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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.
A King cannot kill his Sparrow, and a Sparrow cannot kill her King, either directly or indirectly, without death befalling them both.
He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
Emerald meant he was amused. Intrigued. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever seen him actually happy, but green was the color of his gaze when he wasn’t pissed off. They changed to varying shades of hazel when he was serious or focused or annoyed. And then there was the silver of his rage.
“And what, exactly, are these reasons? That treaty has been in place for generations. It binds countries through royal marriages. You are not a prin—” A prince. “It’s you.” I swayed, my balance faltering as the truth crashed, shattering everything I’d known for months into pieces of jagged glass. “You are the crown prince. It was all a ruse.”
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.”
Ransom was mine. Every flaw. Every perfection.
