House of Beating Wings (The Kingdom of Crows, #1)

by Olivia Wildenstein

“Free the five iron crows, and you will be queen.” I freeze. What the what? Iron crows? Queen? Marco’s blasé mien flashes behind my lids, eliciting a shudder. “Not only is the king betrothed—and clearly not to me—but also, I’ve no love for the male.” “I’m aware the Regio male you love is another.”

“I am saying Luce will, one day soon, belong to you, Fallon Báeinach.”

Why would anyone trap a statue? Several, at that? Because they’re made of iron? And why in the world would a blacksmith model them after the pet birds of the mountain tribe that attacked us two decades ago?

“Perhaps because you kiss them below the belt, and hearts are higher up.”

“These birds were trained to kill and had a taste for Fae hearts.”

“Because she’s immune to both obsidian and iron.” Bronwen’s tone whips Antoni like a jostled branch. “She’s Cathal and—”

Not yet, but rest assured, Fallon, that anyone who so much as wishes you harm will be dealt with accordingly.

If you don’t untuck your fucking shirt, I’ll inflict bodily harm on every Selvatin who leers at you. Is that truly what you want?

Insults may roll off our round ears, but they also trickle inside and round other parts of us. I will not be rounded.

Although I will never sit on your shoulder, once I’m whole, we can revisit teaching them some manners.

Tell the princeling to fucking concentrate on the road instead of on your body, Fallon.

That you, Little Bird, belong to the sky. The crow emerges fully from the rocking surf, dark and huge, larger than I’ve ever seen it, a monster of down and iron. And that the sky . . . it belongs to me.

For all our verbal sparring and our inability to see eye to eye on essentially every subject, I’ll miss the stormy sky king.

The gold ringing his pupils seems to churn. “You and I are just beginning, Fallon Báeinach.”