Ravina drifted awake, the rhythmic jostling of the carriage pulling her from the depths of slumber. For a moment, she remained suspended in the haze between dreams and reality, her mind sluggish to grasp wakefulness. Then the chill set in, crawling through her bones, and awareness struck like ice-cold water. She inhaled sharply, her fingers twitching as a sinking dread settled in her stomach.

Her gaze snapped up, and there he was.

Count Ravenshield. No—Duke, now. But did that truly matter? His title was little comfort when his presence alone stole the air from the carriage.

Ravina pressed a trembling hand to her lips, panic flickering in her chest. At least she hadn’t drooled—a small mercy. But the way he looked at her—calm, unbothered, yet expectant—sent a sharp pang through her chest. Like a father regarding a daughter who had already proven to be a disappointment.

Gods, how could she have allowed herself to fall asleep in front of him?

She forced herself to meet his gaze, only to regret it instantly. His eyes—piercing and unwavering—were locked onto her, studying her with an intensity that made her breath hitch. Intimidating, suffocating. She shuddered, her focus dropping to the floor as her mind scrambled for words, for anything to fill the heavy silence.

He spoke before she could.

"It wasn’t because of you."

His words were sharp, clipped, carrying a weight that sent a prickle down her spine. She hesitated, processing the statement with a slow blink.

"Wasn’t because of me?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. What wasn’t? What had she done? Had she done something? Gods—what had she done?

The Duke leaned back, exhaling through his nose, his expression unreadable

"The county was always too large to be ruled by a mere count," he continued, his voice steady, measured. "But the kingdom never granted House Ravenshield a ducal title. Do you know why?"

A history lesson? Now?

Ravina swallowed, her mind clawing through the fog of sleep as she searched for an answer. "The duke title was always reserved for the Pillars—there could only be four to uphold the king." She recited the text word for word. She might have been away for two years but Madam Pelman’s words still echoed inside her head.

But the way he tilted his head, the subtle shake of his head, sent a bolt of realization through her. Of course, that wasn’t the answer he wanted.

Stupid.

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Ravina forced herself upright, straightening her spine as she blinked the last remnants of sleep away. "That explanation does not justify why House Ravenshield was denied the title, despite managing nearly a third of Navarius’ territory. In fact, the decision becomes more suspect when compared to the Red family’s elevation to ducal status, despite their relative insignificance in both lineage and land."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

She screamed internally, clamping her eyes shut for a second before forcing a smile to mask her horror. She had mentioned the Red family to his face.

That was a mistake.

He hated the Red Family. Completely, it wasn't something she could ever forget.

Ravina had barely drawn breath, ready to correct her blunder, when his gaze locked onto her again. The weight of it made her stomach tighten, her throat closing around the words before they could form.

But it wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t even dissatisfaction.

It was something far colder.

A stare that spoke of a man who could only look down on people, not out of malice, but because there was simply no other way for him to see the world.

Yet when he spoke, it wasn't dismissive “True enough.”

Ravina blinked, startled.

“You do have a keen mind,” he continued, his voice a whisper, as if he was talking to himself more than her. “It’s something the old bat spoke highly of.”

By the time she processed that it was a compliment, he had already moved on.

"The House of the Raven was there when the nation was founded. One of the main families that built this kingdom."

“Yes,” Ravina found herself nodding, too eager, too quick to affirm his words. “The House of the Ram and the House of the Wolf—they were there too. The Wolf and Ram merged to form the royal family, while the Raven became their sworn protector. A—a cute romance story,” she finished lamely, her voice faltering.

Her ears burned, heat creeping up her neck. She had been trying to impress him. Hoping for another compliment. Foolish. Stupid. Yet her heart thundered away and she held her breath, waiting.

Instead, he sighed. A slow, weary exhale.

The heat in her head cooled into something sharp, something bitter. It was foolish—laughable—to have expected anything else. He didn’t protect her. He protected the family name. That was all.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails pressing into her palms until pain anchored her. The realization burned behind her eyes, hot and searing, but she clenched her jaw, forcing it down. She would not—could not—allow herself to be that fragile.

Just a placeholder. A convenient shield against the noble vultures circling for an heir—nothing more. She had solved his problem, and that was the only reason she was here. She wasn’t his daughter. She was an answer to an inconvenience. Nothing else.

She clenched her hands.

"The story is only romantic because it’s been told that way," the Duke said finally. His voice had shifted, quieter, but heavier. “A fable. A myth crafted to bury the truth.”

Ravina frowned, her earlier embarrassment fading beneath something sharper.

"The truth?"

"The truth," he echoed, his gaze unfocused, distant—as if looking past her, past the confines of the carriage, past the present itself.

Then, The Duke began to tell the story of The Wolf and The Raven…