Three houses down, Rafe thought, shivering in the cold as he huddled close to the bonfires they’d set up in the streets in an attempt to keep the wait a little warmer.
It wasn’t working.
He needed to move. Needed to get his blood flowing. Needed to focus. Because the next few days would decide the future of his house and his brother’s life, and he needed to be ready. As he stared at the doors towering a hundred feet away, however, all he could think about was who might be waiting on the other side with white wings that were just another pair in the crowd.
Was she in there?
Was she watching?
Would she see?
Not that it mattered. He’d be gone in a few days, home. She’d stay here. They’d never see each other again. But even as he reminded himself of those simple facts, Rafe’s mind wandered to her silken fingers as they shifted over his skin, running through his feathers, emanating a prickling heat only someone with magic could understand.
“Where are you going?” one of his raven guards asked. There were twelve waiting with him, uninterested in trying to pretend he was their prince. They stood by his side only because Xander had ordered them to be part of the show.
“Huh?” Rafe blinked away the vision of green eyes as he returned to the world, glancing down toward the voice. He was five feet in the air, wings pumping, and he hadn’t even realized it. “Oh, um…”
The guard frowned at him. Without Xander, there was no need to keep up the pretense that they had any affection for him at all. But in an odd way, Rafe preferred this to the careful show they usually put on. He’d rather be honestly hated than dishonestly tolerated, especially when it meant he didn’t have to pretend either.
“I’m going to take a peek,” he said as he pushed hard with his wings, not giving the ravens any time to stop him as he soared into the air, rising over the entrance hall to look through the domed crystal roof and at the floor below, genuinely curious.
The House of Prey had shown up unlike any of the other houses—their crown princess and sole heir had come alone. No performers. No posse. No help. That alone had piqued Rafe’s interest. Add the fact they were also the first house without an obvious act, and he was sold. The House of Song would, well, sing. The House of Paradise would, no doubt, flit and flaunt their extra plumes. And the House of Flight would… Well, whatever they performed, he was sure half the nectar they’d been carrying would end up in their stomachs by the end of the show.
But the House of Prey? They were notoriously isolated, even from each other. Aggressive in a way the other houses weren’t. Their royal family lived alone in a castle at the center of their great hunting plains, while the rest of the families lived scattered through the woods. They’d be presenting furs as an offering, but the performance portion? That was a mystery.
When the doors opened, Rafe could see the blurred outline of the crown princess as she soared into the entrance hall, rich, brown eagle’s wings larger than any he’d seen before. She kept them wide as she floated through the crowd, not even bothering to pump because, well, birds of prey didn’t have to. The skinned carcass of a bear was draped over her shoulders, its head worn like a hood as she drifted, unbothered by the weight. Soon enough, she disappeared into the hollow of the atrium. Rafe caught a glimpse of her wings lazily flapping as she rose, no doubt circling the palace core, and then he saw her twice more at the very end of a death dive, rearing back seconds before her head splattered against the floor, not once losing hold of the fur on her back.
Rafe dropped back to the ground as he imagined the words being said inside by the King of the House of Prey, an eagle just like his daughter: May I present Thea Pallieus, born of the god Pallius, Crown Princess of the House of Prey. May we gift our offering to the god Aethios in the name of Pallius, god of the hunt. A bear skin and other furs to keep you gentle doves nice and warm in this barren winter wasteland you’ve been forced to call home, all so someone is around to give the ever-demanding Aethios the endless amounts of love and attention he requires so that he doesn’t drop all of our homes from the sky and let them vanish in the Sea of Mist.
Or, well, something like that.
Rafe sighed as his feet touched gravel, shifting his weight from one side to the other, anxious to reach the end of the night. The more quickly the trials came to an end, the more quickly he could put the ring back around his brother’s neck, go home, and forget this trip ever happened.
The towering front door of the crystal palace slid open, and the troop of owls that had been in line before him disappeared inside. He’d overheard their crown prince’s name, Nico, as well as that of his sister, Coralee, and he already knew the House of Wisdom’s offering would be a carafe of oil and a blank parchment where all the mate matches would be recorded at the end of the trials to be taken to their secret library for safekeeping. They were the guardians of history, the archivists and academics, serving Meteria, the god of intellect, which of course meant their performance would be a total snore—and something he had no interest in observing.
Instead, he turned back to the dozen ravens around him, trying to find the words for a rousing speech—the sort Xander might have made had he been where he should have been as the rightful crown prince.
All Rafe came up with was, “I know most of you don’t like me, but this isn’t about me. It’s about our house, about giving Taetanos the respect he deserves, so let’s all try to remember that and get this thing over with. All right?”
Admittedly, not the best, but it would do.
Rafe sighed and shook his head as he turned, wishing Xander were there, wishing Xander were with him. But he was alone. And the only thing that kept him going was the anticipation of the queen’s face when he brought a princess home for her son. He would be the savior of the ravens, an outcast no more.
The door swung open.
Rafe flew inside, not bothering to turn and see if the guards followed, trusting them to do exactly what he was doing—honoring the request of his crown prince.
The hall was nearly silent as he entered. There was only the gentle shifting of air as thirteen sets of wings flapped, not putting on a show—not yet. But still, he could feel the gaping stares, the curious eyes. By the time they had cleared the first half of the hall, a buzz of whispers started to follow them, growing into a soft hum to match the beat of his wings. Being gawked at didn’t make him uncomfortable. He was used to it by now. But his throat went dry as he struggled to keep his gaze forward, fighting the yearning pull to search the crowd for a set of ivory wings that was sure to stand out from the pack.
Stay focused.
Stay on task.
He swallowed, resisting the urge as they crossed the remainder of the hall and entered the atrium. Rafe dropped to his feet and his guards followed, the click of their boots loud in the silence. An excited prickle in the air grew as he let the silence stretch, let their anticipation grow, let them wonder if that was all the ravens had to show, or if they were hiding something more—the god call these doves and other houses had heard so much about. He let the air thicken until it felt almost suffocating.
Then he released his raven cry.
The guards followed, each having been chosen for this ceremony specially because his ability to unleash the god call.
Gasps of shock and awe filled the silence. The gazes that had been curious turned confused and marveled as their eyes grew blank, unable to focus on the world, pulled somewhere else by the music in his call, a music his god had provided. As the high-pitched shriek bounced from wall to wall, echoing across the chamber, reverberating until it grew so loud even he found it deafening, Rafe got to work.
He had twelve onyx stones in his pocket, soft enough to crumble at his touch. One had a diamond hidden inside, but he had no idea which. That was part of the game. Taetanos was, after all, the god of fate, so he would decide.
While the raven cry lingered, Rafe made his way around the room. Lost in their trances, the other princes and princesses were completely unaware of him as he grabbed their palms, dropping a stone inside each. It was hard for Rafe to tell anything about the royal heirs as they sat behind their feather masks, their expressions emptied by his call. He could tell even less who would be the best match for his brother.
In the back of his mind, he heard Ana’s voice, a sweet, melodious tune promising that the princess of her house would be a good match for him—fierce and charming. And though he’d scoffed at the idea, he couldn’t get it out of his mind now as he circled the room, jumping from prince to princess, depositing his little gift. Drawn by a gut instinct he didn’t quite understand, he found himself stopping at the princess of the House of Peace last, landing softly before her throne and reaching for the hand gently cradled in her lap. He lifted her slender fingers, brows drawing together at how familiar they seemed as he dropped the stone into her palm, and froze. Something in his chest plummeted as he stared at her dark skin, made somehow richer by the onyx rock he’d settled in her hand.
Don’t look up.
Don’t look up.
But he couldn’t stop his gaze from rising. It skimmed the metallic fabric of her gown, the graceful arch of her neck, and traveled over the lush lips below her ivory mask to the emerald eyes open in eager wonder.
Rafe couldn’t move a single muscle.
He remained there, kneeling before her, caught somewhere between horror and disbelief as she blinked a few times, her eyes clearing as the power of the raven cry faded. Soft voices filled the room, and still he remained, a bird who had flown right into a trap he’d never seen coming.
Her eyes began to sparkle with mischief and mirth. A smile curved her lips. With his hand still beneath hers, she formed a fist, crushing the stone he’d so carefully placed. When her fingers opened, a perfect, dazzling diamond sat in the center of the ashy dust.
Somewhere in the world, Taetanos was laughing, Rafe was sure. But when he finally stood, the only sound he heard was the soft giggle spilling from her lips, striking him like a knife to the gut. He stumbled back to the mosaic floor and knelt before the offering basket, holding a gilded dagger above his head like a gift to his own executioner.