Page 57 of White Raven

Panting, my head spinning with the whiplash of what had just happened and nausea swimming in my stomach, I finally broke the silence.

“Wh-what was that?” I licked my dry lips. “What happened?”

His expression became stone. Climbing off me, he settled the scythe, blade, and needles out of my reach. He reached over, clutching the flask, taking a huge gulp, his throat bobbing as he drank it down. I tried not to notice the stiffness in his trousers, his aura bristling with anger.

“Tell me,” I demanded. “What did you just do?”

“I . . .” He shook his head, as though a war battled inside, rubbing the heel of his palm into his forehead. “I tattooed you. An ordinary binding ritual.” He shrugged his shoulder, procuring gauze from the bag. “So that others will know you are my property.”

“Your property?” Spitting each syllable through my teeth. “I am not property.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem when others are,” he seethed back. My attention once again went to the king’s stamp.

He was right, I never cared before, never thought about it. “The Night King does the same to my people.”

“And I did the same to you.” He shrugged. “Guess we’re all even.”

“That didn’t feel like a simple binding ritual.”

“How would you know?” He wrapped his hand, spots of blood soaking through the material.

My mouth opened and then closed. I didn’t know anything about binding rituals. The only time I might have experienced one was with my husband. And they were purely for show. A sign of your faithfulness and love to your intended.

Real binding rituals didn’t happen anymore.

“Old magic no longer exists,” I stated firmly, like I was the one who needed to be reassured. With each passing second, the erotic moment felt more like a dream. Something my drunken brain created.

“Get some rest.” He padded over to the chair, settling down in it, taking another drink.

“What are you doing?” I yanked at the bindings. “Untie me.”

“And have your grubby fingers infect my artwork? No.” He yawned hugely. “Plus, you need to have a little more time out after trying to kill me.” He leaned back, putting his legs up on the table. “Get some sleep, kanin.”

“Sleep?” I croaked. “You just marked me! Against my will!”

“Even more reason you need to rest.”

I let out a fierce screech, kicking and tugging, making the bedframe bang against the wall.

“Only wasting your energy . . . and solidifying my reputation.” He stared out the window, his thumb absently running over the gauze, the place of his new tattoo. “Trying to make another jealous, kanin? Mark your territory?”

The humiliation that I had thought that very thing made me thrash even more.

“You are vile.”

A ghost of a smile curved his mouth, taking a swig.

His nonresponse inflamed me more. I pulled against the belt until it cut into my wrists, a cry of defeat slumping me back.

The sting of my tattoo, running from the top of my neck down to my chest, took away the focus from the chunk of flesh missing from my arm.

My body was marked by this land, branding me within its shade.

I had lived all my life in light, unaware of the brutality outside the castle walls.

Only a few days away from it, and I sensed the dark crawling in.

Changing me.