Page 124 of White Raven

I took it, my cape dragging after me. I found comfort in his touch, which really made no sense. The Night Hunters were my enemy; they were loyal to the king. I had no friends here. No one I could trust, yet I still clung to the familiarity he presented.

“Thank you, Sven.” I swallowed, my pearl-colored slippers stepping onto the forest floor, my attention taking in what was before me, parting my lips.

A circular clearing was designed next to a soft cascading waterfall, the water flowing into a hot natural spring, billowing up steam against the cool night air. A dais was built near the spring, with a large altar table carved from opaque moonstone, the symbol of two ravens with their ancient names, Huginn and Muninn, etched into metal overhanging the table. Moonstone chandeliers draped from every tree circling the space, the candlelight reflecting off the stone and water, sparkling the night like stars. Silver-framed mirrors hung from branches, nailed to tree trunks, or were propped up on the ground, reproducing more dazzling light in the ritual space. White moonflowers adorned the ritual table and scattered around the hot spring and forest floor. The scent of them drifted in the air.

A bonfire blazed behind the sacrament table, silhouetting the figure standing on the platform. Her curvy figure could be seen perfectly through the thin sheath she wore.

Morrigan.

Her face was painted with runes, her blond hair braided off her face with obsidian ribbon and feathers that disguised her real color. A diadem of moonstones adorned her forehead, the silver spikes of the tiara reaching up to the absent moon.

She looked like a goddess.

One that was ready for a sacrifice.

Fear heated my skin as at least fifty people moved around, staring at me. The king said it would be a small affair, private invite only. Considering last night had well over a hundred guests, I guess this would be small to him.

Their faces were painted in Night Raven symbols, and they dressed in simple black tunics and smocks that made them look like shadows. Ghosts who blended into the night, seeking souls.

“This is all for you, my dove.”

Gavric’s voice startled me, swinging my head to the figure by my side. It was the first time I had seen him since our wedding last night.

He wore a black robe, his face adorned in runes, his dark hair slicked back and a silver crown sitting high on his head. A cape of black feathers cascaded down to the ground.

Outfitted in a thin snowy sheath, silver marking my face in runes, I was his counterpart in every way. My pale tresses were brushed into sleek strands down my back, and perched on my head was a gold crown, with a cape of white feathers tied at the base of my throat.

The symbols of day and night. The sun and moon.

“What is going to happen?” I tried to keep my voice even, but fear came out in a whisper. I had been to our yearly blót sacrifice, a sacrificial ritual to appease Huginn and Muninn marked by slaughtering a goat or sheep. I had attended ones for marriage and death, but I knew there were many my father had not allowed me to observe until I had come of age or married.

Sarina and I tried to sneak up on one we weren’t allowed to see; we were ten or eleven. Of course, Linnea found us and tattled to Elvina.

My father had struck me that night for being so disobedient to his rules.

I never tried again.

“First we cleanse ourselves of our past, to set a path for our future. Then it will be time for our bonding ceremony,” he replied.

The sound of drums pounded into the air, Morrigan’s arms reaching for the sky.

“It is time, my lord.”

He leaned into my ear. “We might be wedded, but our marriage isn’t accepted by Huginn and Muninn until our union.” He sauntered away to the hot spring, his thralls stripping him of his cape and robe. His naked form confidently stepped down the stone steps into the water, his penis bouncing as he slipped in under the bubbling spring.

Being clean was very important to Ravens. We could spend hours grooming, and even more so before a ritual or ceremony.

But for me, it never had been something for the public to watch.

My heart fluttered with fear as the king’s court crowded into the ritual circle, their eyes moving to me.

“Go,” Meya hissed, shoving me forward.

I tried to conceal the shaking in my hands, the panic in my chest as I walked forward. The instinct to run darted my eyes to the dark forest; the thud of the drums triggered the howls of the king’s hounds near the carriages, drying the back of my throat.

There was no escape. People milled everywhere, their eyes on me, thirsty for my compliance, to watch something so primal. Between them, the shields, and the dogs, I would be run down in moments if I tried.

I tried to calm myself, but all I could hear was the deep rumble of his voice, trying to soothe me. “Breathe, kanin.”