The Raven and the Dove (The Raven and the Dove #1) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,130
was both perfectly clear and a dark shadowy mess, as though two different sides of her were at war, one remembering with flawless clarity and one trying to erase her undeniable betrayal. The emerald was in his room somewhere—it had to be. But she couldn’t go back, not now. Not in the stark light of day, with the sun’s accusing rays burning bright.
As the servants came rushing in, Lyana stood in the center of the room, detached from her body as if she were a ghost watching from the corner as her sleeping frock was removed, her hair carefully twisted, her cheeks rouged and her eyelids powdered. She stared at the mirror, unsure who the figure before her eyes was—the dove princess, the raven queen, a broken mix of the two that didn’t seem to work?
Her mating gown was deep onyx at the bottom, shifting to charcoal, then pewter, then pure ivory around the bodice. Diamonds glittered across the wide skirt. Opals glimmered with a rainbow sheen. Pearls studded the top edge, bright against her skin. Her arms were bare. The back of her dress dipped low around her wings, which had been painted black at the edges as a symbol of her transformation. And finally, around her neck, they placed a wreath of her mate's stark obsidian feathers, snug and constricting, like hands around her throat, gripping so tightly she could hardly breathe. Though maybe that was in her head, because in her reflection, the effect was beautiful. Xander’s feathers flared up around her chin, framing her face, and then fanned down, covering the bare skin of her shoulders, slightly longer along her back, as if becoming one with her wings. Just like that she was ready to be mated.
Her heart hammered at the thought, so forceful, so painful she feared she might faint.
“Lyana.”
The sound of his voice caught her off guard, bringing a gasp to her lips as she turned. Xander stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, gently leaning against the frame. He was dressed in black, a mix of formal silks and smooth leathers, regal, the image of a future king, the image of Taetanos himself. A small bundle of her feathers was pinned to his chest with the royal seal hanging right beside them, a dark obsidian ring that somehow still managed to gleam against its midnight backdrop. His lavender eyes were cold, like flower petals frozen on a winter’s day. The sight made her pause.
“Xander,” she whispered, half breathing the word, unable to find her voice. Lyana flicked her gaze toward Cassi, lingering long enough for her friend to shake her head in a silent no, a grimace passing over her features as her focus shifted from one side of the room to the other, from one half of the royal couple to the other.
He pushed away from the frame and stepped into her room. She had no idea how long he’d been standing there, watching her, before he’d decided to make his presence known. The servants scattered, doing their best to become invisible as Xander approached.
“I thought you might want an escort to the carriage,” he said, his voice scratching like the sharpening of a blade, with something dangerous hidden in the tone. “So you don’t lose your way.”
A smile spread across his lips, but it was empty, devoid of all the warmth she’d grown used to. Lyana fought the nausea coiling in her stomach and swallowed. “Yes, thank you. That would be lovely.”
He offered his arm.
She took it.
They left the room together, walking at an easy pace down the hall, unhurried, yet the air was so tense it urged Lyana’s legs to run, her wings to push, her entire body to flee. Xander’s steps, however, remained slow and steady—one, then another, then another, on a fixed beat.
“How was your morning?” she asked weakly.
“Enlightening,” Xander replied smoothly. “Yours?”
Lyana offered him a smile, wanting to ease the tautness in her chest. “A little chaotic, but as you can see”—She motioned toward her gown—“I managed to get ready on time.”
“Are you?” Xander countered. “Ready?”
“Hmm?” The strained sound was the only thing she could get through her lips.
“Are you ready?” he insisted, tone neither light nor heavy, but with enough accents of both to make her uneasy. “Are you ready to make the vows? Ready to be a queen? Ready for all the sacrifices these promises entail? To think of your people’s needs before your own? To do anything for them?”