Page 26 of White Raven

The thrall exhaled, irritation rippling through him, letting the blade drop from the man’s neck, though he kept it pointed at him. “You make one wrong move, I won’t hesitate.”

“I believe you.” He kept his hands up, hobbling toward the fireplace. “Getting the stew from the fire.”

The Northerner watched him, the man grabbing a rag to retrieve the hot pot handle out of the flames. He carried it slowly over to the table. “Please, have a seat.”

The scent of the stew wasn’t like anything I had smelled before, but I had no idea what people in the Shadow Rift ate. I was served fresh hothouse-grown vegetables, meat, potatoes, lathered and sprinkled in delicious sauces and spices from the south.

The man moved around as though he was preparing for a dinner party, grabbing bowls, spoons, and cups. “Can you reach for the mead right behind you, lovely?” he asked me.

Relaxing at his open demeanor, I stretched around, plucking the bottle off the shelf.

“Here.” I set it down next to him. His gaze slid to me, his eyes rolling over my outfit, something crossing his face too fast for me to capture. My hand absently brushed for the fabric that wasn’t there, my exposed legs making me vulnerable. “Forbidden love?”

“What?” I choked.

He nodded at my obscenely short betrothal gown. “I am assuming you two are running away to be together?”

“Fuck n⁠—”

“Where are these clothes?” my kidnapper interrupted.

“Oh.” The man shifted his attention back to him. “There should be some in that room.” He nodded to the nearest bedroom.

I could see the debate in the Northerner again, not trusting to leave me and this stranger alone together, which of course was all I wanted.

I couldn’t look eager; I needed his guard down.

“Go.” He flicked his head, ordering me into the other room instead. Forcing myself to not show my frustration, I nodded, walking by him. He leaned close to my ear. “Keep the door open.”

“Oh, young love,” the man chirped. “Can’t handle being out of each other’s sights for a moment.”

I wanted to laugh. His order wasn’t romantic; it was a warning.

Inside the dark bedroom, the only light streaming in from the main room, I opened the cupboard. The armoire was full of clothes—women’s, men’s, and even children’s, ranging in all sizes and styles.

My forehead wrinkled in confusion as I thumbed through the various garments. If he lived here alone, why would there be so many? Who did they belong to?

“Wow.” I swallowed, feeling something prickle up my spine as I spoke over my shoulder. “There is a lot here.”

“Oh, yes. Whoever lived here before must have left them.” The man responded easily. I shook my head, letting out a breath at the obvious explanation. The Northerner had gotten in my head. I was being silly.

My fingers drifted over a simple corset, the dark red matching skirt drawing my attention. A thrill bubbled in my chest. I could pick anything I wanted. Since I was a baby, I had always worn white, I never had any other color. Our kingdom never wore bright or deep hues. They always blended naturally with the wintry sky, mountains, and lake.

A smile wobbled on my mouth as I plucked the dark red fabric off the hanger. For once I wanted to wear something other than white. To not have the pressure of what white symbolized. And no one could blame me for choosing something that would allow me to blend in, to keep my identity safe.

Not caring if the Northerner watched, I quickly disrobed, tossing the white soiled gown on the floor, glad to be rid of the representation it now signified. Slipping into the new skirt and corset, I immediately realized my issue.

As the White Raven, I always had dressers. My handmaids helping me with every piece of clothing since I was a baby.

“Fuck.” I huffed, trying to reach around again, but couldn’t grasp the laces. There were other choices, dresses with front laces, but the design of this one was so beautiful the thought of letting it go firmed my resolve. I can do this.

“What the fuck is taking you so long?” The familiar harsh tone came into the bedroom.

I sighed, trying to thread the corset. “I need help.”

“What?” He heard me, he just didn’t like what he heard.

“I said. I. Need. Help.” Angry and accusing.