Tell Me
1121 Words
Freya fluttered her eyes open, her senses sluggish and heavy. Warmth enveloped her, and she felt softness cradling her body. The faint scent of feathers and fresh linen filled her nose. For a brief moment, relief washed over her. She must be back in her bed, in her room, at her mansion. What a horrible dream that had been—Will cheating on her, falling into the water, that godly flying… thing. Raven Kingdom? She scoffed at the absurdity. Clearly, she had been studying too much history, and it was bleeding into her subconscious.
Shaking her head, Freya blinked and allowed her surroundings to come into focus.
That was when the first thread of unease unraveled her sense of calm.
This wasn’t her room.
Her mansion was grand, yes, but this… this was something else entirely. The bed she lay on was enormous, framed in dark, intricately carved wood with posts that stretched toward a high ceiling. The soft fabric draped around the bed shimmered faintly in the dim light, and the bedding beneath her was made of the softest material she had ever felt—something like feathers but smoother, silkier. A chandelier hung above her, a masterpiece of glass and crystal, casting gentle shadows that danced along the vaulted ceiling.
The room itself was impossibly large, with walls lined in rich tapestries and furniture that looked as though it belonged in a historical palace. Freya’s heart slammed against her ribs as the truth dawned on her: this wasn’t a dream.
She threw the covers off herself and shrieked.
Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. She was dressed in nothing but a thin black lace slip—if one could even call it that. The material clung to her, sheer and revealing, doing nothing to cover her body. Worse still, there was no underwear beneath it. Any slight movement and everything would be visible. Heat rushed to her face as she snatched at the nearest blanket, wrapping it around her trembling form.
Her breath came quick and shallow as she stumbled out of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold, smooth floor. Her gaze darted around the room, desperate for answers. Where was she? What had happened to her?
Before she could take another step, the large double doors at the far end of the room opened with a quiet creak. Two women rushed inside, their faces filled with concern. They wore strange clothes—traditional, almost like something out of a period drama. Their dresses were simple yet elegant, with aprons tied neatly around their waists and soft caps covering their hair.
“Where am I? Who are you? Why am I here? What is going on?” Freya’s voice rose with each question, her panic bubbling over into outright hysteria.
The taller of the two women stepped forward, her hands raised in a placating gesture. “Please, calm down, my lady. You’re in the Raven Kingdom.”
Freya’s heart nearly stopped. The Raven Kingdom? That nonsense again? She gritted her teeth. “Stop it. Stop saying that. I don’t know who put you up to this, but it’s not funny. Let me out of here!” Her voice cracked, tears threatening to spill over as fear clawed at her throat.
“My lady, please,” the second woman said softly, her voice tinged with sympathy. “We understand your fear. After all, you arrived in a… less than ideal manner. His Highness barely managed to catch you before you fell to your death.”
“His Highness?” Freya’s head whipped around, her voice rising in disbelief. “What are you talking about? And how do you know my name?”
“Don’t you remember?” the first woman asked, frowning slightly. “You fell from a portal yesterday. His Highness caught you midair.”
Freya blinked, her mind racing. It was all too much—too strange, too impossible. A portal? A highness? None of this made sense. She shook her head violently. “You’re lying. This is insane.”
The second woman exchanged a glance with her companion before speaking slowly, as though explaining to a child. “You are in Corvia, the capital of the Raven Kingdom. Our land is one of the Seven Realms, separate from the human world. Here, we Ravens live under the rule of King Rion Storm, who governs all fifty Raven tribes.”
“Realms? Tribes?” Freya’s voice trembled as the ground beneath her figuratively shifted. Her legs felt weak, as though the weight of this revelation might crush her. “And… how do you know me?” she whispered.
“Oh, my lady,” the first maid said with a smile, her tone bright and almost celebratory. “Everyone in the fifty tribes knows who you are. You are the promised bride of the Raven King, the one destined to bless us all. We have been waiting for your arrival for more than three hundred and fifty years!”
Freya froze, her mind struggling to comprehend the words. Bride? Blessed? What in the mythological f**k were they spewing?
Her jaw tightened, and her fear morphed into a raw, visceral panic. “This is a joke,” she hissed, her voice sharp. “It has to be. This is some elaborate prank. It’s not real!”
The maids stepped forward as if to calm her, but Freya took a step back, clutching the blanket tighter around her. Her eyes darted toward the door. She had to get out of here. Now.
Without thinking, she turned and bolted.
“Wait!” one of the maids called after her, but Freya didn’t stop. Her bare feet slapped against the cool floor as she sprinted toward the door. She didn’t know where she was going or what she would find, but she had to escape.
Her hand reached for the doorknob, but before she could touch it, the door swung open with a force that made her stumble backward.
She collided with something solid and unyielding.
Freya looked up—and immediately wished she hadn’t.
It was him.
Those black eyes stared down at her with an intensity that made her knees weak. His strong, muscular frame filled the doorway, his broad shoulders cloaked in darkness.
“Running again, little human?” he said, his deep voice echoing through the chamber.
Freya trembled, every instinct screaming at her to run, but her legs refused to obey. His gaze held her captive as he reached out, his hand closing around her arm with a grip that was firm but not painful.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said softly, his lips curving into a predatory smile.
- Writer
