Raven King’s Bride

Attempt To Escape

Freya sat on the edge of her bed, her knees pulled to her chest, staring blankly at the wall. The room around her was luxurious, fit for royalty, with rich fabrics, gleaming furniture, and golden light filtering in through the tall windows. But to her, it felt like a prison.

Her heart raced as the weight of her situation pressed down on her. No one explained anything to her. No one offered her any answers that made sense. Everyone around her treated Rion’s word as absolute, unquestionable, as though he were some kind of god. The maids tiptoed around her, their soft smiles doing nothing to ease her growing panic. The man who called himself the Raven King had left no room for argument—she was his, and that was final.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run.

Her life was back on Earth, in her world. She had a job, students who depended on her. And Will—well, Will was probably looking for her, wasn’t he? Even as her heart clenched at the thought of his betrayal, a part of her clung to the idea that maybe, just maybe, he would notice she was gone. That he would care enough to find her.

But then, a louder voice in her mind snarled at her: He cheated on you, Freya. He betrayed you.

Still, the thought of being trapped here, forced to marry a man she barely knew—a man who didn’t even give her a choice—made her chest tighten. She couldn’t breathe. She had to get out.

She stood abruptly, her movements frantic, and crossed the room to the tall windows. Throwing them open, she gasped as the cool air hit her face. Her wide brown eyes took in the sight before her, and her breath caught.

Clouds. Endless, billowing clouds stretched out in every direction, tinged with gold and pink from the setting sun. It was like being in a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. The castle wasn’t just high—it was floating. Suspended in the sky, far above the ground. Her knees weakened as the realization hit her. The Raven creatures really did live in the sky.

Her mind raced. How would she escape from here? How could she even get down? Panic clawed at her throat, and she stumbled back from the window, slamming it shut.

“No,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head violently. “No, no, no. This isn’t real. It can’t be.”

But it was real. And the longer she stayed here, the more certain she was that Rion had no intention of letting her leave. If she wanted to escape, she would have to figure it out herself.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling herself. She had to try. Sitting here, suffocating in this room, was not an option.

Freya began to pace the room, her mind working furiously. She had to map out the castle as best as she could remember. She thought back to lunch earlier, when the maids had led her through long, winding corridors. She’d seen doors with light spilling out from beneath them, suggesting they led outside. One of them had to be an exit.

She crossed the room to the wardrobe, throwing it open. It was filled with clothes—dresses, mostly, elegant and flowing, the kind of attire a queen might wear. But she wasn’t a queen, and she wouldn’t dress like one. Instead, she grabbed a simple coat, soft and warm, and pulled it over her dress. It was practical enough to keep her from freezing, but light enough not to slow her down.

Freya then crept to the door of her room, her heart hammering. She wrapped her fingers around the handle and turned it slowly, expecting it to be locked. To her surprise, it wasn’t.

She peeked out into the corridor. Empty.

Her pulse quickened as she stepped out, closing the door softly behind her. The hallway stretched on endlessly, lined with intricate tapestries and flickering torches. She moved quickly but quietly, her bare feet padding against the smooth stone floor.

The corridors were eerily quiet. The occasional distant murmur of voices or the rustling of wings made her freeze in place, her heart pounding, but she encountered no one. It was as though the castle were deserted.

After what felt like an eternity, she reached a door. Golden light seeped out from beneath it, and she hesitated for only a moment before opening it.

Her breath caught. The room beyond was empty, but large windows let in a view of the endless sky. She closed the door quickly, realizing it wasn’t an exit after all.

She continued down the corridors, her frustration mounting. Finally, she saw it: a door labeled EXIT in ornate script. Relief flooded through her.

Freya didn’t stop to think. She opened the door and stepped out, expecting to find a staircase, a ramp—something that would lead her down.

Instead, she screamed.

The door led directly outside. No ground. No staircase. Just open sky.

Her foot slipped as she tried to pull back, and she fell forward. Panic surged through her as her hands shot out, grabbing onto the edge of the doorframe. She dangled there, her knuckles white as she clung to the cold metal handle.

The wind howled around her, tugging at her coat and her hair. Below her, the world stretched out in a dizzying expanse of clouds and sky. She couldn’t even see the ground.

“Help!” she screamed, her voice lost in the wind. Her fingers ached as they began to slip.

She heard voices behind her—the maids, Mila and Ellen, calling her name frantically. She could hear their footsteps, growing louder as they ran toward her.

But it was too late.

Her fingers gave out, and she fell.

The wind rushed past her ears as she plummeted, her screams tearing from her throat. The castle grew smaller and smaller above her, and the clouds rushed up to meet her.

Her mind was a whirlwind of fear and disbelief. She was definitely going to die this time. The wind roared, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, resigning herself to her fate.