Raven King’s Bride

Restraint

Rion stood outside Freya’s room, his back pressed against the cold stone wall as her sobs filtered through the heavy door. Each broken sound struck him like a blade to the chest, twisting deeper with every breath she took. He gritted his teeth, his fists clenched at his sides, but there was no relief from the ache consuming him.

Her pain was his pain. It shouldn’t have been this way—not yet—but the moment his fingers touched her as he caught her the very first day, their bond had been established. She was his fated. A weak bond but it was definitely there. It was a magic mentioned in the prophecy which connected them together in ways Freya couldn’t possibly understand yet. But he felt it. And now every time she felt any intense emotion he could feel it too.

And yet despite it all, his anger hadn’t left him. Fury still simmered beneath his skin, threatening to boil over as the memories of the past twenty-four hours flooded his mind. Twice. Twice in twenty-four hours, Freya had pushed him to the brink of madness.

The moment the portal had opened, Rion had felt it—a disruption in the magical barriers that protected his kingdom. It had been an anomaly, an impossibility. No one could breach the Raven Kingdom, let alone open a portal directly into Corvia without his approval. The energy signature had been unmistakable, a surge of raw power that could only mean one of two things: an impending war or the arrival of his Queen.

Her power had called to him, instinctively and undeniably. It was wild, untamed, and utterly untrained, but it was hers. Save for him, only the Queen of the Raven Kingdom could possess such a gift, though Freya clearly had no knowledge of the strength she carried. The portal had been opened unintentionally probably in desperation, and she had been flung into his realm, helpless and unaware.

And gods, she had fallen.

The memory still haunted him—the sight of her small, fragile form tumbling through the sky, her hair whipping around her face as she plummeted toward certain death. He had barely made it in time, his wings straining against the wind as he dove to catch her. Even now, the phantom weight of her in his arms lingered, a reminder of how close he had come to losing her before she was truly his.

And today, she had tested him again. Her reckless attempt to escape had nearly cost her life a second time. His heart had thundered in his chest as he caught her once more, pulling her back from the brink.

He couldn’t bear it.

That was why he had been forced to act, to bind her to him with the Fate Chain. The delicate silver necklace was a symbol of ownership, yes, but it was more than that. It was protection. A way to ensure she stayed safe, even from herself. The chain would burn her if she even attempted to escape the bounds of the castle without his permission. It was a crude and merciless way to control her. Save her from her own recklessness.

But there was something he hadn’t told her.

The Fate Chain didn’t just bind her to him—it bound him to her. If the chain burned her, it would burn him just as fiercely. Her suffering would become his, a punishment he was willing to endure if it meant keeping her alive.

And yet, as he had placed the chain around her neck, his resolve had wavered.

She had been so close, her soft lips trembling, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. The way her wide, nervous eyes had locked onto his made something primal stir deep within him. Her scent—sweet, intoxicating, scent of cinnamon—had wrapped around him, clouding his thoughts and testing his restraint.

Her beauty was unlike anything Rion had ever laid his eyes on. She was so innocent and so vulnerable, Rion could barely keep his eyes off her.

For a moment, he had almost lost himself.

Rion’s fingers twitched as he remembered the way her body had felt beneath him, her warmth seeping into his skin as he pinned her to the bed. The soft brush of her breasts against his chest, the way her thighs had tensed against his knees—every detail was burned into his memory, a cruel reminder of the desire that threatened to consume him.

And then there had been her moan.

That soft, breathless sound had shattered him. It had been involuntary, a reflex, but it had undone him all the same. He had wanted to taste her, to claim her, to ravage her until she knew exactly who she belonged to.

But he had stopped.

Barely.

Rion closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as he leaned his head back against the wall. The amount of restraint he had summoned was unlike anything he had ever experienced. No woman had ever shaken him like this before. None had ever tempted him to the point of madness.

And Freya—gods, Freya—didn’t even know the effect she had on him.

She had flinched at his touch, her fear clear in every movement, and it had gutted him. He had wanted to soothe her, to reassure her, but how could he when she looked at him as though he were a monster?

Her sobs grew louder, muffled but still audible through the door, and the ache in his chest deepened. She was confused, frightened, and angry, and he knew he was the cause of all of it.

The moment she fell into his domain, he had demanded her submission without giving her a choice. It was selfish, yes, but it was necessary. She didn’t understand the dangers of the Raven Kingdom, the enemies who would stop at nothing to exploit her power. She didn’t understand that, to him, her safety came before her freedom, that he couldn’t let her go no matter how much she begged.

And so, he held back.

Rion gritted his teeth, his nails biting into his palms as he fought to suppress the primal urge to return to her room, to comfort her, kiss her, to claim her. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not when she hated him this much.

He would give her time to adjust, to accept her new reality. But gods, it was killing him.

Her every sob pierced him like a dagger, her pain echoing in his own chest. And yet, as much as it tormented him, it also stoked the fire of his desire. He wanted to be the one to wipe away her tears, to see her lips tremble not from fear, but from pleasure.

But not yet.

Rion pushed away from the wall as he straightened. His steps were slow and measured as he walked down the corridor, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

One thing was certain: Freya was his. He didn’t know how long he could hold it in.

And soon, he would make sure she felt it too.