Page 37 of A Court of Ravens
Talora Blackthorn Shadowhart Forrest (Banished Queen)
The bed is buried under a mountain of rejected outfits, casualties of my war against indecision. Another dress flies across the room, landing in a heap of fabric, mocking me for daring to think I could pull off perfect date attire.
Cyn would’ve whipped me into something effortlessly stunning by now with a well-placed snarky comment about my chronic jeans-and-tee addiction. She’s getting ready for her date with Tomas. So I’m stuck floundering between who I’ve always been and whoever the hell I’m becoming. My pulse is racing, though whether it’s from nerves over Niall or the questions brewing inside me, I can’t quite say. Probably both.
I send another dress sailing through the air, landing in the growing pile of ‘absolutely not’ outfits. The sharp rap of something striking glass cuts through my frustrated muttering. I freeze, turning to the window. A raven sits there, its feathers so black they seem to devour the light. Its eyes, twin beads of onyx, are fixed on me with unsettling intensity.
“Seriously? Not now,” I snap, waving a hand to shoo it away.
It doesn’t budge. It cocks its head to the side, the movement somehow both curious and condescending.
“Fine. Be my judgmental audience,” I huff, returning to my wardrobe mess.
The raven doesn’t move, and something about its unflinching stare crawls a shiver down my spine.
I don’t spare it more thought. I send another dress flying across the room, rejected without mercy. Thank fuck for rolling everything tight and packing this suitcase to the absolute limit. The raven keeps tapping at the window.
“Not now,” I mutter, holding up a blue and white sundress for inspection. It’s simple, flirty, and casual enough to keep this date from feeling like a life-or-death negotiation. The neckline is high enough to cover the mark. I grab a white sweater for the evening chill and drape the outfit over the chair. “That’ll do.”
The raven taps again, louder this time. Persistent little bastard. I shoot it a glare but still don’t open the window. “Be my guest. Judge away,” I snap before heading for the shower.
Hot water streams over me, but it does nothing to wash away the nerves prickling under my skin.Niall.He’s not someone I can walk away from.
Our connection is magnetic, powerful, and downright terrifying. Part of me wants to lean into it. The other part? That part of me clings to the scars of past breakups, the ache of losing my parents. But as the thought settles, a strange image flickers at the edges of my mind.
A woman’s face, which is oddly familiar, surfaces in my thoughts. Not my mum. I know that. Irememberthat. She’s there anyway, her gaze sharp with a tough-love kind of compassion. A no-bullshit presence. The type of woman who would have told me to stop running from the truth and face it head-on.
I shake my head, swallowing hard. My memories are clear. They have to be. I was adopted. My parents are gone. That’s the truth. Ithasto be. Cyn is my only anchor. Trusting anyone else, especially someone like Niall, feels stupid. So why does it feel like something beneath the surface is shifting, like a puzzle I didn’t know I was solving is missing too many pieces?
I turn off the water, step into the cold air, and wrap myself in a towel. The bathroom mirror fogs over as I stare at my reflection. I crack open the window to dispel the mist. Water clings to my skin like a lover’s caress. It’s not comforting, not with so many questions clawing at my mind.
I pull the sundress on, its soft fabric brushing against my skin, and slide into the matching underwear I always save for moments like this. The kind that saysI’m readyeven when I’m not. I pull my hair back into a loose ponytail and swipe on enough makeup to look like I haven’t been losing my mind all day.
I’m almost done swiping on mascara when the flutter of wings and a heavy thud jerk my attention to the dresser. A sleek raven is perched on it. Before I can blink, it flits towards the bed in a swirl of shadows.
What’s left standing there isn’t a bird.
It’s a woman.
Rock-goth vibes radiate off her in waves. Black leather moulds to her like a second skin, her long, dark hair cascading over one shoulder with a practised flick. But her eyes—purple-blue and endless, like the night sky—pin me in place.
“Shade! Why didn’t you meet me?” she demands.
I blink, the mascara wand still poised in my hand. “Meet you? Shade? You must have me mistaken for someone else. I don’t even know who you are.”
Her smirk is pure trouble. “Liora Darkraven. Princess Liora Darkraven, if you’re into titles. You can call me Liora. I’m your half-sister.”
Half-sister.The word punches me in the gut, rattling around my brain without sticking. She must see the disbelief written all over my face because her smirk widens.
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” I say, lowering the wand and letting sarcasm seep into my tone. “And how exactly does a raven decide to crash into my hotel room for a family reunion?”
Liora laughs. “Let’s just say our family tree has more twists than most. And you, dear sister, are about to get thrown into the deep end. I was hoping for more time, but we’re already playing catch-up.”
I stare at her like she’s sprouted another head. “Catch-up? Yeah, no thanks. I’m not playing your game, but I’ll add it to my to-do list, right under ‘lose my mind’ and ‘call a shrink.’”
Her grin sharpens. “Oh, you’re more than in the game, darling. You’re practically holding the rulebook, whether you like it or not.”
“Rulebook?” I narrow my eyes, my chest tightening. “What the hell are you talking about?”
