Raven King’s Bride

Get Dressed

Freya screamed as Rion’s strong arms easily lifted her back toward the massive bed. She kicked and writhed, her panic taking over, but it was like struggling against steel. His strength was unyielding, his grip firm. He took her onto the bed with unsettling ease, his dark eyes locking onto hers.

“Leave us,” his deep voice commanded, and the maids who had entered earlier hastily rushed out. The sound of the heavy doors closing echoed ominously in the vast room, leaving Freya feeling both trapped and dismayed. Her escape route was gone.

“Stop screaming and sit,” Rion ordered, his tone sharp yet calm as he guided her back onto the bed, ignoring her futile resistance.

“Who are you, and why are you holding me captive?” Freya demanded, her voice trembling but determined.

Rion’s lips quirked upward in a small, amused smile. “How feisty,” he murmured as he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with an infuriatingly gentle touch.

She slapped his hand away, her heart pounding. “Don’t touch me! Why are you doing this? Please, just let me go!” she snapped, her voice a mix of anger and desperation.

He leaned back slightly, as though savoring her fear, and let out a low laugh. “I’m not doing anything, human. You were brought to me because you were promised.”

“Promised?” Freya’s voice rose in disbelief, her panic boiling over into exhaustion. “Who promised what?”

“It was prophesied long ago,” he explained, his tone calm yet firm, as though stating an undeniable fact. “A human bride would come and be Queen of the Raven Kingdom. And now, here you are.” His voice grew softer, lower, as his eyes darkened with an intensity that sent chills down Freya’s spine. “I’ve waited 354 years for you, Freya. To make you mine.”

His words sent a fresh wave of terror through her, and her body stiffened as his hand reached out again, his knuckles brushing gently against her cheek. The touch was light, reverent, as though she were something precious.

His gaze shifted downward, lingering on her chest. Freya’s breath caught as she remembered how much the thin lace slip revealed. She squealed, clutching the blanket tightly against her body, trying to shield herself from his piercing gaze.

Rion chuckled softly, the sound infuriatingly amused. “You think that will stop me?” he asked, his tone laced with quiet arrogance. “You’re mine, little human.”

“What kind of monster are you?” she whispered, glaring up at him with as much defiance as she could muster.

“Rion Storm,” he replied, his expression turning serious. “I am the King of the Raven Kingdom, ruler of all fifty Raven tribes. You will be my bride, whether you like it or not. I can give you time to accept our union, but I cannot allow you to run. From now on, you will stay here until we are wed, and you take your rightful place as Queen of the kingdom.”

Freya’s head spun, the weight of his words crashing down on her. Before she could respond, he straightened and turned toward the door. “Join me for lunch, I will send your ladies-in-waiting back to help you. Listen to them and get dressed. I cannot allow you to dine in that… outfit.”

And with that, he strode out, his presence as commanding in his exit as it had been when he entered. Freya’s eyes caught on his back, and she realized with a shudder that the enormous black wings she had seen before were gone.

Thank heavens. They had been terrifying.

But relief was short-lived. The two maids from earlier returned, bustling into the room with apologetic looks on their faces. Freya sat frozen on the bed, unable to process the whirlwind of events.

Was this real? Could it possibly be? Her mind spun with disbelief. She had loved magical stories growing up, stories about winged people and mythological creatures. Every culture seemed to have its own version—Japan’s tengus, Greece’s harpies. But those were just stories. Myths. They weren’t real.

“Are you…” she began hesitantly, staring at the two women. “Are you guys really birds?”

The maid with short brown hair, Mila, gasped as though offended. “Heavens no! We are Ravens, your grace,” she corrected primly.

Freya blinked. “And Ravens aren’t birds?” she pressed.

The second maid, Ellen, hesitated before responding. “Not like that,” she said.

As if to prove their point, both women unfurled their wings in an instant. Freya shrieked, recoiling as the black wings stretched out from their shoulders. The wings weren’t nearly as large as Rion’s, but they were very much real, and the sight of them sent her heart racing.

“I-It must be scary for you,” Ellen said quickly, folding her wings back with a sheepish smile. “We understand. It’s a lot to take in. But please, you’ve been unconscious for a day. We need to bathe you and you need to eat.”

Freya’s horror only deepened. “Bathe? You want to wash me?”

“Of course, my lady,” Mila said brightly. “It is our honor to take care of you.”

Freya’s hands tightened around the blanket. “Absolutely not. I can wash myself.”

Mila’s cheerful expression faltered. She exchanged a look with Ellen, then talks. “If you refuse to let us help, King Rion himself will come to do it. And we simply cannot allow that to happen.”

“What?” Freya blurted, her cheeks burning.

“It would dishonor us,” Mila said solemnly.

Freya stared at them in disbelief. Of all the absurd things she had heard since waking up, this was the worst. There was no way she would let him touch her. Gritting her teeth, she gave in. “Fine. Just… get it over with.”

The maids didn’t hesitate. They were thorough—too thorough—scrubbing every inch of her body with an efficiency that left her skin raw and her dignity in tatters. They washed and oiled her hair repeatedly, until it shone and fell in soft curls around her shoulders.

When they were finally finished, Freya stood in front of a large mirror in the corner of the room, wrapped in nothing but a towel. The maids wasted no time dressing her, starting with a scandalously small push-up bra and matching underwear.

“Why even bother?” Freya muttered, glaring at the ridiculous garments.

They ignored her, helping her into a floral summer dress with short sleeves, a plunging neckline, and a hem that barely reached her knees. Her cheeks burned as she caught her reflection. Her skin glowed, her hair framed her face perfectly, and her curves—well, they were more pronounced than she had realized. It was then she realized, she could see very clearly.

“Where are my glasses?” she demanded.

“You don’t need them anymore,” Ellen said. “The doctor used correction drops while you were asleep.”

“Correction… drops?”

“They fixed your vision. Isn’t it wonderful?” Mila chimed in.

Freya’s mouth opened and closed, too stunned to respond. Eye drops that corrected bad vision? This was insanity.

Before she could process it further, the maids led her out of the room, down a long corridor, and into a large dining hall. At its center was a table—and sitting at it, waiting for her, was Rion.

Her heart stopped as his piercing black eyes locked onto hers.