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Every Quentin had an amber starburst. Every Quentin except me.
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.”
“There’s my queen.” “Stop calling me that,” I seethed.
To my knowledge, the doctors still didn’t know how I’d survived the poison. The powder was twice as toxic as the venom from any snake,
It was almost as if the city was a myth. A legend. What if Allesaria didn’t exist?
Ramsey. Not King Ramsey or His Majesty. The casual way the Turans addressed their royal leadership still took me by surprise. Yet there were people who seemed insistent on calling me Princess Odessa Wolfe.
He’d saved my life. Again. He’s sworn to protect you. The Guardian.
“Because you’re a bird.”
The idea of training shouldn’t have given me butterflies. But they fluttered in my belly regardless, even when they shouldn’t.
“We kill the monsters. We kill them all. Every last one.” Him. He meant to kill the monsters. Then himself.
“You have always been my queen.”
My queen. How many times had he called me that?
“When I am nothing but dust and ash, Turah will endure. I do not need a crown. And I have made peace with my destiny. But before I step into my grave, my choice is you.”
I swore to serve my king and burn burn burn. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.
Instead, I’d pulled my sword from this woman’s body. A woman with red hair, the spiraling curls a mix of orange and strawberry and copper.
