The Faceless Mage - Kenley Davidson Page 0,22

listening. Listening for the sound of his steps, the sound of his breathing, for any hint that he was more than just a ghost.

But the Raven made no sound unless he wished to, and if he was to intimidate her, that unknowability was his greatest weapon.

So he gave her nothing. Not a breath, not a rustle of fabric, not even the clank of armor. And then he was standing in front of her—so near he could have reached out and touched her ashen cheek with his gloved hand.

He didn’t have to stand that close. Didn’t need to listen to her heartbeat, sense the warmth of her skin, or search her features for the remains of her fear. But for reasons he didn’t care to consider too carefully, he did anyway, which was when he became aware of the unsettling brush of her power—an energy that hummed just beneath her skin and gave her that strange vitality he’d already noted more than once.

Except now, he could give it a name—the princess was a mage.

Evaraine was not supposed to be a mage. Melger would have chosen her anyway, but he was particularly pleased that his youngest son’s prospective bride lacked the magical talent he loathed so much he’d undertaken to drive it from these lands entirely.

If he ever found out…

The Raven’s thoughts slithered to a halt, because the princess’s hand had begun to move.

She lifted it, reached towards him, as though she intended to actually touch him…

It was his turn to be frozen by shock. She was supposed to be horrified, not curious.

But before he could move out of her reach, she jerked her hand back, as though startled by her own behavior. And yet still, she made no move to retreat. Made no attempt to get away. And oddest of all, she no longer stank of terror.

Who was she, this unsophisticated princess who stammered with shyness one moment and challenged him the next?

He stared down at her, as though he could read the answers in the emerald green of her eyes, the slender fingers of her hands, or the auburn strands of her hair. She was not beautiful, even for a human. But she was… arresting. Something about her had pushed its way past his icy indifference, and even he had no idea what it was.

It wasn’t merely that she’d concealed her magic, though that was startling enough in itself. But there was more, a hidden intensity that kept him from moving away when he should have been sliding back into the shadows. Kept him searching her face when he should have coldly ignored her.

Whatever it was, it held them both there, caught in one another’s gaze, until Prince Vaniell swept onto the scene.

“My dear, I’m so terribly sorry.” He stopped by Evaraine’s side and took her arm, patting it in a patronizing way that made the Raven wish to rip the offending hand from the prince’s body.

An odd impulse, and one he couldn’t quite explain.

“I didn’t realize this fellow was lurking about,” Vaniell continued, wearing his usual slight smirk. “Begone!” He waved a hand at the Raven as though he could be dismissed as easily as any other servant.

The Raven did not deign to respond, only bent his gaze on the princeling with a menacing tilt of his head—one that typically sent courtiers scurrying to be elsewhere.

“No, it’s quite all right,” Evaraine said breathlessly, interrupting their staredown in the almost childlike tone she’d used when she first arrived.

What had she done with the fearless, incisive princess she’d been only a moment before?

“I’m sure His Majesty was correct,” she continued meekly. “I must become accustomed to seeing him, mustn’t I? And I don’t suppose he would actually hurt me, would he?”

The Raven stared at her. Every instinct he possessed shouted that she was a danger, but no one had asked him for his opinion.

“Of course not,” Prince Vaniell said soothingly. “He’s really quite safe, unless you’re an enemy of the king or plotting some form of treason, which I’m certain you are far too innocent to contemplate.”

The prince’s smile was indulgent, but his eyes rested thoughtfully on Evaraine’s face, as though he awaited some sort of response.

The Raven could see her weighing her words. Considering how to reply. For an instant, he wondered whether she might attempt another faint simply to avoid the question, but she didn’t. Instead, a tiny bit of the steel she’d shown him entered her green eyes as she addressed her future fiancé.

As if she’d suddenly recalled