Page 14 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
The spell is broken.
The men around me react as one, a wall of muscle, aggression, and instinct. I’m yanked backward, rough hands closing over my arms, my waist, and the back of my neck. For a split second, I can’t breathe. I’m crushed between Bran’s chest and Grim’sbare, inked shoulder. Sable and Talon spread out, forming a perimeter. Shade never lets go of my hair.
My father’s guards hesitate, forming a half-moon around us, blades shining in the torchlight. I see their faces, read the fear and confusion. But mostly, I see the way they avoid looking directly at Shade and the others, like they’re wild animals, not men.
I try to pull away from Bran, but he just tightens his grip, so gentle and firm I want to scream.
“Let me go,” I gasp. “They’ll kill you.”
“Not likely,” Sable murmurs, his grin as sharp as the knives at Talon’s hip. “They’re not even aiming at the right targets.”
He’s right. The guards are shaking, barely keeping formation. I know these men. I’ve watched them train since I was a child. They’re the kingdom’s best, but they look like children themselves next to the men holding me.
Shade’s hand on my scalp is all that keeps me standing. His other arm wraps around my front, caging me. His voice is a low growl against my ear. “Don’t move, Princess.”
My knees give out. I’m half-dragged, half-lifted, until I’m flush against him, my cheek pressed to his chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady, while mine is a thunderstorm.
“Release the princess!” the captain calls. I recognize his voice, too. Sir Edmond, my father’s favorite dog. He steps forward, his sword leveled at Shade’s throat. “Step aside, all of you, or die.”
Rune laughs. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
Shade ignores the blade, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of my ear. “What do you want, Raisa?” he asks, and for once, it isn’t a command. It’s a genuine question.
I don’t know how to answer. Part of me wants to break free and run, back to the crushing weight of duty and the familiarity of my royal shackles. But another, louder part wants to stay righthere, held between these men. I want to belong, for once in my life, to someone who actually wants me.To them.
I shudder, unable to find words.
Bran answers for me. “She wants peace. You and your king have never given her that.”
Edmond sneers. “Step away from her, or we’ll remove your hands from her ourselves.”
Grim bares his teeth. “Try it.”
The standoff stretches, time slowing to a blurry crawl. I glance up and see Father himself on the far edge of the clearing, flanked by his council. His face is bloodless, his eyes fixed on me—not with concern, but with scorching fury.
He lifts his hand.
Archers emerge from the dark, bows drawn, arrows nocked and aimed at the men around me. At me.
Panic clutches my throat.
“No!” I scream. I try to break free, but Shade’s arm doesn’t budge. I twist until I’m facing Bran, then Grim, and finally Shade, my voice shaking. “Let me go. Please.”
Bran’s eyes are heartbreak and hope. “We can protect you.”
“Not if they kill you,” I hiss. “Let me go, please. I’ll come back, I promise. Just…don’t let them hurt you.”
Something passes between the seven men, a ripple that sounds like a sigh of surrender, a look that feels like hunger, excitement, and relief all rolled into one.
Shade lifts his chin and meets my father’s gaze. “If you harm her,” he says, his voice a weapon, “we will burn your kingdom to the ground.”
Father blanches, his face red with rage and something that looks a little like madness in the lantern light, but he doesn’t say a word.
Grim is the last to release me. His hand slides from my shoulder to my wrist, his thumb stroking my pulse. “You’re ours now, Princess,” he murmurs, so quietly only I can hear.
Then Shade opens his arms, and I’m exposed, vulnerable, nothing between me and Father’s guards.
Edmond lunges, his hands closing on my arms—cold, iron-gloved, and familiar.
