The Raven Chronicles - Ch. 01

Welcome to a new series. This is going to be a long story with a lot of POVs, interweaving plots, story lines, locations, and because it's me writing it, mythologies, so if you're looking for a quick story between two characters, you will want to pick something else. It will also be confusing if you start in the middle, as I'm going to write the story as if everyone started at the beginning, so I won't be revisiting a lot of content that was already covered. Not all the chapters will have as much sex as this one, not all the sex will be non-con, and some things that happen will be dark. Not every chapter will be the same length, either, as I will stop at natural pauses in the narration.

Noncon, non-con, reluctance, coercion, revenge, magic, Fae, witch, paranormal, supernatural, fantasy, anal, alpha, maledom, impregnation, sleep sex, spanking, kidnapping.

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CHAPTER ONE

FECHIN

Fechin slouched on the Raven throne, a black bird with wings extended and curved beak overhead, formed of onyx, jet, and obsidian feathers, hoping his growing boredom looked like neutrality.

Selkies. Elves. Trow. Merrow. Puca. Kobolds.

They all blurred into courtiers wearing brightly colored finery and sparkling shoes, in direct contrast to his all black attire and scuffed boots, argued over petty squabbles. Their soft hands fluttered in the air as their soft bodies stuck dramatic poses.

If they insisted on these meetings, the least they could do was make them useful. Who cared if a border was one foot farther or nearer? Or if two houses wanted to wear the same shade of green? Or whether they held the ball on one day over another?

The urge to cleave the complaining bellyachers in half with his sword made his fingers twitch on the arm of the throne. It wouldn't take long, but even his muscles might need two swings for some of them.

Why couldn't any of them see there were bigger problems -- like Inisfáil Fae tearing itself apart.

But only he felt it.

Vilkos might. The title of King would go to one of them. Fechin held the throne at the moment only because he was older. To be the true King of Fae, he required an heir. But Vilkos had left the castle two years ago, leaving Fechin as the lone target for all the politicians and hangers-on. It seemed only fair if Vilkos could become king, he should have to sit through half of these tedious proceedings.

If the network of spies he maintained was to be believed, Vilkos was on his way back to the castle.

That was another thing to worry about.

Vilkos had a chance to become king, but there was no chance he'd protect Fae.

An especially high-pitched voice echoed through the room. Fechin winced. Maybe he should move the proceedings to a smaller space in the castle. One where the voices wouldn't rebound so much. Hearing their problems three times from multiple angles did not improve his mood.

Or, perhaps a darker room, where he could be in shadows. The throne room had a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that let in far too much sun and left him on display atop the dais.

He'd already had all the decor and furniture taken away, hoping if there was nothing to look at, and no chairs or tables to use, that would hurry things along.

No such luck.

Now they milled around, arguing about where everyone was entitled to stand. And, free to move rather than stuck in a chair, their gestures and posturing were more elaborate -- like they were actors in a play.

Fechin made a mental note to have the chairs returned -- and bolted to the floor.

Shouts and swords clashing in the corridor outside brought Fechin upright from his slouch, and shut the courtiers up as they turned to face the back of the hall. The double doors burst open, and a centaur tossed a sword aside as he stormed into the throne room.

Had he been at court before? Centaurs rarely came to the castle. Fechin would remember someone like this.

Black-skinned and bearded, the centaur made an imposing figure. The broadsword strapped to his back, and the bow slung over his shoulder, plus the scars he bore on his human chest and horse flanks, all marked the man as a warrior, not a courtier.

Massive, even for one of his kind, the centaur's ten-foot height towered over everyone else in the room. Flashing hooves scattered the Fae far more efficiently than anything Fechin had managed.

What did the centaurs have to complain about? They weren't part of the Seelie or Unseelie Courts, and tended to handle their problems themselves -- the way Fechin liked things dealt with. Maybe this was finally something important.

The centaur came to a stop in front of the Raven throne, crossed his arms, and waited.

It was a power play to see who would speak first. Fechin resisted the urge to grin and gave in to his curiosity. "What can the Seelie Court do for the centaurs?"

Tossing a look of distaste over his shoulder at the people he'd left in disarray, the centaur swished his tail. "Get out."

He didn't raise his voice, or even sound threatening, but the courtiers fled.

As the doors closed, Fechin rose and extended his hand. "I will hire you to do that every day and pay you well."

White teeth flashed from a bushy beard as the centaur clasped Fechin's arm. "No, thanks. Places like this make my skin itch."

Fechin could relate. "My guards in the hall?"

"I didn't kill them." Huge shoulders shrugged. "They mumbled something about appointments, so I made a few points I meant."

Unexpected laughter escaped him. "What should I call you?"

"Iphos. My father is Basileus of the centaurs in the forest."

Making Iphos a prince. Up close, the signs of exhaustion were clear. Dried sweat on his flanks. Tangled hair. A dullness to his eyes.

Fechin gestured to the doors. "Let's walk."

The throne room was the most magicked space in the castle. Every court had at least one listening spell in place to keep up on all the latest decisions and gossip. He didn't have them removed, and the courtiers didn't try to listen in other places. Well, not very often. He'd made it known anyone caught magicking other areas of the castle would be banished from court.

They entered the surprisingly empty hallway, aside from the unconscious guards, and Fechin led the way through double glass doors into the main garden. It was his favorite place. Acres full of the flowers and trees his mother favored -- black and red roses, snapdragons, orchids, and dahlias. Weeping willow, cedar, and rowan trees. The magic in this place, and the fairies, kept all the flowers and trees in bloom, no matter the time of year.

Everyone knew about the Morrigan's bloodthirsty side, but his mother loved as fiercely as she fought, and he'd spent many happy days with her in the garden.

The burbling fountains interspersed among the plants provided enough noise to make their conversation inaudible to outsiders. And, the magic twisted the paths, so no one could anticipate where he would be, or follow him as he walked. It was as private as they'd get. "What is so important that you'd risk a medical condition to come here today?"

Iphos tossed his head. "Satyrs."

They'd come to Inisfáil Fae from Hellas Fae with the centaurs centuries ago, along with the dryads. The centaurs and the satyrs had never agreed on anything, or played well together.

"What's the problem?"

"They're stirring up trouble again."

Fechin slipped his hands into his pockets and lifted one shoulder. "When aren't they?"

Iphos shook his head. "It's different this time, or I wouldn't be here. Six centaurs have disappeared trying to handle the satyrs. We don't think they're working alone."

Alliances were always being made and broken, but six centaurs disappearing was a problem serious enough to warrant the attention of the Raven Court.

"Who do you think they've aligned with?"

"No idea." Iphos shrugged. "There haven't been any new arrivals, and the dryads wouldn't drop a leaf to help a satyr."

Seeing as the dryads were all women who couldn't leave their trees and the satyrs a band of roving rapists, the dislike seemed warranted. When the satyrs had come to Inisfáil Fae, one term of their acceptance into the land was to stop the rapes and murders. As leader of the Raven Court, Fechin couldn't act against them unless there was proof they'd broken the deal, no matter how repugnant he found the goat-men.

Fechin blew out a breath. He had the army spread thin already, but if centaurs were going missing...

"I can send some ravens to scout the forest. I'll also send one to the Dullahan and ask him to have a look around." The Dullahan's sight could see across countryside on the darkest night, and even the satyrs knew better than to cross him. "We can send a message to your father as well. You're exhausted. Eat and rest at the castle. I'll send the ravens tonight. You won't make it back before they arrive, even if you left right now."

"Accept food and hospitality from a Fae?" Iphos snorted.

It hadn't taken the centaurs long to learn the rules about dealing with the Inisfáil Fae and incurring debts. "You're free to run yourself to death if you like. But there are plenty of rooms here. It's a trifling thing, not worthy of debt."

"In that case, I'll stay one night."

Fechin nodded and channeled magic into his voice. "Ink and paper."

Moments later, a trio of brownies appeared. The child-sized, brown-skinned sprites wore immaculately pressed black uniforms and polished boots that imitated Fechin's typical attire, although where his hair was in neat braids, they kept theirs in shaggy mops. They worked around the castle, making sure the place was tidy and running errands for treats. Six hands shoved the supplies he'd asked for at him as they elbowed one another to get to him first.

"I brought them!"

"I was here before you!"

"Mine are better!"

Often people were cruel, treating the brownies as annoying pests, but his mother had a soft spot for them, earning their loyalty, which they had transferred to him. He accepted quills from the first, ink from the second, and paper from the third so there wouldn't be any arguments, and offered them to Iphos.

"Tha --"

Fechin cut him off with a sharp wave. The brownies were the least strict Fae on matters of protocol, but no point in letting anyone see a debt incurred.

Iphos scratched out a note to his father and handed it to Fechin.

He turned to the brownies. "The centaur requires three guides to his room. Any debt is mine, and will be paid with honey from the kitchen. Agreed?"

The brownies nodded and scampered to lead the way.

"Right this way, sir centaur."

"We'll show you!"

"And make sure you don't get lost."

Iphos shook his head and followed the chatterboxes away.

Fechin left the garden and climbed the stone steps leading to the top of the tower the ravens liked to use. Windows were always open on all sides of the tower so the birds could come and go as they pleased. There were always ravens here, and he always felt more at home among the birds. They roosted on perches and in nests they'd built in the rafters to store their pilfered treasures.

He approached the largest female as he tied a string around the note. "I need a message taken to the Dullahan."

Mischief fluffed her feathers and cawed laughter. She loved tormenting the man and took off as soon as Fechin hung the message around her neck. The Dullahan wouldn't thank Fechin for this.

The thought made him smile.

Fechin held up the other rolled paper to a male called Frolic. "This must go to the king of the centaurs. No sightseeing. Straight there." He squawked and bobbed his head to accept the message.

He stopped in front of the most mischievous raven, which was really saying something. "And I need a spy. Someone clever and sneaky." Tricks preened and pretended not to be interested in Fechin. "You're probably right. It's perilous and not a job for you." He turned his back on Tricks. "There's something dangerous in the forest. Centaurs disappearing. Satyrs on --"

Fechin chuckled at the swish of air on his neck as silent wings took off.

Feeling a bit more light-hearted after spending time with the ravens, Fechin left them to their antics and descended the stairs, but his mood plummeted to the dungeons when he caught sight of the witch as he exited into the corridor leading to the kitchens.

Shisti swayed toward him, courtiers and servants giving her a wide berth as she walked down the hallway. The daughter of the Queen of Winter was also an effective deterrent -- unfortunately, he was among the deterred when it came to her.

Pale, perfect face made up artfully to hide the blue tinge to her skin, grey eyes set off with charcoal lashes, white hair elaborately styled, gown low cut and tight to display her body, she attracted all eyes.

He sighed. It had been a week since she'd tried to snare him in her web of sex and fertility spells. If she conceived with him, the competition to become king would be over, and she would become queen, giving her family a power base in three realms.

His luck had run out.

"Your Majesty." Her voice slid over him like ice.

"Yes, Shisti?"

"Walk with me?"

"I'm busy."

But she wouldn't be dissuaded as she turned to walk beside him without missing a step. He didn't touch her. The magic on her was enough to make him shiver from three feet away.

He didn't care who she gave her body to. If he had any luck at all, one of those unfortunate men would get her pregnant. The one woman he'd bedded since Shisti's arrival had died under mysterious circumstances. Well, only a mystery in how to prove what he knew she'd done.

Another mysterious death occurred when he'd refused to bed her and threatened to banish her.

But she'd spoken of her visions and how she would be the one to make him king.

He knew better than to dismiss the visions of a witch. His mother was the Goddess of Fate, after all. If there was something to what Shisti saw, he needed her at court. But the raven inside him recoiled, retreating behind walls deep within him whenever the witch approached.

So, Fechin had struck a bargain with the witch that, as Inisfáil Fae, he was beholden to keep. She would not kill anyone else, and he would try to breed her, spilling his seed only into her.

Resigned to another unwanted obligation, he opened the door to one of the unused meeting rooms. It was a random choice, so she'd not have been able to prepare any traps for him. A long meeting table and some chairs were the only furnishings, pushed against the wall under a high window with curtains tied back with sashes to reveal the darkening sky.

She always wanted to get into his suite -- his bed -- but he'd never take her there. He'd always have to be paranoid about what she'd left behind. Nor was there any way he'd enter her bedroom.

Closing the door, and steeling himself for the cold, he took one of her breasts in his hand and pinched her nipple. She resisted crying out at first, but he increased the pressure until she let out a reluctant gasp.

"You want to be fucked, whatever you don't want ripped, take it off now."

He was rough, even when he liked the woman he was fucking. Clothes didn't last.

Shisti waited, a small smile curving her lips up. Or it could have been a smirk at her little game. She knew he didn't want her. Perhaps having her clothes torn off let her believe he did.

He obliged her silence, ripping her dress and shift off her to let them pool on the floor. Let her figure out how to get back to her rooms without clothing.

"On the table. Lay down with your head over the edge."

Her lithe body was graceful as a cat, or more like sinuous as a snake, as she crawled onto the hard surface.

"Open your mouth. Suck me." He pressed his cock past her lips.

Shisti's mouth was the warmest part of her, when she wasn't spouting curses and lies. Her tongue slid up and down his length. She wasn't bad, had been trained quite well, actually, but she used her skill as a distraction -- always testing to see if she could make him fall under her spell. Already her magic crawled over him, trying to invade his body and mind. He shoved his cock into her mouth far enough to gag her.

Did it again for good measure.

She took it passively. Would allow him to continue, thus taking the fun out of it.

He pulled out of her wet mouth. "Turn around."

More sinuous movement as she laid back and spread her legs a bit. Not far enough for him to see her pussy, only a hint of pink. "On your stomach."

He pulled her back so her legs dangled off the table, sliding one hand around her to stimulate her clit.

Fechin plunged into her, fucking her hard from the first thrust as he pumped in and out of her pussy with abandon, trying to build heat in her with friction. Whether the frigidness of her body came from her father's heritage or the magic she worked, he didn't know. Didn't care.

She pushed up on her hands.

He waved a hand, and the ties holding the curtains open extended to wrap around her wrists and pull her arms straight.

Shisti writhed in her bondage. She didn't like being tied, but he didn't trust her. It was bad enough he had to touch her as much as he did.

"You hate being powerless, don't you? But it makes me hard."

Their deal said he would try to breed her, and come inside her, and he kept to his side of their bargain, to the exact wording. But he hated the feel of her pussy around him, and the magic inside him knew he'd never be able to create life within her. So Fechin fucked her like she wanted, but not how she wanted.

Fortunately, when they'd struck their bargain, she'd not specified where inside her he had to spill his seed. He pulled out and rubbed the head of his cock along the seam of her ass.

She hated this especially, which made it the slightest bit enjoyable for him.

He pressed through the tight ring of her ass, the slickness from her pussy making the slide easier.

CHAPTER TWO

SHISTI

Shisti hated Fechin. He was all male -- muscles, battle scars, and tanned skin, and once she'd thought him attractive. Now he always took her from behind. In a way, it was a small mercy. She didn't have to look at him either and could pretend he was someone else.

She needed him to move faster. Desperately wanted release almost as much as she wanted this to be over. She arched her body and received a hard swat to her ass. It was her job to stay as he positioned her and not move, like she was some toy to be arranged and used.

Her soul filled with resentment as he filled her ass.

After today she was finished. No more throwing herself at him. Next time, he would have to come to her, and she would be ready with her list of demands.

The first one being he kept his dick out of her ass.

She'd been at this damned castle for two years, for her arranged marriage to the man who would become king. She'd seen his coronation in her visions, and how she was responsible for making him king over his brother.

Once her father found out, he'd practically sold her to the Raven family -- after forcing her to endure training on how to please men from his soldiers. He'd torn her from her home, her lover, and her mother, banishing her to the Inisfáil Fae castle for use as... as breeding stock. She only knew her father hadn't sold her because Fechin didn't want her here anymore than she wanted to be here.

The only man she hated more than Fechin was her father.

But even after she'd told Fechin she'd make him king, he humiliated her at every turn.

Ignored her in the halls.

Never paid her a compliment.

Didn't offer her company or escort her in public.

Snubbed her at court functions.

He'd made her a laughingstock. A woman to be pitied.

His whore.

She should be queen of all Fae by now, crushing those who mocked her in her grip and under her heel.