The Raven and the Dove

by Kaitlyn Davis

“Cassi, you wouldn’t believe everything that happened,” Lyana gushed as she stepped into the room, not bothering with a hello as she flopped onto Cassi’s bed and fell back, dramatic as ever, letting her wings drape over the edges as every muscle in her body relaxed.

  Cassi eyed her friend, trying to shrug off the lies and the guilty mood to sink back into the life that took place outside of her dreaming hours. “I have no doubt you’re going to tell me anyway.”

  24

  Lyana

  He was doing that infuriatingly adorable thing of pretending she didn’t exist—heavy on the infuriating. Lyana tried to focus on the positive—Lysander seemed to be ignoring everyone else as well. The other princes. The other princesses. His own queen. Those brooding eyes of his were filled to the brim with resolve, focused only on the tests, on conquering each task one by one by one. And he was doing an impressive job.

  He’d come first for the boys in the archery trial, bested only by the same person who had crushed them all—the Crown Princess of the House of Prey. Her aim had been so exact she’d pierced her first arrow with her second, so the wood fanned out like a flower around the bull’s-eye. She then proceeded to land four more arrows in the center rings of four different moving targets, stepping back between each release to increase the difficulty of the shot.

  To no one’s surprise, the two hummingbird princes flew circles around the other boys in the speed races, but the raven hadn’t been far behind. When they’d placed obstacles on the course, introducing the element of agility, Lysander had gained even more ground, wings shifting swiftly to dodge, dip, and dive as he flew, reminding her of his fight against the dragon and how deftly he’d moved.

  While the rest of them had been breathing heavily during the endurance test, straining to hover in the air as weights were incrementally dropped into a bag between their hands, he seemed unbothered. Lyana secretly wondered if he was cheating a little bit, sending some healing magic into his sore muscles to keep them steady while everyone else’s strength sapped away, but she kept her lips sealed. In fact, she smiled when the last holdout—the owl prince with his expansive wings and lifelong practice of shuffling heaps of books from room to room—dropped from the sky, proclaiming Lysander the male victor.

  Some of the kings and queens frowned.

  Some widened their eyes curiously.

  The princesses glanced at him with a new sparkle of interest. A possessive knot formed at the pit of Lyana’s stomach, coiling more and more tightly with each not-so-low whisper from the girls around her. She kept her gaze resolutely on the center of the arena as the guards prepared for the next trial, the one she’d been eagerly awaiting—dagger throwing.

  The stands in the outskirts of the room grew quiet as large slingshots were wheeled around the ovular area, creaking slightly over the stone floor. There were eight daises—one for each royal family, decorated in their colors, and one for the committee, two elected officials from each house acting as impartial judges. Between the platforms there were rows of seats, filled with as many doves and visitors as could fit. The gentle hum of voices carried through the silence. In the background, the constant rustle of feathers could be heard as the people wriggled, searching for one more inch of space in the packed stadium, where none was to be found.

  Lyana shifted her weight from one foot to the other, grip tightening on the dagger at her waist, itching to throw. But while all the heirs participated in each trial, they were separated into a boys’ heat and a girls’ heat, and the princes were going first. She watched, blood pumping, nerves tingling, body aching for action.

  Her brother was most gifted with a sword, but he was still proficient with daggers, having been forced into practice because of her. He hit all but two of the wooden discs launched into the air. The two princes of the House of Paradise went next, hitting about half of the targets. Poor prince Nico from the House of Wisdom nearly missed them all, despite his sharp owl’s vision. Lyana's favored mate, Damien, narrowly lost to her brother when his final dagger missed its target by less than an inch, leaving him with three targets unstruck. His younger brother performed in a similar way, though a few of his hits seemed to surprise even him. And finally, it was Lysander’s turn. The raven prince tied for first place, missing only two targets, just like her brother.

  Not bad, Lyana thought, watching him return to his dais. But not enough to beat me.

  Because she was going to hit every target—every target but one. Oh, if she wanted to, she’d be able to hit them all. Of that, Lyana was positive. But she had something else up her sleeve. Something to force Lysander to finally take notice. Something she’d learned from her mother.

  Luka eyed her through the holes of his mask, curious in a wary way. “What’s that mischievous expression on your face?”

  His own expression reminded her of Cassi's before they’d parted ways that morning—the look she was probably still wearing somewhere in the monstrous crowd. Only members of the royal family were permitted on the platforms, a fact for which she was grateful as she fought to ignore her brother and the nervous flurries his scrutiny brought to her stomach.

  Just stick to the plan.

  It’ll work.

  It’ll be amazing.

  With a deep breath, she reached for the belt of daggers presented by one of the guards. Twenty newly sharpened blades, same as all the other participants, were being offered to her. She tugged them free of the display and tucked them safely into her clothes—six into the belt already cinched around her waist, four into the holster across her chest, four on the back of her shoulders, one at each wrist strap, and two into each thigh band. Her hunting leathers had been specially designed to hold daggers, and Lyana had no problem letting everyone in the room guess her skill level while she prepared, taking her time, feeling the weight of each blade, not paying attention as the other princesses took their turns.

  “Stop showing off,” Luka murmured, but his tone was playful.

  Lyana glanced at him as she snapped the last buckle into place. “Now, why would I do that?”

  “Because the Princess of the House of Prey just hit every target but one,” he whispered, nodding toward the center ring, where Thea had finished a steep landing. She snapped her eagle wings closed, a broad smile visible under her mask, and walked proudly back to her family.

  Lyana frowned and shrugged, trying to play it cool. “There’s winning, Luka. And then there’s winning.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll see,” she said vaguely, stepping forward as the focus of the room subtly shifted toward her—a thousand pairs of eyes, a thousand silent questions, a thousand people watching, but all she saw was one.

  One man with his gaze on the ground.

  One prince pointedly studying his toes.

  One raven who would ignore her no longer.

  Because there was winning a trial, and winning a heart.

  Lyana knew exactly which victory she was after as she pumped her wings, rising from the family dais and floating casually to the center of the room, pulse not thunderous as she’d expected but eerily calm. Her feet softly found stone. She swallowed, wrapping her fingers around the first dagger she intended to throw, the one at the far-left side of her waist, and pulling it free. Then she waited. Blinking once. Twice. Bending her knees. Using her thumb to twirl the hilt, making sure the muscles in her hand didn’t grow stiff.

  A bell chimed.

  Lyana launched into the air at the same moment the first wooden disc soared free, forgetting the room, forgetting the princes, forgetting everything but instinct. She released her dagger, not bothering to watch, smiling as a thunk made its way to her ear. But by then, the second disc had been thrown, the slight whistle hinting at its location over her shoulder. She dove toward the ground, flipping in midair and releasing her dagger as she rolled, before swerving to the opposite side where a third target raced by, then a fourth. Lyana reached with both hands, grabbing the daggers behind her sho
ulders and throwing at the same time.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  She spared a glance at the raven prince, whose attention was still on the ground, and growled beneath her breath. But there was no time to be annoyed as the fifth, then sixth, then seventh targets danced through the air. She twirled, using her wings to propel her in a wide arc as she hit all three. A few of the doves in the crowd cheered. Lyana held her focus, finding an eighth and a ninth target, then hovered in midair as the arena seemed to pause.

  All four slingshots were released at once, two targets shooting toward the center of the ring and two in opposite directions. Lyana hit the disc closest to her first, before racing through the center of the arena, turning for one, then the other. The final disc hit its peak and began dropping toward the floor, faster and faster. Her arm strength alone wouldn’t be enough to reach it, so she snapped her wings, dropped to the floor, and landed in a roll before jumping to her feet, using the momentum and the muscles in her legs for the extra push needed to reach the target.

  Thunk.

  Lyana let out a breath and again flicked her gaze around the room. Luka watched her with a proud grin on his lips. The hummingbird prince had a hungry sort of expression in his eyes. The raven was still fascinated by his shoes.

  A crack drew her attention as another disc was released. Then two more.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  Lyana patted her clothes. Two daggers at her chest. One at her wrist. One more at her thigh. Four targets left, but she only planned to hit three.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  Lyana tugged the final two blades free from her chest, weighing them in her hands, waiting in the center of the arena as the final two slingshots were quietly loaded. She breathed, in and out, in and out, and the room seemed to breathe with her, inhaling and exhaling at the same time she did, all doves hoping their princess would do what they knew she could—win the test.

  The targets were released.

  She hit the first one without hesitation and flapped her wings, rising higher and higher, above the crowd, above the remaining target, which was making a rapid descent for the floor, all the way to the apex of the dome. And only when she was as far away as possible did she stretch back her arm, not even facing the final disc, and let go.

  Thunk.

  A collective gasp filled the room.

  Lysander didn’t flinch as the blade landed squarely between his feet.

  But he did, at long last, look up.

  25

  Rafe

  He wished she hadn’t done that.

  He really, really wished she hadn’t done that. For starters, two inches to the left or right and he could be missing a toe right now. But that wasn’t his main issue. No. While a self-satisfied spark lit her eyes, Rafe couldn’t help but notice two other sets of eyes turn toward him, fueled by something far more dangerous—loathing.

  He dropped his gaze to the floor, silently cursing that he’d given in to her tantrum when he promised himself not to pay attention to the princess. All that mattered were the tests, the games. All that mattered was proving his house’s worth. All that mattered was winning, for Xander’s sake. Because the heir with the most victories won first official pick of mate on the final day of the trials. Of course, the matches were truly made during backroom conversations and through secret messages passed from one house to the other, actions far more political than these tests of strength. But it was easy to say no in writing. Saying no out loud, surrounded by a crowd of a thousand people, that was something else entirely. And if Rafe won first pick for his brother, even if no princess was technically supposed to match with Xander, he was hoping that the pressure of the moment and the honor of being the first mate selected would make her a little less inclined to say no. It was rare for an heir to subvert whatever decision had been made behind closed doors—rare, but not unheard of. Which was why he had to win. There was no other option.

  Three, Rafe thought. Tying with the dove prince marked his third top placement of the day for the male trials. First archery, then endurance, now daggers.

  He ran through the calculations in his head. Damien, the hummingbird prince, had two victories. Luka, the dove prince, had one. Unfortunately for him, heading into the final test of the day, those just happened to be the two people attempting to burn holes through his skull—one provoked by protective fury, the other by jealous ire.

  Rafe sighed. I really wish she hadn’t done that.

  He kicked at the dagger still lodged in the wood beneath his feet, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. He refused to kneel and pick it up. He refused to acknowledge its existence any longer. So instead, he took two steps forward. Out of sight, out of mind…

  If only life were so easy.

  Acting of their own volition, his eyes ever so slowly shifted up, up, up, finding the dove princess one more time.

  Ana didn’t look away.

  Neither did Rafe.

  They held gazes across the arena, not blinking, hardly breathing, as the center of the floor was cleared for the next test.

  The bell chimed again.

  Ana broke their stare, turning aside to accept the sword her brother offered, sliding the polished blade free of its sheath as she tested its weight in her hand and whipped it in a single wide arc, movements graceful and lethal. She looked to find him still watching and widened her smile.

  Oh, she was dangerous.

  In far more ways than one.

  Rafe frowned as the princesses from each house stepped off their platforms and flew toward the center ring. New calculations occupied his mind—not of his victories, but of hers. Thea, the eagle, had won the archery trial for the girls and had tied for the lead with the daggers. She was at the head of the pack. The princess of the House of Paradise had won the speed race. The princess from the House of Wisdom had won the test of endurance. But Lyana had tied for the win with the daggers—the obvious victor if she hadn’t pulled that stunt—and a worried knot was coiling at the pit of his stomach as he watched her land in a confident stride, sword far too comfortable in her hand, and begin the last assessment of the day—hand-to-hand combat.

  Again, he returned his gaze to the floor, studying the wavy paths of woodgrain in the boards beneath his feet, counting the rings, each one a different story, a different age, a different year. No matter how he tried to distract himself, the sinking feeling just grew, as though the platform had begun to melt, sucking him down and down and down so deep that the air was stifling.

  But he wouldn’t look up.

  Couldn’t look up.

  Refused—

  The room erupted in a deafening roar of cheers.

  Rafe’s shoulders caved in, and he looked up.

  Ana stood in the center ring, her sword at the Princess of the House of Prey’s neck, wings pearlescent in the rays shining down the center of the arched dome. The winner. Tied for overall first place for the girls.

  With that, he knew she was thinking the same thing as he—that, if put on the spot, her choice of mate wouldn’t have the gall to say no, not to the daughter of Aethios, the most prized match he could ever hope to make.

  And she was right.

  Xander would never say no to the offer.

  Xander, the Crown Prince of the House of Whispers, who would walk up to his new mate and slide off his mask to reveal his face on the final day of the courtship trials.

  Xander, not Rafe.

  A fist clenched his insides and tore everything out of place, leaving him off-kilter as he followed the other princes to the center of the floor. Rafe shook his head, trying to clear his brain as he slid his twin blades from the scabbards on his back. Nothing had ever felt more comfortable or more natural in his hands than those worn leather hilts, and yet his fingers were numb and his arms heavy as he waited for his first opponent.

  An easy match.

  Yuri, the second son of the House of Paradise.

  Rafe lu
cked out, because if he’d started with anyone else, he wasn’t sure his muddled instincts would have been up to the task. But by the end of that first fight, his focus had returned. Because this wasn’t about a willful princess, it was about Xander. And that was whom Rafe kept at the forefront of his thoughts as he turned to face his next foe—the hummingbird prince.

  Xander, who needed a mate.

  Xander, who needed a win.

  Xander, who deserved to be happy.

  Xander, who was relying on him.

  And, well, Damien, who needed to have that smug smirk cleanly wiped off his face.

  Rafe spun the blades in his hands, loosening his wrists. Damien stretched his smaller wings, violet feathers glittering in the sun, far more lethal than they looked since they made him fast. Impossibly fast. Little more than a blur as the bell chimed, signaling the fight to begin.

  Rafe dropped to his knees immediately—downward being the last direction most people would suspect a bird to go—and rolled, anticipating his opponent’s charge. A whiff of air hit his cheek, the narrow miss of a blade’s edge, as the hummingbird prince attempted to strike. Rafe shoved his weapon up, metal ringing as the sword found a shield. A string of vibrations coursed through his arm, but Rafe ignored the sting and launched into the air. Damien followed.

  The gods, he’s fast! Rafe silently cursed as he searched for the prince, blinking as a flash of purple caught the corner of his eye and spinning toward the blur. He held his swords in an X, stopping the prince’s blade a moment before it struck true. This time, his entire body reverberated with the blow. The hummingbird wasn’t playing. If Rafe hadn’t realized it from the strength of his hit, he knew it from the seething light in Damien’s eyes as the prince hovered for a beat before yanking his sword free.

  This wasn’t a game or a test.

  It was a battle, through and through.

  Rafe snapped his wings closed and dropped ten feet, escaping the swing of a shield, an attack the prince wouldn’t neglect to attempt, obvious as it was. Before Rafe had time to balance his weight, the prince was there, dangerously swift, swinging his blade. Rafe kicked the center of the hummingbird’s chest, using the momentum to soar out of the arc of his weapon.