The Raven and the Dove (The Raven and the Dove #1) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,68

sparkle in her eyes became one of panic. And he knew why.

Xander knew.

She’d expected Rafe.

She’d expected a warrior and got this instead.

But they’d come too far to turn back now, so Xander slipped from his throne and dropped to one knee as he lifted her hand to his lips. She flinched almost imperceptibly at his touch, but Xander felt the tremor pass beneath her skin.

“Lyana Aethionus,” Xander stated, voice flat, the best he could manage when it felt as though the ground had opened and was swallowing him whole, “born of Aethios, but now Taetanos’s queen. I will have you as my mate.”

28

Lyana

What have I done?

What have I done?

The rest of the matching ceremony passed in the blink of an eye. She couldn’t have described a single moment had her life depended on it. No, Lyana couldn’t focus on anything except for her brother’s concerned gaze, her mother’s pointed stare, Damien’s seething wrath, her own mate’s chilling silence, and the question playing on a loop in the back of her mind.

What have I done?

Because the moment she looked at those lavender eyes, and at that face so strikingly similar to the one she’d expected yet so outrageously different, a chill had crept into her bones, deeper than anything she’d ever felt in her frozen tundra of a homeland.

Who was this imposter by her side?

Where was Lysander?

Where was her mate?

What have I done?

Lyana was numb as the courtship trials drew to a close. Her father spoke the traditional parting words, but her ears had stopped working, as though she’d dropped beneath the surface of her bath and all she could hear were muffled voices sifting through water, dull and far away. Everything was fuzzy. Everything was blurred. As she followed the ravens down the hall and out of the palace, a white speck in a mass of black, her thoughts were nothing but a silent buzzing, as though the panic were so overwhelming her body had simply shut down to avoid it.

The world came into sharp focus the second she stepped into their guest quarters. The second she saw him standing in the foyer, arms crossed, a foot resting against the wall, the picture of ease. The second her gaze landed on those clear eyes.

Lyana’s vision turned red.

Before she knew what she was doing, she crossed the length of the room and slapped his cheek as hard as she could, leaving a brilliant rosy mark on his pale skin. He clenched his jaw, refusing to look away, taking the full brunt of her glare but giving nothing in return. His expression was a study in control, not revealing a single emotion, as though he were made of stone.

Lyana hit him again—just because.

“Why weren’t you there?” she yelled, because her other option was a wailing that would sound far too vulnerable, far too hurt. Anger was much easier to manage. “Who are you? No, who are you?”

She flipped around, turning toward the man who had been at the ceremony. He was frozen in the doorway, crestfallen. A small woman nudged his shoulder, pushing him into the room. Then she closed the door behind them, locking the guards outside, leaving the five of them alone, including the queen.

“Someone tell me what’s going on, now,” Lyana commanded.

“I am Lysander Taetanus,” the man by the doorway said, taking a step closer as his onyx wings drooped low to the ground and his shoulders seemed to follow, hunched and uncertain. “I’m the real Lysander Taetanus.”

“But…” Lyana's voice trailed off as her eyes moved back and forth between the two Lysanders, nearly identical. Same jet-black hair. Same ivory skin. Same obsidian feathers. Same height. Similar builds, though one was clearly more muscular and one a little more slender. They were nearly twins.

Except for their eyes, she realized.

Her Lysander had slightly hooded eyes with irises the color of the sky on a perfect sunny day, daring her to explore the hidden depths beneath. But this new Lysander had slightly downturned eyes the color of lavender, honest and endearing, with no secrets lurking inside. And they matched the set on the queen’s face, which were a darker color but the same oval shape, with the same arched brows, the only feature on either man's face that looked like her at all.

Lyana stepped back as the air left her. Her wings beat, keeping her upright as she swayed, off balance.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, trying to find her voice but losing it just as quickly. Her fingers trembled as her