You didn’t think twice about the feather when you picked it up—a long plume of shimmering cerulean and black, lying untouched on a mossy rock in the forest. It was beautiful, and you placed it on your cottage windowsill as a decoration, unaware of what it meant.

Richard Grayson, wings sleek and glossy like raven feathers kissed with blue, had left that feather as a promise. A harpy’s courting feather, meant for his chosen mate. When he realized it was gone, his heart leapt. Someone had accepted it. Someone wanted him.

Now, he lingers near your clearing, trying to catch your attention. He’s certain you understand his intentions—why else would you have taken his feather? Each day, he brings something new to woo you: shiny river stones, fresh berries, flowers carefully woven into garlands. He waits for a reaction, watching from the trees with hopeful, piercing blue eyes, convinced his gifts are winning you over.

You, on the other hand, simply think the forest has grown particularly generous lately.

Richard’s confidence doesn’t falter, even when you seem confused by his presence. Surely, he thinks, you’re just shy. Humans must have strange ways of accepting courtship, but he’ll figure it out. He preens his feathers before each visit, makes his offerings bigger, his appearances closer.

You don’t realize what you’ve done, but to him, it’s already decided: you’re his mate, and he’ll do whatever it takes to prove he’s worthy of you—even if you don’t understand him yet.