The Raven and the Dove (The Raven and the Dove #1) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,83

was Rafe, and not Lysander. Rafe. Rafe.

What kind of name is that? she spat silently, clinging to every ounce of wrath she could muster, because anger was so much easier to deal with than all the other emotions swirling like a storm in her chest. Rafe? More like rude, repugnant, repulsive, re-, re-, re-

Real.

Rare.

Lyana shook her head to clear it, but her eyes remained glued to him. He’d turned away, presenting them with his profile as he stared into the woods. Lyana had a sneaking suspicion that if he’d dared to meet her gaze, she would have seen the same memory reflected in his eyes as was playing in hers. The two of them in their own world, a halo of light in a cave of darkness, something that now seemed little more than a dream—one that lingered in her waking hours, rather than fading blissfully into the realm of the forgotten.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about him.

Much as she’d loathed his delivery of sharp words the night before, Lyana couldn’t deny they were true. He wasn’t her friend, or her confidante, or her anything. A fact that had never been more evident than in this moment, standing in this clearing with the far-to-curious interest of the flock shifting between them. For the sake of her happiness, Rafe had to be nothing. For the sake of her mate, she had to bury him away.

The prince cleared his throat as the uncomfortable silence lengthened.

Lyana pulled her gaze from one raven and switched it to the other, remembering what Rafe had called the prince the night before. Xander. She liked it better than Lysander, because it was new and light, not full of foolish wishes that would never come true.

He was her future.

He was her mate.

She was determined to give their life a chance.

“Xander,” she said, testing the name, enjoying how it rolled from her lips, a little hesitant and unsure, just like they were about each other. His eyes softened, losing their edge. “Will you show me?”

35

Xander

He must have held his breath the rest of the way through the mountains. The sweeping forests of his homeland were mostly uninhabited, gliding up and down in sharp ridges and some barren cliffs, even a few snow-capped peaks that remained through summer. Most of his people chose to live in the valley, in the city of Pylaeon, where the castle was nestled. They were the least populated isle and the smallest, though the journey seemed endless as his eyes continued to drift to the princess time and time again. His chest felt tight, his mind unable to erase the disappointment flashing through her face—disappointment at him.

Please be impressed, he thought as the thundering of water made its way to his ear, signaling they were almost there.

Please be impressed.

By the view? By his home? By him?

Xander wasn’t really sure.

All he knew was that when they crested the final peak, he heard her gasp, and it was one of the sweetest sounds he could ever remember. When he glanced in her direction, a warm feeling spread inside him as he saw her wide, dazzled eyes and the mouth that had opened in wonder. Her wings beat faster, led by her excitement, but the rest of her remained still as she took in the scene.

The waterfall seemed to appear from nowhere as the two mountain peaks framing the valley abruptly gave way to rock and cliff. The many small rivers hidden among the trees merged right before the lip, hardly blending for a moment before they crashed and cascaded down three different plateaus, finally plunging a hundred feet into the deep pool below. The mist caught the dying light, turning it into a thousand twinkling stars. Half the valley was hidden in the shadows cast by the mountains, but the far stretches were bathed in a soft golden glow. The river glistened, the shaft of a burning arrow leading to a sharp point—his city, his home. Pylaeon sparkled as the glass from various windows caught the blaze of the sun, stark against the open air beyond, which was already dark with the coming night.

Lyana dove over the edge, following the path of the water.

This time, Xander followed, ignoring the chiding noise from his mother as soft laughter spilled from his lips, coaxed by the echo of glee the princess had left in her wake. He landed by her side, blinking as cool droplets of water landed on his cheeks from the towering waterfall.

“This is Taetanos’s Gate,” he

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