Lyana offered him a challenging smirk. “I have a very vivid imagination, you know. You wouldn’t be building my hopes up, would you? Just to lure me with pretty words and even prettier places?”
He dropped his jaw in mock shock. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dare mislead the Princess of the House of Peace, so beautiful and charming a meager hummingbird like myself would have no hope of wooing her.”
The way he spoke made it evident he didn’t believe a single word he said—well, about his meager station in life, at least. She hoped the part about her beauty and charm was true, though there was something unsettling in the fact that she couldn’t know for certain.
Just as she was about to return the favor with a quip of her own, a determined voice interjected, “May I cut in?”
Lyana bit her lips to keep from smiling as she turned to face the raven blocking their path.
“No,” Damien drawled, using the hand around Lyana’s waist to try to spin her in the other direction.
But her feet were firm. A curious energy sizzled in the air, emanating from all the eyes that had followed Lysander as he crossed the floor. The crowd wondered what the raven prince could possibly be doing. Their shock at his interruption of her dance was palpable—she was the princess born of Aethios and so very far above him in their estimation. A false judgment, but that didn’t make it any less real. To deny his offer would be a sign to all the other royal families that they should do the same, a blow from which the House of Whispers might not recover. And to accept? Well, Damien’s ego probably needed to be brought down a peg or two, and most of the guests in the room would assume she was doing just that—trying not to humor the prince who was so clearly favored to win the role of her mate.
But that wasn’t the thought that filled Lyana’s mind as she nodded and slipped free of the hummingbird’s grasp, opting to stare into a mask of deep obsidian feathers rather than pearlescent indigo.
There wasn’t anything in her mind at all. Because as soon as the raven gripped her around the waist, her thoughts fled. His fingers brushed the exposed skin on her back, then moved away as though they had been scorched. He gently skimmed her flesh once more, tenderly enough to seem as if he were asking permission. Lyana placed one hand on his shoulder, using the other to take the arm still hanging by his side. As she moved, his grip tightened, boldly digging into her as he began to lead.
They didn’t speak, not at first.
Lyana studied the buttons on his jacket, the gold band and black stone hanging from his chest, the leather panels beneath her fingers, smooth to the touch.
He studied her.
She could feel his gaze skim her bare throat, then dip along the edge of her dress, over to the slits in her sleeves where every so often her skin would show. And then his eyes lifted to her face, burning and brazen as they roved over her lips and the feathered edge of her mask, then settled on her eyes, staying there, not looking away.
She swallowed.
Her heartbeat thundered.
Her throat grew tight.
Beneath the layers of her gown, her temperature rose, bringing a flash of heat to her cheeks and a light sweat to her palms. The longer she avoided his gaze, the more demanding it became, until she was sure the whole room could see the steam that must have been rising from her skin.
I have to say something.
Anything.
But what?
She didn’t want to apologize for surprising him because, well, she wasn’t sorry. And in a place this crowded, with so many eyes focused on her, any mention of what had transpired between them would be dangerous. Even if she wanted to have a serious conversation, she shouldn’t. And it wasn’t really her style, anyway.
In the end, she settled on a provocation.
“I didn’t think you were ever going to ask me to dance,” she prodded, her tone airy. Yet her eyes remained on his chest, still too afraid to look up.
Lysander didn’t answer.
“I was feeling rather rejected, to tell you the truth,” she continued, noticing his jaw clench as her own lips twitched into a smile. She seemed to have a certain effect on him. “All the other princes came over as soon as supper was done, but not the grumpy raven prince, determined not to even glance in my direction. I was beginning to wonder if maybe I’d hurt your feelings somehow, though for the life of me, I can’t imagine what I could have possibly done to earn your ire. Gratitude, maybe, but not anger.”
His throat bobbed, and before she could continue, he released his hold on her waist, spinning her in a wide circle, putting some much-needed breathing room between them for a few moments before returning her to his arms.
Lyana didn’t pause. As soon as his fingers settled on her back once more, she continued, unconcerned by his obvious desire to remain silent, “I’m starting to think you didn’t even mean to give me that diamond, though it will make a beautiful necklace, and an even finer story, you know, to tell the children.”
He groaned audibly. “Please stop talking.”
“Now, why would I do that when you’ve finally responded?” Lyana grinned and looked up, meeting his penetrating eyes at long last, no longer frightened by the depth of the emotion churning in them. Had he been unaffected—now that would have been cause for concern. But furious? Annoyed? Stubborn? Those were all one little shove away from elated, and Lyana was determined to give her prince a push in the right direction. “I really thought you’d be happy to see me, you know. Excited, even. Or dare I say, thrilled.”
He stumbled as she muttered those words, off balance enough to step on her toe. Lyana jumped back with a grimace, wings fluttering to lift the weight from her foot, drawing even more attention toward their spot in the center of the dance floor.
“You’re not a very good dancer, are you?” she teased lightly, retreating from any real conversation. They could have one of those later…in the privacy of their own castle…after they were mated.
He refused to apologize, instead offering a shrug. “I’m perfectly adequate.”
“Oh, yes, well,” she mused, rolling her eyes. “Perfectly adequate is the dream, I guess.”
Lysander frowned. “I’m much better without a chatty princess distracting me from the steps.”
“I’ve heard that men aren’t very good at performing several tasks at the same time, but I never really understood the statement until now.”
He sighed, wings dropping from their tense position high above his back and fanning out to surround them in a black curtain—a brief reprieve from prying eyes. Not at all proper, but Lyana didn’t care.
Her prince leaned in. “You want to talk?”
She nodded firmly.
“Then tell me why you lied.”
“Because I wanted to surprise you.”
His mouth opened, as if he hadn’t expected such a simple answer. Or the truth. He sounded flabbergasted as he asked, “Why?”
Lyana spread her own wings, the tips of their feathers barely grazing as she completed the circle. The touch was somehow far more intimate than the joining of their palms. A shiver crept down her spine, but she told herself it was the cold air brushing against her exposed back, no longer covered by her wings. “Because I thought it would be fun.”
“Fun?” he asked, amazed.
Her brows drew together and her heart contracted, a gentle ache spreading as her voice turned vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been with him before, not really. “Call me crazy, but I thought maybe you’d be excited, like I was, when you discovered there’d be a princess at the trials who already knew your deepest secret, a person from whom you didn’t have to hide. Call me crazy, but I thought you’d be relieved, just like I was when I saw that ring hanging from your neck and I realized who you were.”
His face softened, as did his grip on her back. He closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
“Ana…” he whispered, shaking his head.
Coming from him, the sound of her name brought g
oose bumps to her skin, but his tone made her stomach drop. It was edged with a silent apology, strained and uncertain, the slightest bit pained. She decided she didn’t want to hear what came next, because she knew it would be bad, knew it would mess up all the plans that had been running through her mind nonstop ever since she’d stuck him in that cave. He was going to say he didn’t want her.
Yet he did.
She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch.
Whatever was holding him back, he’d get over it. She’d convince him to get over it. He was the only prince in the room who knew her secret, knew about her magic, and didn’t care. And that was worth more to her than anything.
“Don’t,” she said, but she didn’t need to.
The music had come to an abrupt stop. Lyana whipped back her wings, exposing them to the room, realizing they’d already stopped dancing a few seconds before the music had ended. People were staring. Lyana glanced around, pointedly ignoring her father's confused look, her mother's suspicious eyes, and her brother's overbearing gaze. Luckily Cassi wasn’t there, because if she were, Lyana would have had to ignore her knowing expression as well.
She tried to step back, but the raven prince held her firmly. He paused with his mouth hardly an inch from her ear, the edges of their masks touching. His breath was warm as it brushed over her neck, making her skin tingle with awareness of him.
“I’m not who you think I am,” he confessed softly.
Then he retreated, bowing deeply, sweeping his wings into an arch above his back. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined the words. But his eyes still burned beneath his hooded brows, full of an unspoken meaning she hadn’t yet grasped. The raven prince shifted his hold so he could brush his lips against her fingers, pressing the customary kiss on her skin.
He turned, leaving Lyana rooted to her spot as she watched him go—the outline of his lips seared into her hand like a brand, a mark she didn’t want to erase.
What did he mean?
What was he trying to say?
What did he want?
Most of all, did it matter? Because Lyana knew what she wanted—the freedom to be honest with the person who would share the rest of her life. Happiness and hardship would come and go, she was sure, but the chance to be sincere? To live authentically with her mate?
This was it—her one shot.
And she wouldn’t go down without a fight.
23
Cassi
Sleep was overrated.
At least, that’s what Cassi told herself as she followed the raven prince around the ballroom. Her soul was weary, and she struggled to hold on to her power, fighting the lure of the pillow beneath her head where her body rested on the other end of the palace. The ballroom was bright enough to be blinding. The movement of so many fluttering wings and sashaying dresses was going to give her a headache. And her ears were ringing from the hum of so much conversation.
Yet Cassi fought to hold on to her power, fought to remain invisible, fought to remain there. Because the longer she’d hovered in the prince’s periphery, the more intrigued she’d become.
At first, she’d only wanted to take a peek at all the finery, all the gifts, all the different houses. But then she’d seen the deep frown settle on his brow as he realized who Lyana was, and she’d been curious at the reaction. Dinner had been a bore and she was almost ready to leave, afraid her eyes would fall out of their sockets from rolling at her best friend’s obvious ploy for his attention, when she overheard his conversation with the queen—a queen who had referred to someone else as her son. Then he’d danced with Lyana, if that was what you would call it, and their words had only confirmed her belief in the single thing that could have made her best friend so determined to call him her mate.
Magic.
Cassi didn’t know what kind the prince possessed, but there was no doubt in her mind he had some sort of power. There was a hum in his blood, an electric sizzle that was undeniable, and she was surprised she hadn’t noticed it before.
Blame it on sleep deprivation, she thought with a sigh as she continued to float behind him. The ball was drawing to an end, as was the first official night of the courtship trials. Tomorrow the real games would start, with two full days of tests before a day of deliberation. The following morning, the mate matches would be announced—and that was when Cassi’s real work would begin.
She’d rest tomorrow.
Tonight, she was too intrigued.
As the flock of ravens left the crystal palace, Cassi followed, no more than a phantom in the wind as they traversed the city, making for the guest quarters belonging to the House of Whispers. As soon as the raven queen and her son walked through the door, another man emerged from the shadows, stopping Cassi in her tracks.
“What happened?” the second man asked, his voice carrying the sort of authority only high birth could provide. That alone would have hinted at his identity, but one glance into his lavender eyes, and she knew without a doubt this was the son the queen had mentioned—the true Lysander Taetanus. “Who did you meet? How did it go?”
The imposter grunted and pushed his way past, not bothering to stop. The true prince let him, smiling as he turned to the queen. “That well, Mother?”
She wrinkled her nose. “He was passable.”
Lysander lifted the corner of his lip, in a good mood the queen couldn't spoil. Cassi instantly decided she liked him. “That’s a better review than I’d even hoped from you.”
She huffed. “I’m tired, Lysander. And you've already made it apparent you have no regard for my opinion, so I would assume it matters very little what I think. I’ll be in my rooms if you need me, preparing for yet another day when I’ll have to slap a smile on my lips as I make a mockery of our most sacred ceremony. Good night.”
His head twitched as though he’d been slapped, and he stood slack-jawed for a moment as the queen swept from the room, her voluminous skirt rustling as she walked away. Cassi grinned as he shook the stunned expression from his features.
“Will no one tell me what in Taetanos’s name happened?”
A petite woman stepped up to the prince, throwing her arm awkwardly over his shoulders. “Rafe caught the attention of the Princess of the House of Peace.”
The prince showed his surprise. “The daughter of Aethios?”
“One and the same,” the woman said, stepping back. She held out her hands as though to show they were empty of the answers to the questions in his eyes.
He clasped her arm, and that was when Cassi noticed his right hand—or, really, his lack thereof—and suddenly, everything became clear. They were using a fake prince to hide his deformity—something so innocuous it had taken her five minutes in his presence to even notice, but something so obstructive to the trials.
“My surly brother? You’re sure?” the prince asked, leaning close to the woman as though the proximity could help him understand what she was saying.
Brother? Cassi frowned.
He wasn’t a member of the royal family or he’d be in the trial, surely. She thought back to his stilted conversation with the queen, how the woman had made an effort to distance him from even the pretend role of playing her son.
A bastard, maybe, she wondered, of the late king?
“Lyana Aethionus might be my mate?” the prince muttered, voice clouded with disbelief.
The statement made Cassi freeze. Her curiosity turned into a sour, bitter taste on her tongue. The questions withered away, disappearing in an instant, as a painful knot curled in her gut at this new betrayal she’d be forced to endure. Because Lyana had no idea that the prince she thought she had met was a lie, and Cassi could never be the one to tell her—not without explaining the other secrets she’d been keeping all these years, which were far too important to expose before it was time, before her king was ready. Instead, she’d have to listen to her friend go on and on, plastering a smile on her face as her insides turned rotten, preparing to pick the pieces up when the tr
uth came crashing down, as she was sure it eventually would.
But that was her role in life.
To lie.
To hurt.
To deceive.
Cassi drifted away from this trickster prince and his excited smile that had become sinister in her eyes, away from the imposter who had made her best friend believe he might be her salvation, away from the ravens and the conspiracy they had unintentionally roped her into. Her soul let go of the magic and she flew across the city, snapping back into her body. By the time she opened her eyes, there was a knock on her door, a chirping little bum-bum-bum that left no doubt as to who was on the other side.
Cassi winced.
She folded her wings to cover her face, as though hiding her shame might make it less real. But it didn’t. And the churning nausea remained even as she rolled to a seated position, wiping the sleep from her eyes and the grimace from her lips, trying to muster the will to stand and unlock her door.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself, closing her eyes and running her hands over her cheeks, through her hair, pushing loose strands from her face. It doesn’t matter who she picks as her mate, because she’s the queen who was prophesized. My queen. The queen who will save us all. And her mate is fifteen thousand feet below, waiting for her on a foggy sea. What happens in these trials is inconsequential. Irrelevant. It doesn’t matter.
Cassi could have repeated the mantra a million times, and it still wouldn’t have changed the way her heart dropped when she opened the door and stared into her friend’s sparkling eyes. Nothing would have—nothing but finally speaking the truth.
A few more weeks.
A few more weeks and this will all be over.
A few more weeks and I’ll be done.
A few more weeks—
The Raven and the Dove Page 14
