Page 5 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
He’s wrong, though. I’m afraid every day, of him and this place, of dying without ever knowing what it means to live. But I’m not afraid of the gardens or the ravens. They feel like peace and safety in a place sorely lacking both.
He takes my arm, not roughly, but with the kind of grip that makes escape impossible. “Come inside. It’s almost dinner, and the council is waiting.”
I glance back at the garden, half-expecting to see the ravens waiting for me. But they’re gone now, vanished into the night like they never existed. Except…they do.
And I’m more convinced than ever that they’re more than mere birds.
2
Shadows in the Forest
Shade
Ibalance on thehighest branch of an ancient oak like a black knife, watching. The world below stinks of cut grass, rain rotting in the rose beds, and the cloying sweetness of the fruit blooming on trees. I could name every scent in the castle grounds, but tonight, there’s only one that matters.
The princess. Raisa.
She’s wandering the orchard again, barely more than a girl, but already grown—soft in all the right places, bright and curious where it counts. The king keeps her behind iron and stone, but I know every inch of her.
Every night, she slips from the palace, thinking she’s alone in the dark. She doesn’t see the eyes in the branches. The ones that want her most.
I lock my gaze onto her from above, feeling the familiar, savage hunger rise swiftly. It’s not the kind that’s sated by worms or field mice. It’s something bigger, crueler, impossible to silence.
When I’m in this form, the urge is primal. Simple. Something written into my bones whether I like it or not. There’s a certain beauty in spilling blood and wielding power to cause pain. But even as a bird, I remember what it’s like to have hands, to feel the pulse beneath my skin, and the wind on my face. To want something more than destruction and fear.
Raisa kneels in the wet grass to fix a drooping blossom, her skirt riding up and her black hair coming loose over her shoulder. I could count every freckle on her neck if I cared to. Instead, I watch her hands, small, delicate, tender with the flower, even as she snaps off the dead leaves with merciless efficiency. She does everything this way. Her touch is gentle, but her heart is fiercer than she knows.
She’s made of might and powerful magic, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
I want her to look up. I want her to see me, to know she’s prey. I want to watch the fear, eagerness, and curiosity dilate her eyes.
I want it too much.
My talons grip the wood so hard the bark flakes beneath them. I feel the heat pooling in my breast like a coil threatening to snap. My brothers would mock me if they knew how badly I wantto hunt and stalk and claim, but I don’t care. They’ve always needed more excuses than I do.
What I want is simple. Her. Not because she’s the answer to the curse that keeps us trapped. Not to take her from the king. Simply because the wanting drives me mad.
She stands, brushing grass stains from her knees, and glances over her shoulder toward the castle. The king’s voice is a distant echo—calling for her again.
Raisa hesitates, her lips parting as if she means to answer him, but instead she turns away and walks in the opposite direction, toward the wall and the woods beyond.
She wants out.
She’ll never make it, not with the guards on the ramparts and the king’s magic layered on the gates to keep her imprisoned. But it’s the wanting that matters. It’s what draws me, night after night, until my wings ache from perching and my mind sours with longing.
She’s almost at the gate.
I shift my weight, my wings flaring for balance, and follow from branch to branch until I can see the whole length of her.
The garden is a cage, and she’s the only thing worth hunting.
Even as a child, I took first and asked forgiveness later. The curse hasn’t changed that. If anything, it made me hungrier. Now that the wait is almost over, my chest aches with the need to get on with it. To take what I want.
She walks right up to the gate, brushing aside the ivy. Another quick glance over her shoulder to check that she’s alone, and then she’s reaching for the latch with trembling fingers.
It moves an inch like it did earlier, just enough to allow in a sliver of forbidden air. She trembles in response, her lush body quivering toward it in desperation.
But that’s as far as she gets before she hauls herself back to her feet and quickly brushes off her skirt. Her feet are silent on thepath as she scurries back toward the safety of the castle and the watchful eyes of the king’s guards.
