Crossing my quarters, I bring the raven into the bathing room. The room floods with light as magelights flare to life, casting the room in a silver glow. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the sink, I scoff.
I’m a mess.
Windswept hair, tear-stained cheeks, dark purple smudges under my tired eyes, bloodied camisole and hands…
Ryc appears in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame. He undoes the first few buttons of his shirt before undoing his cuffs. As I snag a hand towel from its hook and flick on the faucet, he watches me in the mirror with a small smile on his face.
Gods, he’s beautiful.
“I’ll have Oraphia bring you what you need come morning,” he says, folding his arms across his chest.
I nod, remaining silent as I carefully wash the blood from the creature’s feathers.
“What happened to it?” Ryc asks.
“I’m trying to figure that out,” I answer, turning the raven over in my hands. “It was being attacked by crows when I stepped outside.”
I pause, staring at the gashes on its back, between its wings.
They’re deep and jagged, scoring the flesh more severely than any crow could. Moving some of the feathers aside, there are three near identical wounds. Ryc notices the same and his brows furrow.
“Crows couldn’t have done that.”
He’s right.
This looks like the work of talons.
Werewolves, vampires, wraiths… they would be capable of injuries like this. But… there are no such creatures within the city. The bird wasn’t injured when I saw it earlier in the day. And traveling with wounds like these… it wouldn’t have been able to for any distance.
“Did you see where it came from?” he asks, leaning closer to inspect the creature.
He must have the same thoughts.
“No, not really,” I reply. “Possibly from the west? Over the courtyard.”
With a low hum, Ryc flattens his lips into a tight line as he continues to stare.
“I’ll tighten patrols in the city just in case,” he replies.
Reaching, he gently strokes the raven’s wing.
“A pity,” he says. “It would have been beautiful to see in flight.”
“Agreed.” No chance of that now.
Washing away the last of the crimson, I wrap the raven in the hand towel, tucking it tight in the fluffy fabric. Again, I meet Ryc’s watchful eyes in the mirror.
“You should sleep.” I give him a hint of a smile. “You’re a busy Sovereign King these days.”
With a chuckle, he leans close, kissing my temple.
“Don’t remind me,” he murmurs with a smile.
His golden gaze follows me as I cross the bathing room, reaching the shelving on the far wall. Pulling the small wicker basket filled with rolled washcloths, I swing it over the tub and unceremoniously dump them.
Ryc’s brows shoot high. “Oraphia is going to love that.”
I smirk. The human woman assigned as my personal attendant holds no fear of the Sovereign King.
