Page 43 of Unkindness of Crimson Ravens (The Crimson Duet #1)

Lovely Conversation

M eet me at the meadow behind the palace at dawn if you want your sister alive. We need to talk. Come alone.

I studied the parchment for the hundredth time since we got back to Francis’ cabin. My fingers brushed over the letter; my heart banged, desperate to escape my chest as I sat upon the bed Francis peacefully slept in.

His sharp features were now soft, the smirk abandoned him as though it never belonged on his face at all. I grabbed my boots, quietly closing the door behind me and wondered how livid he would be when he would wake without me by his side.

But that would be a problem for tomorrow.

The cabin was silent as everyone had gone to rest early: I only had a few hours to make it back before the sun would burn my flesh into ash.

My trembling hands laced my boots in the tiny kitchenette, my heart finally escaped. Will there even be tomorrow?

Surely Timothy wasn’t foolish enough to hurt me when I could easily end his life in an instant. Is he?

Would I truly be able to protect myself if it meant taking someone’s life?

I reached out for the handle of the main door—

“Don’t you think it's a little late for a run?” Francis' low voice swept through the darkness behind me.

My eyes closed as my grip on the handle tightened. Damnation.

“Cordelia,” he whispered, taking a step towards me. “Whatever you are thinking—stop.”

“I am not going anywhere,” I shook my head as I faced him. “I just would like some air.”

“Why, don’t offend me by lying. I am no fool. I saw the paper he slipped into your hand.” His voice dropped a few octaves as he reached for my shoulder.

Of course he’d seen it.

“What does he want?” Francis persisted.

My lips turned into a thin line as I stared into his eyes.

“Cordelia!” Francis hissed when I didn’t reply. “What does he want?”

“To talk,” I hissed back, jerking my shoulder from his grasp. “He just wants to talk.” I reached for the door as Francis’ hand blocked my path. “Let me go, Francis.” I glared into his glowing eyes.

“Not a chance in hell,” Francis scoffed. “You are not going anywhere where that man is involved. He should be grateful I did not slaughter him at the meeting.”

“I have to!” I tried to push Francis out the way. “For Sandra’s sake, I have to go.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Francis caught my hands on his chest; his fingers wrapped around my wrists, holding them hostage. “These are the royal grounds, Cordelia. It’s a trap, and you know it,” he whispered. “Cease letting your heart rule you.”

My hands turned into fists as I fought his firm grasp. “I am not a fool either, and I am not a child who needs protection!” I seethed through clenched teeth.

“I never said you were,” Francis sighed, closing his eyes. “I know it’s hard to think rationally when the ones we love are involved,” he added softly. “At least let me help.”

“He told me to come alone,” I shook my head. “I can do this,” my words were barely a whisper.

“Of course you can.” A sad smile made its way onto Francis’ face as he cupped my cheeks. “But I am coming with you.” He reached for the dagger on the small stool in the corner.

“No! I must—”

“We either go together,” Francis interrupted; his voice was as rough as briar. “Or I will chain you to myself until we leave, it is your choice.”

“Francis!” Disbelief washed over me.

“Which one is it, Princess?” He crooked his head, studying me. “I will not intervene unless absolutely necessary,” Francis promised. “You won’t even remember I am there.”

“I highly doubt that,” I rolled my eyes.

“Well?” His eyebrows shot up.

“Fine!” I bit out. “We can go together if you promise not to intervene,” I demanded, though no part of me believed he would act upon his promise.

“Splendid.” A smirk spread across Francis’ face as he pushed the door open. “Let’s be on our way then.”

The snow reflected the moonlight, crunching under our steps as we walked toward our horses.

“Where does the bastard want to meet you?” Francis asked me quietly, not letting go of my hand for even a moment.

“Outside of the Royal cemetery,” I replied.

The snowflakes fell onto my eyelashes as my unresting heart beat a little slower.

“Odd location for talking, don’t you think?” Francis mocked me. “Such a lovely conversation it must be.”

“Enough!” I freed myself of his grasp, mounting Annabelle. “I understand you are angry, but you have no right to be cruel to me! Not right now.”

“I am not angry with you, Cordelia.” Francis reached for my hand, soothing the back of my palm as to reassure me of the sincerity of his words. “I am angry at the fact that you keep putting yourself in such danger.”

I took a deep breath, meeting his eyes. Now was not the time to fight. “We should go,” I sighed. “The sun will rise soon.”

Dawn crept in when we reached the small meadow behind the cemetery.

The forest slowly awoke; the early morning birds quieted around us as though not wishing to miss the disarray that was about to fall upon the meadow.

Francis’ hand fell onto the small of my back when we abandoned the safety of the dense spruce trees.

The man stood in the center of the clearing; a sneer spread across his face.

“I see you brought your new lover with you, Your Highness, ” Timothy’s voice carried, a note of fear shone through his words despite how hard he tried to hide it.

“I thought I was clear about coming alone, or you still can’t follow the simplest directions?

” He flashed his teeth. “Perhaps he can join us, I don’t mind,” Timothy shrugged, taking one step forward.

“What do you want?” I spat out, glaring into the eyes I once loved.

“How disrespectful...” Timothy shook his head. “I thought you were adamant we refer to each other by our proper titles,” he tsked. “Or how does that work exactly?” His brows furrowed when he pointed at me. “Do you still carry your title? Or perhaps I am finally above you?”

“What in the hell do you want?” I raised my voice, my hands turned into fists.

Timothy’s laugh spread through the forest when he said, “Never in twenty years have I thought I would hear you speak such language.” A gruesome smile tugged on his lips. “Isn’t it obvious?” He crooked his head. “I want the bite. I will exchange it for Sandra.”

A chill swept through me from my sister’s name on his lips.

“You see, your sister went mad after your disappearance, ” Timothy scoffed. “Never thought I would say this, but fucking you was more plesant.”

My stomach turned inside out as the unwelcome nausea made its way up my throat.

Francis’ body tensed beside me before he took two furious steps toward the man. Grabbing him by his collar, Francis put a dagger against his neck. “I have a better idea,” he said, smirking as he moved the dagger to Timothy’s abdomen. “How about I turn you into an eunuch before I behead you?”

Timothy returned the smile as he unleashed a dagger of his own. “Are you even capable of it, orphan boy?” The blade reflected the shimmering white snow; the handle wore a Royal mark.

Royal steel.

My breathing hilted, depriving me of any logical thought. I had seen Francis behead two guards with one swing of his weapon, yet the fright squeezed my throat shut.

“Would you like to see?” Francis replied with a sweet smile on his face, cutting the first layer of Timothy’s clothes.

Timothy returned the gesture, pressing his royal dagger against Francis’ chest.

“Stop!” I yelled as my legs carried me towards the men.

“Do listen to your spoiled sweetheart,” Timothy murmured.

In a blink of an eye Francis spun out of the threat, putting himself against Timothy’s back; his fingers wrapped around the Royal dagger, knocking it from Timothy’s grasp.

Fright settled in the man’s eyes as he was shoved onto his knees. Timothy twisted in Francis’ grasp, desperate to free himself from the vulnerable position, just when Francis got a hold of his hair.

“Beg for Cordelia’s forgiveness.” Francis jerked Timothy’s head upward; the Royal blade now met the neck of a man for whom I wished nothing but a dreadful end.

“I—” Timothy’s face cringed when Francis pushed on the blade. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled through his trembling lips.

The blade pressed deeper into his skin, spilling a few drops of crimson onto Timothy’s tunic—

“Don’t,” my voice, as sharp as the tip of the dagger, carried through the meadow as I took a step forward. “Release him,” I ordered Francis without sparing him a glance; my menacing glare burned into Timothy’s eyes.

The blade left his uncovered skin in an instant; short-lived relief sparkled in Timothy’s eyes as he stumbled onto his feet.

“No other soul shall ever be harmed by you,” my voice sliced through the air as my hands grasped onto Timothy’s tunic, yanking him forward until my teeth met his flesh.

My teeth cut through the skin on his neck, cut through his veins. I locked my jaw shut as his satisfying bellow reached my ears.

My mind swam in the delightful sound of his agony; my throat welcomed the warmth of his blood despite the bitter taste that tingled my tongue.

I savored every drop that spilled into my mouth until his legs gave out, his limp body dropped on the ground.

The silent scream painted his face as his empty, lifeless eyes watched the first rays of sunlight appear from the horizon.

The blood still flowed from his neck, painting the snow around his dead body crimson.

I killed a man.

My paralyzed body dropped to my knees beside the body.

I killed a man.

My skirt absorbed the crimson snow.

I killed a man.

Francis’ hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me into his arms. “It’s all right. You're all right. It’s over, Princess,” his whisper broke through the wall in my mind.

I killed a man.

Francis wiped the blood from my lips with his thumb, gently stroking my cheek. “Although I am upset you deprived me of the ability to make his death slow and miserable, I am glad he will never take another breath.”

“I killed a man.”

“It’s over.” Francis held me against his chest in a tight embrace. I counted every beat of his heart, staring straight past him: at Timothy’s dead body in a pool of blood.