Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

I might not be his favorite daughter or the cherished princess, but there was a crown in my bedroom. And today was all about showing the Turans exactly how sparkly our crowns could be.

That castle was my home, but this cliffside was my sanctuary. This was the one place where the air wasn’t thick with judgment and guards weren’t stationed at every corner, ready to report my mistakes to Margot.

They birthed monsters to serve as a reminder to humans and animals alike that we were fragile and insignificant.

There was cunning in her blue eyes, like she was in on a secret no one had bothered to share with me. Mae loved secrets. Add in a solid dose of conflict and a dash of bloodlust, and she was happy.

Eighteen years of training had sharpened her into a weapon. The Turans wouldn’t break Mae.

while the Guardian’s silver gaze locked on me instead.

There wasn’t a hint of interest at meeting his future bride. At any moment, I expected to see him yawn.

“In accord with the Shield of Sparrows,

“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.”

Damn. I guess I’d said that out loud. Well, he was a jackass for laughing.

I might not be his favorite daughter, but I tried not to be a fool.

If the Guardian’s glare had been a test, the prince’s was a promise. I was going to be his wife.

She’ll be our queen.”

“The prince will have who he desires.” It was as if the Guardian were inside Zavier’s mind, speaking the words the prince could not. “And he desires her.”

Any warrior who risked their life against the beasts would be granted a prize of their choosing if they returned with the heads of seven slain females from the species. As with all treaties, the Chain of Sevens was sealed with our magic.”

If Father was indebted to the prince and refused to pay, the Voster’s magic would steal his life.

boy.

“I sealed the Sevens with my own magic and the blood of ancient kings.” The Voster’s voice was as lethal as the shards of ice forming on the ceiling. “Mind what you call an archaic myth.”

“This is your fortune, child.”

Banner stomped a boot on the floor.

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.

before a knife was pressed against my throat. “What did you do?” Mae seethed. “Get that knife away from me.” On top of everything else, I didn’t have the energy for my sister’s antics. I was moments away from throwing myself off another cliff, and she thought now would be a good time to test the sharpness of her knife? Really?

If a king refused to give his daughter to another king, then the father would die. To my knowledge, no man had ever chosen his daughter over himself.

“Odessa.” Father shook my shoulders again. “You must find the way into Allesaria before summer’s end. Then send word of how I can find and infiltrate the city.”

“This dress is perfect. Mae can stab me in the back without any fabric getting in her way,” I said.

Because a prince who was being fucked regularly became a fool?

I crossed the space between us, and even though I was the shorter, weaker sister, I hauled her into my arms. She squirmed. My sister wasn’t great at giving hugs, but I hugged her anyway. For every hug that I’d been denied, I always tried to give Mae two. The same was true with Arthalayus. Every morning, I went to the nursery to hug my little brother. I held Mae closer, tighter, until she finally sagged against my frame and hugged me back. She might be taller, stronger, prettier, but I was still her sister, and though it usually took coaxing, she indulged my hugs.

looking more like one of the guards than a princess.

“How many knives do you have stashed in your gown?” I asked. “A few. Why? Want to borrow one for your wedding night?” she whispered. I pulled in my lips to hide a smile.

I’d learned a long time ago to live without his affection. His love. But damn it, no matter how hard I tried, I wanted his trust. His confidence.

“You can do this,” Mae said, lowering her voice. “Get to Allesaria. Send word as soon as possible. And while you’re at it, cut out the Guardian’s heart.” There was the beloved sister I knew.

His large frame deflated as he wrapped me in his arms. “I’ve made so many mistakes as your father. I’m sorry. Your mother would be so disappointed in me.”

“I never should have allowed Margot to dye your hair. The red was your mother’s.”

The last thing I needed was to fall for my husband and let down my guard.

Guardian’s eyes shifted from green to silver in a blink.

Zavier. They didn’t call him Prince or Highness.

“You might earn my name one day. But make no mistake, Cross. I will never trust you.” Yeah, well, get in line. He walked away without another word. Before he could see just how much his parting comment hurt. Was it me? Was there something I did, I said, that made people inherently not trust me?

But was I still a Quentin? Did anyone really claim me as theirs? Or was I like this boat, adrift between kingdoms?

Except his eyes didn’t track the boats. He was staring at the land itself, his expression hard and unblinking. Like Turah was an enemy. Or a battlefield.

Given his tendency to pop up like an itchy rash, I was certain he was lingering around somewhere.

A warmth spread through my belly, pooling lower. Oh, gods, no. I forced my eyes forward, clenching my fists and molars.

Why was it that the Guardian was always the man to deliver the messages? When would Zavier stop hiding from me? How were we ever going to get to know each other if he was always gone?

“The crown prince is always my concern.”

In a way, he looked a bit like Zavier.

“Praise is for the bedroom, Cross. Not the training ring.”

“There’s my queen.”

“Enough.” “She’s not done,” he said. “It’s enough when I say—” “When I say it’s enough.” For the first time, Zavier sounded like a prince. The Guardian’s nostrils flared. “Zavier.”

When I looked toward the fires, the Guardian was with Tillia, their heads bent in a private conversation. He leaned in so close that their cheeks nearly touched. She rested a hand on his heart, shoulders falling away from her ears at whatever he said. Then her forehead dropped to his chest, resting beside her hand.

A finger hooked under my chin. I knew whose finger it was before I lifted my eyes.

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, but my body had fought the fever, and somehow, I’d lived.