Page 99 of White Raven

My lips pinned together, my father’s lies stacking higher and higher, though I still felt he did it for good reasons. He had to. To protect the White Raven.

“How did you think you would heal the lands?”

“I-I . . .” My cheeks flamed with embarrassment, how easily I accepted my father’s words. How my whole kingdom took what he said as truth. The stories woven into rugs and written on parchment must be fact.

“What you study in books makes you know the things in them. History is written by the winners to make themselves the heroes, not about the truth.”

“Why do you think he always hid you from me, dove?”

“Don’t call me that,” I seethed. The nickname made me want to scour my skin, brush it off me like it was grime. “My father hid me to protect me from the likes of you.”

Gavric smirked. “He wanted all the power for himself.” His thumb brushing off the filth from our trek here. “Vorian understands: Whoever has the White Raven—holds all the power.” His hand grazed over my bottom lip. I swear I heard a rumble from behind, a prickle along my neck. “That is why we will be married soon.”

“Why bother marrying me if you’re just going to kill me?” I snipped, my fear lashing out in anger.

“My perfect dove. I’m not going to kill you right now. To fully heal the land, we must venture to where it all began. The place where blood was spilled on the battlefield. And it is where your blood must be sacrificed. Everything aligns. On the winter solstice, the day you turn nineteen, on the one hundred and ninety-ninth year after the Battle of Blood.”

“It took me much longer to obtain you. I was hoping to have you months ago, I wanted an heir by now. Solidifying my right to the realm’s throne.” He ran a hand over my stomach. “Not that I won’t make sure you’re mine in every other way.” In our raven form, it only took a month to incubate our offspring, but since we lost our magic, our pregnancies were more like a bat’s gestation, taking seven to eight months to carry a child to term.

King Helvig’s fingers trailed up, yanking off my cloak, his hungry gaze stopping on my chest. He went utterly still.

“What is this?” He indicated the ink marks running down my neck, landing on the one at the base of my throat, the one with diamond symbols.

His brown eyes lost all light. Wrath bloomed through his cheeks, exploding over his face. His voice thundering in the room, splintering my eardrums.

“What the fuck is this?” He ripped off my cloak, tossing it to the ground. His focus snapped to Onyx. “What. Did. You. Do?” Fury radiated like a smoldering fire, warning us of its power still to destroy. “You marked her?”

“I had no choice, my liege,” Onyx replied woodenly.

“No choice?” He sputtered. “You dare mark what is mine?!” He stomped over to the Night Hunter, slapping him hard across the face, the sound echoing off the walls. “You insolent fool! You challenge my right to her?”

“No, sire.”

“Are you sure?” He pressed up to Onyx, staring up at him, a strange energy billowing from the king, like he enjoyed his anger. “Did you mark her as yours in other ways too, shield? Put your dick inside her?”

Onyx stood still, his gaze over the king’s head, the nerve in his jaw bouncing, his jaw clenching.

“Answer me!”

“No, my liege.” His teeth gritted out every word.

“But you wanted to.” He moved in closer. “I can tell.”

“She was taken by a trafficking flock, I had to⁠—”

“Get on your knees!” the Night King cut Onyx off, snapping his fingers at his thralls by the throne. One instantly leaped up, grabbing something next to his chair and rushing to him. The king laid his palm out while the thrall placed an object into it. His knuckles cracked as he wrapped his fingers around the handle.

Acid pooled in the back of my throat, seeing the long leather tails coming off the shaft of the whip.

He waited until Onyx slowly dropped to the ground, staring blankly into the distance, reaching automatically for his tunic, pulling it off like he knew this routine.

“That’s right.” The king’s chest went up and down, taking in Onyx’s physique. “You know I hate to do this. But you make me punish you.”

My eyes tracked over Onyx, taking in all the old scars covering his body, my brain putting the pieces together.

He did know this routine. The scars were not battle wounds but from his own king.

The whip cracked in the air with foreboding, a warning kiss, tasting the air. The king snapped it again, the second lash rupturing over Onyx’s skin, cutting across an old scar along his chest. His body jerked at the impact, his jaw clenching, but only a small grunt escaped.