The Hunter and the Mage (The Raven and the Dove #2) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,67

turned to Brighty.

She swallowed and nodded. "Yes, my liege."

Rafe's eyes about fell out of his head when she dipped her chin to stare at the floor. Who was this girl by his side? Meek and subservient? What the gods had this king done to her?

"Fascinating," the man murmured, his gaze on Rafe once more. "Predictable, yet fascinating."

"Stop talking about me as though I'm not standing right here," Rafe spat, not backing down. "What have you done with Lyana? I saw her wings. I know you—"

Invisible fingers pinched his throat, cutting off the words. Rafe hoped his glare said everything his voice no longer could. I know you clipped them, you vile cad.

Maybe the sea was rubbing off on him.

At the moment, he couldn't say he minded.

"The queen is perfectly safe, I assure you," the king said, unperturbed. "She's asleep in her room, recovering from a long afternoon of healing her people. I won't have her rest interrupted. I will, however, make you an alternate offer, as a sign of good faith. If you agree to leave her in peace for the evening, you may follow me to my study and we can have the meeting I hear you so desperately long for. If, however, you refuse to be silent and insist on shouting her name down the halls, I'll be forced to remove you at once. The choice is yours, though I'd take a moment to think before you answer. This opportunity won’t come again."

The vice around Rafe's throat unclenched.

He caught the refusal before it slipped out—but just barely. It wasn't in his nature to back down, but for once he had to be smart, to think first and act second. This king thought Lyana was the queen from some prophecy. Even if she was down here against her will, he wasn't planning to harm her. At least, not yet. And difficult as it was to accept, Rafe had no way to get past this man tonight.

But with his wings, maybe they'd be on a more even playing field.

"I—" He paused, fighting the overwhelming feeling that this was wrong—so, so wrong. But what other choice did he have? This wasn't about winning one battle. It was about winning the war. "I accept."

"Good." The binds around Rafe fell away as the king's magic winked out of sight. "Thalyia, I trust you can find your own way out."

Brighty spared a quick glance at Rafe. "Yes, my liege."

They left her by the entrance and walked deeper into the halls, which were somehow warm and dry despite the dankness outside. Rafe followed the king up stair after stair. Built into the rock, the castle was towering and narrow compared to the sprawling palaces he was used to in the world above. He didn’t know where to begin searching for Lyana. There were so many levels, so many doors, so many twists and turns. He wasn't even sure he could find his way out without assistance. When the king finally opened a door, he was just relieved to stop moving.

The relief faded the moment he saw what waited inside.

"My wings!"

Rafe raced across the room and stopped dead. His hands trembled as he reached for the bundle of onyx feathers on the table. They were wrapped in cords and coated in a thick layer of blood, now dried and glimmering in the firelight, but there was no mistaking them.

My wings.

He nearly spilled his lunch on the floor. The room spun, the air growing too light. He swayed on his feet, overcome by the brutal reality before him. His hands dropped to his sides. He didn't want to touch them, didn't want to feel his own feathers but not feel them, to know they were truly gone.

My wings.

Spine bending forward, Rafe wilted, all his fight seeping out of him as efficiently as if the king had swiped a blade along his stomach, sending his entrails to the floor. He was empty, gutted, nothing but a shell of the raven he’d once been.

"I hear you'd like them back."

With a snarl, Rafe turned, the fire in his heart furiously erupting. A loathing unlike any he'd felt before burrowed into his soul, like a brand, like a promise. He didn't know when, but somehow, someway, he would destroy this man.

"Sit, please."

Magic pressed into Rafe's chest, forcing him to sit. While Rafe seethed like a rabid animal ready to break free of its cage, the king took the spot opposite him, the picture of ease with his hands folded in his