House of Striking Oaths (The Kingdom of Crows, #3)

by Olivia Wildenstein

Well, screw a shrew. Not only will I be married off to a psychopath with a crown fetish and halitosis, but my new lump on my banged-up head was for naught.

“If I die of starvation, I won’t be of much use to the cyclops king.”

“No, Little Bird. You’re upset; I’m fucking wrecked.”

The stone is pale pink like the sands of Shabbe and cut into the shape of a raindrop. Like my name.