Page 13 of A Court of Ravens
They don’t forgive. And the punishment doesn’t follow rules. It might be pain. It could be ruin. It’salwayspersonal.
So we learn to play dirty. Twist the truth. Omit a detail. Bend the rules until they snap. That’s what makes fae bargains deadly. What we say is truth.
What we don’t say? That’s the blade slipping between your ribs.
And then there’s the Obsidian Court.
They don’t bother with clever twists or sly smiles. They take the truth and drive it straight through your skull. Honesty isn’t a game to them. It’s a weapon. And anyone who plays it differently? Weak.
Me? I live somewhere between cruelty and cleverness. I’ve got enough Wraithwind Court wit to enjoy a game of misdirection. But outright cruelty? Not my style.
And with Felicity? I better watch my mouth.
“Doing what?” she asks.
I pause. Because what the hell am I supposed to say?
Oh, just hanging out. Being the crowned prince of the Wraithwind Court, ruler of a fae kingdom in Tír na Scáil. No big deal.
Yeah. That’d go over well.
So I go with a half-truth.
“Well, like I said last night, land management. But we also…” I search for the right lie. “We’re also into breeding.”
Her brows lift. “Breeding?”
“Horses,” I say quickly. Like that was the plan all along. It wasn’t.
Her face lights up, and I immediately regret my choice.
“I spent every summer in a stable until I went to university. I absolutely love to ride. Although I haven’t had much time for it lately. It must be wonderful working with animals. Are you in the thoroughbred breeding industry?”
If only she knew the half of it.
Fae prince. Shapeshifting stallion. A walking bag of mist and magic.
That’s who I am.
That’s who you’re hitching your wagon to if you stick with me.
I clear my throat, fighting to keep my poker face intact.
“Aye, my family has been at it for generations.”
And by “at it,” I mean ruling over chaos, deceiving mortals, and occasionally turning into a horse. But sure. Thoroughbreds. Let’s go with that.
The gravel road crunches underfoot as we walk, her hand brushing against mine.
It’s brief. Almost nothing. A stray flicker of contact.
But to me? It’s a brand pressed to my skin, searing hot and impossible to ignore.
I shouldn’t even be here. But her touch makes the world tilt sideways, and suddenly, everything else—the prophecy, the duty, the laws of magic—feels so damn distant.
And then there’s her lips. Cherry-glossed sin, wrecking my focus, flooding my mind with all the ways I could ruin us both.
The cottage looms ahead. We reach the gate, but I don’t notice the ground anymore. Justher. The wind catches strands of her hair, framing her face like some goddess sent to tempt me. Or end me. Probably both.
