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To the characters who came before. To the stories that led us here. To the chances we take. To the dreams we chase. Trust your wings.
Father knew that the Guardian had killed Banner’s brother. That they’d fought over a woman in Turah, and that fight had ended in death.
It was written that the old gods, Ama and Oda, created Calandra’s animals as gifts to humans.
The Six crafted predators in the image of Calandra’s animals, though their variations were far more beautiful. Far more powerful. Far more deadly. They birthed monsters to serve as a reminder to humans and animals alike that we were fragile and insignificant.
The Guardian. A man rumored to be more vicious and deadly than any creature crafted by the gods.
The man who entered next didn’t look like a god incarnate. He didn’t appear to be a ghost. He was tall and broad, like the other Turans. Muscled to the point of distraction. His chocolate-brown hair tickled the tops of his shoulders, and his chiseled jaw was covered in a short beard of the same shade. At first glance, he was just a man. Striking. Intimidating. But still, just a man. Yet his irises did not have the typical Turan green starburst. They were solid, molten silver. Liquid metal. Colorless, like my dress. The Guardian.
“Not her.” Margot blinked. “Excuse me?” “Her.” The Guardian’s eyes flicked in my direction, and the whole room followed his gaze. To me. “Prince Zavier will marry her,” he declared. “Tonight. As the bride prize for killing your marroweels.”
The magic rooted deep in Calandra’s land tinged our irises at birth with those starbursts, linking us forever to a place. No matter where we lived, where we moved, that one color was unchanging. Every Quentin had an amber starburst. Every Quentin except me. My eyes were solid gold. Not a starburst in sight.
A King cannot kill his Sparrow, and a Sparrow cannot kill her King, either directly or indirectly, without death befalling them both.
“Not all monsters are born from the gods, my queen. Some of us were made.”
“Thanks,” I deadpanned. “And I was certain I wouldn’t earn any compliments today.” “Praise is for the bedroom, Cross. Not the training ring.”
“There’s my queen.” “Stop calling me that,” I seethed.
“Hello, my queen.” Well, fuck.
Damn that smirk. Damn the way it made my heart trill.
“You asked for my name,” he said. “You told me I had to earn it.” He nodded. “Ransom. My name is Ransom.”
“I guess I have a soft spot for monsters.”
“You are mine, Odessa.”
