“I’ll look into it. If what you’re saying is true, it could shed light on the purpose of the sequence of the symbols as a whole. For now,though, you need to rest.” Raven’s hand trails down my arm, turning my palm upward to reveal the grazes from my fall, and my still-scattered mind drifts to a day I’d almost forgotten.
The training grounds at the Aviary are brutal this morning, the stone walls slick with clinging humidity. My fingers, raw and aching from gripping the jagged surface, slip near the top. I tumble down hard, knees and palms scraping against the coarse ground. The sting burns deep, but panic grips me tighter than the pain.
I can’t keep failing—not with Raven watching.
Footsteps draw closer, the soft crunch of gravel echoing with each step. A wave of humiliation crashes over me.
“I’m fine, just go,” I mutter, keeping my head down as I brush dirt off my knees with trembling hands.
But Raven doesn’t listen.
He crouches beside me, his shadow blocking out the harsh midday sun, and without a word, he starts cleaning my torn palms. I try to pull them away, but he holds steady, calm and unwavering.
“You’re stronger than you know, Aella—strong enough for this.” His voice cuts through my embarrassment. “A few scrapes won’t keep you down for long.”
It’s not the words themselves; I’ve heard plenty of empty reassurances about strength. It’s how he says them, so certain, as if he’s stating a fact no one could argue against.
By the time he moves to my knees, I’ve stopped flinching. His touch is gentle, his patience endless, as though there’s nothing else in the world demanding his attention. He doesn’t look at me with pity—only care—and it leaves a mark on me, one far deeper than the jagged stone I fell from.
Raven’s thumb brushes the inside of my wrist, drawing me back to the present and sending a shiver across my skin. My gaze drifts to his lips, the memory of our kiss hovering at the edge of my mind, igniting a spark that burns its way down to my core. And I want more.
More than the soft sweep of his thumb against my skin.
More ofhim.
When I look up, his amber eyes meet mine with heated intensity, leaving my throat dry once more. “Raven—”
Faint voices seep through the stone walls, cutting me off. I snap my mouth shut, my lips pressing into a tight line. He pulls away, and I watch as the vulnerability in his eyes vanishes, replaced by the cold, unyielding composure of a Nightwing.
“I should go,” he mutters, his tone distant. I nod, not trusting my voice to respond. As he rises, the aura’s glow catches the golden eagle piercing dangling from his ear—the Aviary symbol mocking me for my foolishness. He stands to leave but hesitates at the door, glancing back at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher. “Remember your strength, princess. I need to see you well again.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone again. Silence fills the room, broken only by the racing of my thoughts and the pounding of my heart.
It takes a full week for me to recover from the nightshade. My body has been achingly weak, my mind foggy and uncooperative as it fought off the lingering effects of the poison. As healers in the infirmary had imprisoned me, a steady procession of people came to keep me company.
Nyssa rarely left my side, concern etched deep into her features. She brought sweets from the kitchen after I complained of the bland food the healers served and distracted me with updates of all the court gossip. Titaia joined her often, and the three of us played card games or told stories to pass the time. Even Myna stopped by, delivering books stolen from the library to keep me entertained.
They all avoided any mention of the trial or my poisoning, steering our conversation toward safer, lighter topics. Yet, despite the surface calm, my pain and trauma lingered unspoken between us, weaving an invisible thread of tension through every exchange. I was grateful for their silence—the unspoken understanding that I needed a break from the burden of our circumstances. Their presence brought a semblance of comfort, a steady anchor amid the chaos.
When the night reached its deepest hours, Raven sometimes appeared. His presence was a paradox—both a soothing balm and a sparkto the turmoil within my mind. We never spoke of that first encounter, when I awoke to find him by my bedside, nor of the lingering heat of his touch that still burned on my wrist. Yet the memory hung between us, unspoken but palpable, during his brief and fleeting visits.
Other visitors were less welcome.
On the seventh day of mycaptivityunder the care of the healers, Prince Keres arrives unannounced, his presence commanding attention as soon as he steps into the room. The air shifts, an undercurrent of tension filling the space. His piercing gaze sweeps over the room before settling on me as he moves closer.
“My healers informed me you were poisoned during the trial, Princess,” he says. No hesitancy in his tone. No doubt.
“An unfortunate accident, I’m sure,” I reply, keeping my voice calm even as a glint of malice flickers in his eyes.
He raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Accidents don’t happen during my trials. Do you know who was responsible?”
I can’t be sure if denying him the truth is a selfish act on my part. It’s a question that has circled my mind endlessly during my confinement in the infirmary. Helen’s hesitant steps toward the refreshment table, her hurried retreat. And Lydia’s sly, knowing smile as I lifted the cup to my lips. While Helen may have been the one to deliver the poison to my cup, I suspect she was not its source.
Though the rage simmers within me, it burns for them both. And I prefer to take revenge with my own hands.
“I’m not sure, Keres,” I say, the lie slipping effortlessly from my lips. “With everything happening during the trial, it’s all a blur. I can’t think of anything that might guide you in the right direction.”
His expression leaves no doubt—my answer isn’t what he wanted to hear. He reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips. The cool press of his mouth against my knuckles sends a shiver skittering across my skin.
