Dinner in his chambers.Private.
The invitation itself isn’t what disturbs me; it’s the way he delivered it. The confidence, the command, as though he already knew my answer. As though he believes he owns me, or will soon enough.
Nyssa and Myna rejoin me, their expressions carefully neutral, but Myna’s sharp gaze gives her away. “I’ll go with you,” she says. The unexpected tenderness in her tone lingers, threading itself through my rib cage and settling deep within me.
“No,” I reply, forcing calmness into my voice. “Nyssa can come as my escort. It would be unwise to miss this chance for you to aid the Flight’s search while I keep the prince occupied.”
And that’s the truth of it. This isn’t about charm or coy smiles; it’s opportunity. If Keres wants me close, I’ll play the part he expects. I’ll flatter him, intrigue him, make him believe I’m nothing more than a pliant princess from the Sorrows. For now, I’ll wear this mask and bide my time. But deep down, I promise myself—I’ll never belong to him. Not to his court, not to his plans.
The thought strengthens the resolve tucked behind the vulnerability in my chest.
The sun has long since slipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a blanket of darkness, neither the moon nor a single star breaching the heavy night. Below, the city glimmers with thousands of flickering lights that cascade down the mountainside and sprawl across the land, making me wonder if the world has been turned upside down.
The crackle of the fireplace is the only sound in my silent room. Aside from Nyssa, who is preparing herself for my dinner with Prince Keres, the others are all out searching every inch of the palace.
Despite the Flight’s earlier work and preparations, we’re no closer to success. Lark and Lory scoured the dungeons last night, while Ravenand Heron searched the royal quarters. With the second trial now less than a week away, we’ll have to keep up this charade longer than we had all hoped.
Although, for Nyssa, Myna, and me, this might just be the life we must now embrace.
A knock at the door draws my attention from the window. Raven slips inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
His posture stiffens, his muscles subtly tensing beneath the fabric of his guard uniform. His eyes flick over me, lingering just a moment longer than usual, his gaze warm but measured. A faint shift in his expression—something unreadable—sends a wave of heat through me, my skin prickling with awareness. My dress feels too thin. The air between us charged.
His eyes lower for a split second before he clears his throat, his jaw tightening as if to steady himself. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I reply, my hand instinctively brushing against the hidden pocket of my gown, where my dagger is safely sheathed beneath the fabric’s folds. “Is there something you need?”
He pauses, and his hesitation only deepens my intrigue. I tilt my head, studying the rigid tension in his shoulders and the firm set of his jaw.
“There’s a locked door in Keres’s chambers that we haven’t been able to open. It’s engraved withgoiteía—some of which we’ve translated, but many of the markings are unrecognizable.” His words seize my attention. Despite my disdain forgoiteía,my past entanglements with them have left me with an obsessive fascination. The Aviary has cataloged every known mark in the history of the Empyrieos, so how could there be symbols here that defy identification?
“I need you to…keep the prince occupied while I get into his chambers and take a closer look.”
I pause, my muscles tensing. “And how am I supposed to distract him?”
“You know what I mean, Starling.”
Anger ignites in my chest, searing and unrelenting. I step closer, my voice steady but edged with steel. “I want it to be perfectly clear,Commander.” My glare pierces him, sharp as a blade. Then, with deliberate control, I let the intensity dissolve, a soft, captivating smile curling at my lips. My eyes meet his, warm and inviting, masking the storm of anger and hurt simmering just beneath the surface. “Is this how I should look at him?”
The honeyed streaks in his eyes harden into stone. “You could.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh, my movements deliberate as I drag my fingertips along the back of his hand. His hand flexes, but I don’t stop. “Perhaps a touch here,” I say, my fingers trailing up to his chest, where his breath comes faster. “Or here.”
My hand drifts to his lower abdomen, resting above the waistband of his pants, and I press just enough to make my meaning clear. Raven’s entire body tenses at the touch, and I don’t miss the slight hitch in his breath, the way his lips press together as if to hold back something he can’t allow himself to say aloud.
“Is this what you want, Raven?” My voice is now honed, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Is this what you’re asking of me?”
He wraps his hand around my wrist, not pushing me away but holding it in place as he gazes down at me. He’s holding himself in check, but it’s a losing battle. His hands, always so steady and assured, tremble faintly now. It’s fleeting—gone in an instant and replaced by the calm, composed mask of the Nightwing I’ve known for years. But for that one moment, I saw inside. Past his defenses. And I know that my words, my touch, cut deeper than he let on.
“I don’t enjoy sending you in there like this,” he admits, his voice low and deliberate—almost as if he’s saying it more to himself than to me.
My lips part, surprised by his honesty. “Then why ask me to do it?”
“Because I trust you to keep him distracted long enough to ensure I won’t get caught,” he says, the words heavy with a sincerity that unnerves me. “And because it’s the most effective way to make this happen.”
His words weigh on me, but there’s something buried there—something unsaid. Trust isn’t the only reason. There’s guilt, too, lingering in his eyes like a shadow. He’s asking me to play a dangerous game, and judging by the tightness of his jaw, he knows what that means. I hadintended to navigate these trials by presenting myself as a pliant yet coy princess, nothing more than the occasional fleeting flirtation. But this situation may call for a more daring approach—one that could take me to uncharted territory I may not be ready to face.
A gentle knock at the door interrupts us, followed by Nyssa’s muffled voice asking if I’m ready. Her tone carries hesitation, and it’s clear she hasn’t barged in because she’s wary of walking into something she’d rather avoid. I pull my hand from Raven’s grasp, the cool air caressing my palm to soothe the loss of contact, and step toward the door.
