison is gilded.”
A nice bed didn’t make up for the fact I was being forced to marry and carry the heir of my enemy against my will. However, I knew she wouldn’t see that as a sacrifice.
“I will do my duty for my king, but don’t expect me to be pleasant to you, girl.” She sneered. “We should have a Night Raven as our queen. Not you.” She slammed out of the door, the lock clicking over soon after.
I stood in the middle of the room, feeling so utterly alone and lost. I didn’t belong here, but being back home didn’t sit as comfortably as before. I had learned too much, seen too many things that no longer fit in the narrative I was taught.
I was starting to think I didn’t belong anywhere.
The room was stifling yet my arms wrapped around each other, guarding against the chill growing in my chest.
Several minutes later, a knock came on the door, interrupting my solitude.
The door unlocked, and a cluster of women in red apron-style dresses over gray tunics with black ravens embroidered on the front bustled in bearing buckets of hot water.
They hustled to the privy, filling the tub with water, before fluttering around me, undoing the dirty, knotted braids in my hair and tugging at the blue apron dress.
“Huginn-Muninn!” one exclaimed. “Look at her hair . . . it’s like the moonlight!”
A tall woman appearing to be the eldest out of the group, which still didn’t give her more than a handful of years over me, clapped her hands at the other girls and they quickly snapped to attention, shoving me to the bath, stripping me of clothing like they were plucking a turkey and setting me in a simmering pot.
The steaming water wrapped around me as I lowered myself in the tub, resigning myself to the act since I understood this was not a fight I could win.
When a king gave orders, no one could overrule them.
Like a puppet on a string, they drew up my arms and moved me around, scouring away the dirt and blood. I had no control over myself. Nothing about me was private, like I wasn’t anything more than an object.
The handmaidens’ thick northern accents were a little hard to follow, but I understood they were whispering about the oddity of my pale skin, my silvery hair and light eyes.
A young girl of maybe thirteen, with curly, auburn hair, moved to the side of the tub, lifting my hair away from my back.
“Huginn . . .” She breathed when I leaned forward for her to wash, her hand touching the tattoo between my shoulder blades. “The Helm of Awe. It’s so beautiful. Did it hurt to put there? I heard that spot it so sensitive when you put pressu—”
“Sassa!” the eldest snapped, her head shaking, like she shouldn’t be interacting with me.
“Sorry Meya.” She put her head down, addressing the one in charge. They returned to being aghast at the infected wound in my bicep where the Jackal cut into it, the bruises and lacerations marring me after all the struggles I had been through. Very un-queenly.
Oddly, it was those things I felt proud of: Not my light hair or my blue-grey eyes, but the war wounds. It made me feel strong, like I was no longer that fragile White Raven who trained with wooden swords and fictitious attacks overseen by my father and Yanric.
I had killed men. I had saved a Northerner’s life. I fought against thieves, abductors, and cannibals.
And survived.
Sassa’s cloth paused at my throat, her mouth dropping open again, her eyes widening.
“Huginn-Muninn . . .” she whisper-hissed, like I wouldn’t hear her. “That’s his mark.” She turned to the rest. “She has the hersir’s mark.”
“Stop being silly, Sassa,” Meya, the lead handmaiden, chided from her position on the other side of me.
“Look!”
“Huginn jaevel Muninn . . .” A girl who had to be Sassa’s sister, judging by the same heart-shaped face and curls, clasped her mouth, intrigue and excitement widening her eyes. It was obvious she was a few years older, with a curvier figure.
“Kara, watch your mouth,” the head of the handmaids scolded the older sister.
“But Meya, the Night Hunter marked her.” Kara dragged out her words dramatically, in a giddy tone.
“That is not our concern,” Meya snipped at them, though her gaze kept coming back to the ink on my neck and chest. The sisters looked at each other, giggling, the other two thralls trying their hardest not to respond the same.
I sat up. “You’re talking about Onyx?”
As if uttering his name out loud would conjure him, the girls twittered with elation, reminding me so much of Sarina, how giggly and excited she would get over a boy from the market. All of that felt like a lifetime ago.
“Hush,” Meya yelled at them, though the sisters still bounced with enthusiasm, as if this was the juiciest gossip they had ever been privy to.
“But he marked her with his personal tattoo! That means she more than serves him dinner!” Kara gestured to me. “Especially if she’s supposed to be the king’s intended!”
“Kara!” Meya snapped in warning. “I know we’ve never been handmaidens before, but you know to keep your mouth shut and do your duty.”
Kara rolled her eyes. “Oh please, stop acting so uptight. You would be on your back with your legs open the moment he looked your way.” Kara turned back to me. “What was it like? Please don’t spare us any details.”
“What was what like?” I asked.
Kara slanted her head. “He bedded you, right?”
“What?” Heat pinked my cheeks. “No, of course not.”