He cleared his throat.
She looked up.
“Should we…?” He trailed off, shoulders writhing despite the pain the small movement brought to his wing joints.
The girl jumped like a spring suddenly unleashed. “Yes, let’s. Why don’t you, or I could, or we…” She paced back and forth for a moment, then stopped. “Can you just turn a little bit, so your back is to the light, and I’ll sit right here, and, yes, this is perfect.”
He moved while she spoke, listening to her clothes and feathers rustling as she got behind him. Rafe watched the flames flicker against the stone wall, following the orange glow as it danced across hard edges, making them appear soft. Beyond that halo, the darkness swallowed any other hint of light. The world outside their circle was nothing more than shadow, as though this little pocket of reality existed apart from everything else.
He started when her fingers touched his skin, the barest skim.
“Oh, I’m sorry, are my hands too cold?” she asked, her voice a little higher and sharper than before.
“Uh, no.” Rafe's heartbeat became thunderous, so loud he was sure she could hear it too, though she said nothing.
Neither did he, as she pressed her palms again his shoulder blades once more. They were warm and soft, making his skin prickle. His spine straightened. Every nerve in his body turned alert as her fingers shifted, silk brushing against him as she ran them down the center of his back, feeling every muscle along the way and around the edges of his abdomen before sliding them up. Rafe clenched his teeth when she found the base of his wings, gently moving her hands along the edges of his feathers and over his broken bones, sending waves of soothing calm into the ache.
He was burning. Something molten had unleashed and was coursing through his blood, setting his body alight. Rafe was almost surprised he wasn’t giving off steam.
The world was too quiet—just the crackle of the fire and the soft, melodic lull of her breathing. He had nothing to focus on but her touch and what it stirred within him. Even the pain wasn’t distraction enough. They were strangers. Complete and total strangers. Yet the moment felt more intimate than any he’d experienced in his life. And he had to stop it before he went mad.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, far too loudly to sound casual.
A giggle spilled from her lips, the sweetest sort of melody. “I’d rather it be a surprise.”
He tried to turn around. “A surprise?”
“Stay still,” she ordered, holding him firmly by the shoulders. Using a single finger, she drew a circle onto his back, then another, two loops that intertwined, repeating them on and on. “Are you excited to be mated?”
A surprised cough made its way up his throat. She drew her hands back.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, not meaning to scare her away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… I guess I haven’t thought about it much.”
“Haven’t thought about it?” she wondered with unabashed shock. “With the courtship trials so soon? It’s all anyone my age has been able to talk about.”
Oh, right, I’m supposed to be Xander, he remembered. Crown prince. About to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Well, any bidder really.
I’m not Rafe, the bastard no raven girl would want.
Uncomfortable, he mumbled, “I’m just leaving it up to the gods, I guess.”
“No specific princess in mind?” she pressed, amusement sneaking into her tone. “My princess is said to be quite charming, though I haven’t met her myself. But I hear she’s clever, maybe a bit mischievous.”
Rafe snorted, unable to stop himself. “Sure, because a dove would surely pick a raven.”
“Hmm.” She paused. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Even so, a pampered princess from the home of Aethios himself?”
Rafe shook his head, trying to imagine such a girl with Xander. She’d be too full of herself. Too spoiled to make it among his people. Too used to sticking her nose in the air to ever look down and understand how the House of Whispers worked. Most of all, she would never understand Xander. The House of Peace was too perfect, too virtuous. Even a mischievous dove princess was still a dove. She would never understand the trick he and his brother intended to play.
“I can’t see that mating happening," he said.
She pinched his skin painfully, making him jump.
“Ow.”
“Oh, sorry, my mistake,” she commented offhandedly, clearly unconcerned. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Can you tell me about your home?”
“The castle or the people?”
“Both.” She practically breathed the word, wistfully sending it into the world. “I want to know everything.”
“Everything?” He laughed. “That could take a long time.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. Rafe felt there was some hidden meaning in those words, one he couldn’t determine. The idea brought a shiver to his skin.
Or maybe the cold did that.
Yes, definitely the cold. The heat from the fire wasn’t at all stifling. Not at all.
Neither was her magic.
Nor her hands.
Nor her touch.
“Um, there’s not much to know, really," he began. "Pylaeon is the heart of the House of Whispers, the city of spirits as we like to call it, because, well, I’ll get to that. The city itself is nestled in a valley between two mountains, and there’s a river that runs straight through the center before splitting into a moat that flows around the castle and then cascades over the edge, into nothing but air. The water comes from a massive waterfall stretching across a wide cliff face at the other end of the valley. We call it Taetanos’s Gate because it looks like an entrance to another world, especially at night, with the moonlight glistening off the water. We believe lost spirits travel to Pylaeon in search of rest, so we lead them through our city to the river, which in turn leads them to our god. Where he takes them, no one knows.”
“That sounds magical,” she said dreamily.
“Not magical,” Rafe replied as the image of a powerful force even greater than nature came to the forefront of his mind. “Godly.”
“And what about the castle?”
Rafe switched the painting his imagination had crafted, replacing certain colors and shapes for others as he spoke aloud, “The castle is terrifying at first, but then, somehow welcoming, like my god himself. It hangs at the edge of our isle, built on the rocks, teetering on the edge of life and death, as we do. Every room has a balcony, so that inside, with a fire lit, you're safe and warm—but just a few steps away, there’s nothing but open air for thousands of miles above and below, a reminder that we’re small players in a much bigger game.”
“Game?” she asked. Her hands had stopped moving. They rested warmly in the hollow groove between his wings, palms half against his feathers and half against his back.
Rafe stole another glance over his shoulder. She was too entranced to see anything but the visions dancing through her head, the visions he’d spun. An almost childlike wonder was alive in her innocent, yearning gaze, igniting a spark in his own chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Not since his parents had died. Not since he’d grown up too soon.