Ravens solstice, p.1
Raven's Solstice, page 1
Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2022 Faedra Rose
ISBN: 978-0-3695-0732-7
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Lisa Petrocelli
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
This series is dedicated to all those who seek out the ancient wisdom and magic which lies hidden within the pages of fairytales. The tales of Faery have long intrigued me, capturing my heart from an early age, and continue to enchant me to this very day… So, my fellow fae lovers, and to those who practice their magic, or appreciate the power of the solstices—this story if for you.
RAVEN’S SOLSTICE
The Winter Court, 1
Faedra Rose
Copyright © 2022
Chapter One
Raven
I breathe in the heady scent of freshly fallen snow mixed with the crisp aroma of ancient pine. The fragrance fills the forest, spilling into the night and valley below. Above, the winter moon is bright, like a white-hot jewel suspended against a sky of countless scattered diamonds.
Tonight is the Winter Solstice and the common fae in the village of Dol Mortagh are celebrating. Their candles burn merrily, safe behind frosted glass windows, while their seasonal wreaths decorate every available threshold. The flames of cheery communal bonfires dance in the market square, defiant in the face of the cold as the folk exchange handcrafted gifts and sweet baked goods. And I envy them. Lord, do I envy them!
Here, I am a freak—a mortal trapped in a world that is not my own. I have been stranded here since All Hallows’ Eve, sealed behind the Veil, a prisoner of Faery. I should have listened to the village Elders … but the allure of beauty, magic, and the unknown, proved far too tempting. So, now I am alone and existing in a peril beyond my wildest imaginings. I have heard the tales. All mortal children have, and know them well. Passed down through countless generations, they are told to us by our mothers and grandmothers as we lay snuggled safely in bed. The stories serve as warnings to instill fear and humility in the hearts of the young and reckless.
The fae make sport of our kind it is said. Wrapping us up in illusions and enchantments— like flies ensnared in a spider’s web and bound in silk—they treat us as if we are worthless. Living beings of flesh and blood reduced to mere novelties for their short-lived entertainment, as if we hold no more value than children’s toys.
They revel in their power, enslaving us to the cruelty of their wills. Yet, they treasure us in the same breath as amusements for as long as we last. Taking great pleasure in treating and spoiling us in the splendor of their world only to discard us when we have served our purpose, or they have grown bored. To the fae we are as ephemeral as flowers, whereas they are everlasting.
The tales would have us believe that none ever return from Faery, but I have heard rumors of some who have. Spoken of in hushed whispers and ostracized from the community, the poor souls come back half-mad and broken—mere shadows of who they once were—scarred forever by their time spent with the fair folk.
I chanced upon an abandoned cottage on the outskirts of Dol Mortagh and have been hiding here since, scarcely surviving. It is drafty, damp, and bitterly cold. I dare not light a fire, lest I draw attention to my unwelcome presence. I have only the clothes on my body and a single blanket I cannily stole from the washing line of a pixie, further down the hill.
I endure in near constant fear of the monstrous wolves that stalk the shadows of the forest. I have caught sight of them once or twice, but they are elusive and are keeping their distance—at least for now—though I am not sure why. In this world of mystery and enchantment, I surely make for easy prey. I am unarmed, tired, and hungry. So hungry. I have been foraging for strange wild fruits and drinking from a nearby spring, which by some magic remains mercifully unfrozen.
Heaving a sigh, I suppress a shiver. The festivities of Dol Mortagh are not meant for me. Turning my back on the bright lights and merriment of the village to return home, my evening suddenly takes an unexpected turn.
“Going somewhere, pretty bird?”
I gasp, my hand flying to my heart in shock as a fae of breathtaking and soul-stealing beauty stands before me, squarely blocking my path. “I-I…” I lick my lips, mind racing. This is no common fae. I know it in my bones. He looks like royalty. One of the High Fae. Bedecked in finery from head to toe, he wears jewels on his fingers so exquisitely ornate that I can’t even begin to guess at their value. And he is beautiful. So very heart-achingly beautiful. With long, gleaming silver hair like a waterfall of moonlight, sharp cheekbones, and eyes like deep blue ice—I imagine he could tempt even the godliest of mortals to sin.
“You are mortal,” he says, ignoring my stuttering attempt at communication. “So, why are you here? Faery is no place for your kind. You are far too soft to survive here. Our worlds are kept separate for a reason.”
“I am trapped,” I whisper, feeling stupid and ashamed. “I have been here since All Hallows’ Eve, and I do not know how to get home.”
The icy fae closes the distance between us, scenting my neck like a wild, primal animal. He gazes into my eyes with a frightening intensity, unnerving me further. “You cannot return until the Veil lifts next All Hallows’ Eve,” he says. “That is the better part of a year you will need to survive the cruelty of the outskirts of my realm.”
“Your realm?”
The fae smirks, his allure rolling off of him in cool, intoxicating waves that make me feel drunk. “I am Kyren,” he says elegantly, his lips perilously close to my own. “And I am the prince of the Winter Court.”
Despite my failing lucidity, my eyes widen in immediate understanding. “It is you,” I whisper as the stars begin to spin around me. It all makes sense now! “You have kept the wolves at bay … they are beholden to you.” A sleek, approving smile lets me know that I have figured out the truth. Then, without warning my legs give way, and I fall into the quixotic, icy oblivion of Kyren’s allure.
****
Softness and warmth welcome me as I awaken. I sit up hesitantly in a grand bed made of smooth, twisting ice enchanted into the likeness of branched trees with glittering crystal leaves.
“Good evening,” says Kyren, smiling at me from a frozen chair across the room.
I swallow my fear and beg my heart to be calm. “Where am I?” Stupid question.
“In my bedchamber,” he says with a seductive lilt to his voice.
An unexpected ache blooms between my thighs, hot and insistent. I catch the gasp that wants to escape behind my teeth and take a deep, steadying breath. “Why am I here?”
“I have a proposition for you,” he says simply, his eyes burning like blue stars. “Be my mistress for the next nine months, and in return I will keep you safe, fed, clothed, and in a manner of luxury the likes of which you have never known.”
My heart hammers in my chest, stubbornly refusing to be calm. “And when the nine months have passed?” I press.
“I will take you to the tear in the Veil on All Hallows’ Eve, and you will be free to leave Faery forever.”
I scrutinize the devastatingly beautiful fae prince with a wary gaze. “Is this a trick? It is said the fae never speak plainly, that you talk in riddles and tell half-truths. We mortals are warned from a young age never to enter into bargains with your kind because of it.”
“You mortals are a distrusting lot,” retorts Kyren with a languid smile. “But you are cannier than I gave you credit for, pretty bird. What is your name?”
“Never, ever, give your full name to the fae, or they will have control of you.” My grandmother’s wisdom echoes in my mind. Night terrors of stolen babes and missing souls flood back to me, heavy like an avalanche of snow. “You may call me Raven,” I answer as firmly as I’m able.
Kyren rises from his chair, sauntering across the chamber toward me with all the grace and confidence of a predator. “I desire a child, Raven,” he whispers. “And the child will remain here with me when you leave. Those are my terms.”
Eyes wide, my lips part, but I find myself speechless. Several breathless moments pass until I find my voice again. “And if I refuse?”
“I will let you free—back into Faery—to survive on your own. If you can.”
“I have already survived three months on my own,” I reply.
“Have you truly?”
I swallow the solid lump in my throat as I am reminded of the brutal truth of my situation. “You kept me safe this whole time.”
“Your efforts to get by have been most valiant; I will give you that. I wanted you to have a clear comparison in mind when I made my offer, so I thought it fitting to give you a thorough taste of what surviving on your own might be like,” he drawls. “But, yes, the shadow wolves answer to me. And were I to release you from my protection … well, I cannot help but wonder how well your humble ruin of a cottage might hold up against their hunger, then?”
“Are you threatening me?” I breathe, a flicker of cold fire burning in my chest.
“Hardly, my pretty bird. I a
Glancing at the lavishly appointed royal chamber around me before settling on Kyren’s sharp-edged smile, I sigh. What choice do I have? “I accept,” I say, my heart desperately trying to escape its cage. Thankfully, unlike the fae, mortals can lie.
The winter prince’s smile is as delighted and cruel as it is unsettling. My insides squirm in response, and to my shame, the heat between my thighs only burns hotter. It is in this moment I realize that the confines of Kyren’s bedchamber might prove just as dangerous as the wilds of Faery. Dear God. What have I done?
Chapter Two
Kyren
The girl is as good as mine. She thinks that she can outwit me, but just because I cannot tell a lie, does not mean I am unable to recognize one. Raven is acting in her best interests. Better the devil you know, than the devil you do not, after all. She has no intention of fleeing without her child. I saw the brilliant flash of fire in her eyes as she accepted my offer, which suits my ends perfectly.
As beautiful and smart as she is brave, her wits will serve her well. Faery is as treacherous as it is bewitching. One wrong step could lead to your doom. If she is to survive the Winter Court, she is going to have to learn how to dance upon the cold knife-edge of courtly politics and intrigue.
My own family will be out for her blood, of that much I am certain. To them our existence is just one great, long game. Loyalties are bought and sold, and betrayal and deceit are rampant. Every member of the court has their sights set on the throne, they always have and always will. Competition is what drives us. Our thirst for power cannot be slaked.
If I get my way Raven will remain here in Faery, by my side, and rule as my queen. Whether she wants to sit upon a throne of ice is irrelevant. In time she will change. She already is… What remains of her stubborn fear and hate will melt, and before she realizes it, she will become what I need her to be—a strong queen, a loyal ally, and the mother of my future heirs.
The fae women of the court are already hardened and self-interested. They would only try to sway and manipulate me, taking to my bed for their own aspirations of power. I cannot bring my vision into being with a base of such jealously and fickleness. It will serve neither me nor the Winter Court.
My Raven is pliant, like clay, or soft, young wood. She has yet to discover her true strength and maturity. I have learned much of mortals, and their women are steadfast and nurturing to a fault. I have no doubt that she will defend, fight for, and murder in our children’s names. The fire of her natural motherly instincts will set her apart from the snakelike, sly courtiers vying for my favor.
Fae women have no interest in their own children. The faelings are treated like trophies and burdens, both. There is no room in a fae woman’s heart for love where ambition is involved. They trade their children like commodities, caring not for their dreams or desires—only their own wants. My father, the king, has tried to have me killed several times so that I never ascend the Winter Throne, but he has not the courage to confront me directly. The traditional way of the fae is deceit and stealth. Just as Raven surmised, nothing is ever upfront, and nothing is ever what it seems. But I plan to change all that.
First, I will end my father once and for all. And not a single tear will be shed. So outrageous was his need for absolute power that he murdered my mother. She was like the rest of our kin, manipulative and vain … but she was mine. I cannot say that I ever knew love with her, but she did not deserve her demise. I will avenge her memory in the name of honor. I may be a predator and more dangerous than most, but I have a code of my own. And I will not see the Winter Court fall to wrack and ruin.
No. My legacy will be one of strength and unity. And that legacy begins tonight, on the Winter Solstice, our most sacred of days. With my guidance Raven will realize that she is my mate, and was always destined to be. The Veil only permits mortals through when their fates are tied to that of Faery. And though she means to escape with her child, her heart will feel differently in time.
Soon, she will crave me as I crave her. She will yearn for my ice, the way I yearn for her warmth. And I will treasure it, while I possess it, because it is a transient thing. The longer she remains in Faery, and the more she partakes of our food and drink, the more fae she will become. She has already been consuming the fruits of Faery for three months, and by the time she births my heir she will be as completely fae as the rest of us. Her touch will be as cold as her heart, but that flame of her mortal nature will endure; it will burn for our family. And that is why I will covet her and protect her, always.
Who she is, is set in stone. And having watched her in secret these past months, I know she will grow to become a fearsome and respected Queen of Winter. The Winter Court will love her in a way they have loved no queen before.
****
“Are you a virgin, Raven?” I purr.
Raven visibly swallows, shivering as I crawl upon the bed, stalking toward her like a stealthy snow cat. “I have never been with a man,” she answers. “My village is small, and most of the men are spoken for. I still live with my mother and father.”
“And how old are you?” I ask, brushing a long lock of raven-black hair from her face.
“Twenty-one years.”
I bite my lip. “And still untouched? It is an uncommon thing among your kind. I have seen girls of no more than sixteen years birthing babes of their own. Not to mention that it seems commonplace for some mortal families to be improper with their own children…”
My mortal prize recoils as if stung. “Mine is a godly family, my prince. They have always protected and cherished me in their own way.”
“And now it is I who shall cherish you, Raven. And it thrills me that you are pure. We shall have such fun together, learning what you enjoy most.” Snaring her wrists in my cold grasp I pin her arms above her head in an instant, and catch her soft, warm lips with mine. I hiss in surprise a moment later, withdrawing slightly in surprise. “You wench! You bit me.”
“And you did not ask leave to kiss me,” Raven fires back, fear and challenge at war in her eyes as she holds my gaze defiantly.
“Delicious,” I croon, licking the blood from my lower lip. “You have spirit. I am glad that you are no meek and mild creature. You have fire inside of you.”
Raven wiggles beneath me, struggling against my viselike grip. “I have the heart of a lion. And I promise, if you hurt me, you will feel my claws.”
My cock throbs to attention, and I revel in her fiery courage. “Oh, my dark, pretty bird. I look forward to it. But I am no bastard, be assured. You are fragile and need to be properly aroused in order to sheath my ice, or the pain will be not unlike to a cold brand scalding you from within.”
Raven freezes beneath me. “If you will not permit your wolves to tear me apart, you will not do it yourself,” she retorts with conviction.
“That much is true. To me, you are precious, and I would not maim you. But there is much to be toyed with and experienced before damage is done.” I smirk. At my whim bindings of soft, glittering silver rope secure her arms above her head to the ice sculpture that is my bed. Crawling back down the mattress, I fling the covers to the floor and move to raise her long skirts.
Raven kicks, and I catch her foot with ease. “What are you doing?” she protests.
“You will see, pretty bird. You will see.” With a single thought her legs are spread wide and tied, revealing her sweet, untouched innocence.
My future queen struggles, the edge of panic tainting her voice. “What is this torture?” she asks. Her dark brown eyes are as open as her legs, and framed by lovely long black lashes.
“It is not torture.”
“Then why must I be bound like this?”
“It is for your pleasure, Raven.”
