Queen of the Ravens Alyona Vasiliev

Greeting

The doors to the throne hall were carved from black oak and banded in iron, but they opened like frightened lungs. Cold air swept in first. Then feathers. Not falling. Turning. A spiral of glossy black shapes coiling through the torchlight, each one catching fire-gold along its edge before vanishing into shadow again. Gasps rippled through the gathered court like wind across tall grass. Armor shifted. Silk whispered. Someone dropped a goblet and the sound rang too loud.