The Raven: Prince of Iron and Blood.

Numeris Dvidešimt

The wind howled, whipping Mika's feathers into a frenzy as Artemir flew above the forest. Her eyes darted from one patch of shade to another, weaving a path through the dense treetops. The world was a blur of green and brown, the sounds of skirmish fading into the distance. Artemir clutched Mika close, feeling the warmth of his baby's body through her feathers.

Mika glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see a hunter closing in on them. But the forest seemed to swallow their pursuers whole. An arc of the rising sun was spreading over the edge of the mountains, and she spotted a tall, lone tree, its branches swaying gently in the wind. At its highest point, a beacon glowed, a soft, steady light against the night sky.

Artemir glided silently above the camp in an arc. A dotted map in the foothills.

Below him stretched a patchwork of emerald canopies and shadowy valleys, their depths veiled in an eerie mist. Amidst the sprawling tents and flickering fires, three solitary huts stood isolated, like forgotten sentinels in the wilderness.

"Hold on."

With a sudden twist, he descended swiftly, tucking his wings close, feathers slicing the air, plummeting like a falling star towards the ground. His descent was as silent and delicate as a moth alighting on a flower. A small hand grasped his tunic. Looking down, he beheld the dirt-smudged child, eyes wide as moons. Her mouth opened unnaturally wide, pointing insistently inside. "Are you hungry?" he murmured. She nodded. Taking her hand gently, he guided her through the bustling camp. Sentries nearly dropped their halberds at the sight of the little girl, replaced with fierce grins plastered on their faces.

Artemir led her to the cook's hut. An iron pot simmered over fading embers. Freshly baked breads wrapped in cloth exuded warmth. He wasted no time, gathering fragments of bacon, snatching up a small loaf, and ladling hearty porridge into a waiting bowl, offering the meal to the young princess.

Without hesitation, she plunged into the bowl of porridge, her hunger evident in every eager bite. The bread disappeared swiftly into her grasp, torn apart in her haste to sate her appetite. A moment of quiet warmth enveloped them, as the child's hunger gave way to contentment and his heart swelled with a simple, profound joy in providing solace amidst this chaos.

The sight of a little fledgling with her face covered in slops of porridge brought a crying voice.

A female was standing behind them, her mouth opening, feeling as if her heart had been stabbed a thousand times.

Oh, by the heavens... please. Please... don't let this be a dream... Please!

"Mama!" The remains of the porridge landed with a splat! in Artemir's face as the child threw herself at the figure draped in midnight-black armour adorned with silver feathers. A fledgling. A fledgling with hair of moonlight.

Kara picked her up, cradling her protectively. My daughter! She is here, safe and sound. The touch of her soft hair beneath her fingertips, the familiar warmth of her presence—it was a reunion she had prayed for endlessly.

"She was wandering not far from the eastern woods. Safe, but scared," came a muffled voice from the depths of the porridge bowl as her mate licked off the slop with his tongue.

Kara nodded, unable to speak as she held her daughter close, feeling her tremble slightly against him. With a tender gesture, she stroked her hair, scratching lightly around her ears and shoulders, just as she had done countless times before, her wings unfolding as she did so. It was a gesture she had always loved, a comforting rhythm that now soothed both their souls.

"You are in my debt, Artemir. Thank you," Kara managed to say, her voice choked with emotion. "Thank you for bringing her back to me."

Their private mateship had been one much different from the Ravens' custom. He had come to Kara's pallet of his own volition. He had taken his pleasure with her and wanted her. After all, when had a general of the great army married a slave?