Shield of Sparrows

My knives were sheathed in their harness, crossed over my spine, as I made my way through Ellder to the training arena. While I loved the sword Ransom had given me, I’d still spent more time with the knives, and today, I needed as much confidence as I could muster.

Nearly every square in the training center was taken by sparring soldiers. The sounds of steel clashing and warriors grunting echoed from all directions as I started toward Ransom’s favorite space—the largest, central square.

All this time, I’d assumed he was given preferential treatment because he was the legendary Guardian. Was that the case? Or did these soldiers know that Ransom was their crown prince? That despite the metal band Zavier wore across his brow, he was not the heir to the throne?

A cluster of sweaty warriors stopped fighting as I passed their square. They were warriors who traveled with Zavier on his hunts, and with them stood the man from last night.

Vander.

He was even more beautiful in the daylight than he’d been outside Jocelyn’s room. His black hair was done in intricate braids, similar to Halston’s. He dipped his chin as I passed. “Princess.”

The title made me falter a step.

The people in Treow knew I was the Sparrow. Brielle and Jocelyn referred to me as Highness, and now that they were in Ellder, others would overhear. If the warriors all called me Princess, too, it wouldn’t take long for news to spread. Soon, everyone in this fortress would know that I was Princess Odessa Wolfe.

My anonymity was all but gone. I’d mourn it later.

There were two men standing in the middle of Ransom’s square. Exactly the two men I’d come to find.

Zavier’s back was to me, but when Ransom’s hazel eyes flicked over his shoulder, he turned, bending at the waist. “Odessa.”

“Zav—” I stopped myself as yet another realization struck. It was like being pricked in the finger with a needle. His name couldn’t be Zavier. All of Calandra knew the crown prince’s name was Zavier. So who was he? “What’s your real name?”

He glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Dray. Though no one has called me that in over a decade.”

“A decade?” Was that how long this charade had been going?

Zavier nodded, taking a step back, effectively removing himself from the middle. Smart man.

Ransom stared at me, his arms crossed over his chest, legs planted wide. There was a scowl on his face.

Probably because there was a scowl on mine.

“How much does Jocelyn know?”

“Nothing. She believes I’m the prince. That I cannot speak.” Zavier—Dray, whatever the hell his name was—turned to Ransom. “I’m sorry, my prince.”

“It was time for the truth.” Ransom spoke to Zavier, but his gaze never left mine. “Leave us.”

“Before you go.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Jocelyn is to be sent back to Quentis. Immediately.”

Zavier glanced to Ransom, waiting for approval.

My husband gave it with a single nod.

“I’ll see to it now.” Zavier walked away, disappearing past the racks.

The noises in the training area quieted, like all of the soldiers and warriors had been ordered to leave. I didn’t bother looking around to see if we had company, instead keeping my gaze locked on Ransom.

We stared at each other, and with every passing second, that simmering rage I’d stoked all morning blazed hotter. There were a hundred questions to ask. Countless answers to demand. My nostrils flared, and my teeth clenched so tightly I could have ground rock to dust.

Apparently, my anger amused my lying husband.

The smirk I’d seen countless times stretched across his perfect mouth.

That fucking smirk.

My blades sang as I ripped them from their sheaths, and before I even knew what I was doing, I brought them down toward Ransom’s neck.

He bent backward, his smirk widening as he dodged the strike.

I slashed at him again, forcing him back a step. “Does everyone know? Does everyone in Turah think I’m the fool who believed your lies?”

“Very few know the truth. And none think you’re a fool, Odessa.”

I readjusted my stance, readying for another attack. “Let’s talk about names, shall we? What the fuck is yours, Guardian?”

“Ransom.” He leaned left, then right as I came at him again, avoiding each of my swipes. “Zavier Ransom Wolfe. I’ve always gone by Ransom. Not everything has been a lie.”

“Not everything, just the important pieces.” I scoffed and stabbed at his stomach, forcing him to shift to the side. “How long has Zavier been pretending to be you?”

“Eleven years.”

“Why?” My blades whooshed in the air as I sliced them toward his throat.

He moved away, holding up his hands in surrender. “Every prince and princess of Turah has a double until they come of age. A hundred years ago, the king’s son was murdered when he was fifteen. Since then, it’s become practice within the royal family. It is an honor to be chosen to represent a royal. Zavier has been with me since I was thirteen. He is my cousin.”

Hence their resemblance. If it was such an honor to be chosen, then their families had probably all been overjoyed for Dray to leave his own name behind and take on Zavier.

“Is that why he pretended not to speak in Quentis?” I asked.

“Yes and no. I’m sure he told you, but silence is usually the best way for someone else to stumble and share. It’s something we started long ago. When we were younger, if Dray was acting as my double and didn’t know what to say, he’d just stay quiet.”

“Well, you’re well past being of age for this charade. Why continue the facade?” I struck for him again, but it was sloppy and slow.noveldrama

“There are reasons,” he said, jaw clenching.

“Reasons you won’t tell me, right?” I was so godsdamn tired of his omissions and lies. This entire kingdom was built on a mountain of secrets, from Allesaria to their crown prince.

Did these people come out of the womb suspicious? Did they teach toddlers how to keep secrets? Were children instructed to give outsiders hostile glares and sneers?

Another surge of anger flowed through my veins, and I went after him with abandon, swinging without control or aim. I tripped over an uneven spot in the dirt, pitching forward, but I managed to catch myself before I fell on my own damn knife.

“Enough.” Ransom cut a hand through the air. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Fuck you and your concern.” I straightened, filling my lungs as I readjusted the hold on my blades. Then I raised them in the air. “Are you going to fight me? Or keep running away like the coward you are? Like father, like son?”

“Cross,” he warned. “I said enough.”

“Draw your sword.” The hilt glinted over his shoulder.

“No.”

I swung low with my left and across with my right, advancing in a move Tillia had taught me weeks ago. “Fight me.”

“No.”

I went after him again, pushing him toward a corner. “Does your father know of all this? The lies? The pretending?”

“Yes.”

Ramsey’s visit to Treow when he’d asked for his son. He’d been looking for Ransom. Their encounter in Ravalli and Ramsey’s demand that Ransom go to Allesaria. He’d been calling home his heir.

“Was it his idea? The bride prize?” I spat, then lunged and struck for his thigh. The blade’s tip grazed the leather of his pants.

“Damn it, Odessa,” he hissed. “Stop this.”

“Answer me,” I yelled, advancing again.

But Ransom kept moving out of my reach, forcing me to chase him around the square.

“For once, tell me the fucking truth. Was this your father’s idea?”

“No,” he shouted. “It was mine. Your father plans to invade Turah. He’s desperate to find Allesaria. And I was always going to have to satisfy the Shield of Sparrows with a union to his daughter. We’ve known for years that he’s been training your sister as a spy. She’s almost as good with throwing knives as Banner. I needed a way to choose a different Sparrow.”

“The weaker daughter.” Just like Ramsey had said, their spies had told them I was the lesser daughter. The throwaway princess.

Gods, it hurt. My chest felt like it was being cleaved in two.

“You’re not weak,” Ransom said. “I knew that the moment you jumped off that cliff.”

But he’d turned my life upside down anyway.

“I hate you,” I sneered, swiping my blades left, then right. Hoping to draw blood. “You said this was for my freedom, but you don’t give a damn about my life. I’m just a pawn in your sick, twisted game. You used me to manipulate my father. And yours.”

His eyes flashed silver, his own rage bubbling to the surface. Good. Maybe now he’d actually fight. “You are not a pawn, Odessa. Not to me. You are the Sparrow. You are my wife. You are the future queen of Turah.”

“A queen people think is married to another man.” My arms were growing tired, but I didn’t stop attacking, pushing him around the square, moving us from one side to the other. “Who do your people believe is the prince?”

“It depends. Outside of Allesaria, very few people recognize me as the prince. They assume, if Zavier’s wearing the crown, that it’s him. We look enough alike, people believe the act.”

“So you lie to everyone. At least I’m not the only one.”

“What would you have me tell them?” He stood before me in a blink, eyes silver and expression hard. He grabbed my wrists, holding them at my sides.

Trapping me so I couldn’t fight.

I tried anyway, squirming and pulling and kicking him in the shin.

He didn’t move.

“The truth!” I shouted into his face. “You should have told them, you should have told me, the truth.”

“That the Turan prince, the heir to the throne, is dying? That he has the same infection as the monsters hunting them in their very towns? Is that what I should tell them? Send them into a panic less than a year before the migration?”

“At least it would be honest.” I stood on my toes, leaning closer. “You’re a coward and a liar.”

“Careful,” he growled.

“Or what?”

I dropped my blades, hands splaying wide, and let them fall to the dirt. They landed with a clang. Then I rolled my wrists, yanking my hands free from his grip. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Yes, I am a fucking asshole. And this asshole is as good as dead to these people. They need a leader, not a corpse. Zavier will become the crown prince.”

“Then why even tell me? Why not let me continue believing your lies like everyone else? Why tell me the truth?” I took a step away, my hands diving into my hair before they flopped at my sides.

My fury had deflated. My anger withering to dust. All that remained was the heartache.

Ransom was my husband. There was no need to keep fighting my own feelings. I no longer needed to convince myself that he hadn’t stolen my heart.

But if Zavier was to be the prince, if Ransom was so sure he was dying, what was the point? To have him and lose him? To break my heart into a thousand pieces when I had to go back to pretending?

Why give me hope only to rip it away?

If Ransom died, I’d never be free. I would be left to mourn his ghost for the rest of my days.

My eyes filled with tears as I stared at him. At the man who I’d believed, down to my bones, wouldn’t hurt me. I guess I was a fool.

“Why would you make me suffer losing you?” I swiped at the tears that tumbled down my cheeks. “Why not let me stay believing I was Zavier’s wife?”

Ransom closed the gap between us in a single stride, his hands framing my face, fingertips diving into my hair. His eyes changed as they searched mine.

Not silver. Not hazel. Not even emerald green.

They turned gold.

The same gold I saw each morning in my mirror.

“You are mine, Odessa.” It was a growl, more animal than human. And the shiver that cascaded down my spine might as well have been my own blades, cleaving me in two.

Mine.

It was everything I’d wanted to hear for weeks. It was the lie that shattered my heart.

I planted my hands flat on his chest and shoved with all my might.

A roar came from my throat, raw and ravaged.

I’d trusted him. I’d believed in him. I’d begged and pleaded and bared myself to the core for him.

“You should have told me.” I pushed him again and again and again, enough that he let go of my face. Enough that we made it back to where I’d dropped my blades.

I swept them from the ground and sliced them through the air, holding nothing back as I tried to sink them into his flesh. But every time the blades came close to contact, I felt the resistance in my own grip. In my will.

It wasn’t Ransom or his skill or his speed that kept me from cutting him to the bone.

It was me.

It was the blood that I’d signed onto that treaty.

A King cannot kill his Sparrow, and a Sparrow cannot kill her King, either directly or indirectly, without death befalling them both.

Had that been his plan, too? Either he knew or he’d guessed that Father had asked that I try to kill him. So he’d trapped me with Voster magic.

I released my knives, sending them flying to both sides of the training square. Then I launched myself at Ransom, fists pounding into a chest that might as well have been made of stone.

He lifted his arms, opening himself wide, and took every blow.

“You’re a coward.” Punch. “You’re a fake.” Punch. “And I hate you.”

“Now who’s the liar?”

I shoved at his chest, but he caught me in his arms, hauling me close.

No matter how hard I fought, how hard I squirmed, he held me close as angry tears and sad tears and embarrassed tears dropped down my face and into the dirt.

Why was I fighting? It was pointless. He was too strong, and I’d never win. And if I didn’t get out of his arms right this instant, I might never let him go.

“Release me.”

“No.” He dropped his forehead to my hair.

“I hate you.” There wasn’t even a bit of truth to those words. So I pushed at him one last time, knowing it was futile. And when his arms only banded tighter, I gave up the struggle to sag against his chest. “Why me?”

“I told you. You are mine.”

He sighed, loosening his arms.

It was my chance to get away, but my legs didn’t want to move.

Ransom cupped my jaw, his thumb catching the last tear. “I’m sorry, my queen.”

“We shouldn’t have to fight this hard, Ransom,” I whispered. Love shouldn’t come with this many lies.

“Why not? Isn’t this what we should be fighting for?” His thumb drifted to my mouth, tracing my lower lip.

My breath hitched.

Gone were the golden eyes. He stared at me with irises of the richest green. Of moss and earth and Ransom.

Irises that haunted my dreams.

I wasn’t sure who moved first. One moment, my heels were on the ground. The next, a hundred butterflies took flight in my belly, lifting me off my toes, reaching for him as he crushed his mouth to mine.

The world around us began to spin, fading into streaks of light and dark, until the colors blended together in a swirl of gray and white and black. Until the only color that remained was green.

It was like that first breath after jumping off a cliff, plunging into the ocean, and breaking free from the surface to fill my lungs.

It was like being remade.

Ransom’s lips moved over mine in a slow kiss. Teasing. Testing. Then another raw growl ripped from his throat, the vibration shooting to my core. His tongue licked the seam of my lips, asking, pleading, for me to drop my guard. To let him inside.

Another princess might have mustered one last fight. A decent princess would have stood her ground.

But I wasn’t a good princess.

I parted for him, gasping as he slanted his mouth over mine, stealing his way past my lips.

Reality vanished. Gods, how I’d wanted this. For weeks and weeks, I’d refused to let myself want this. To crave Ransom. I’d refused to believe this was ever a possibility.

What if this kiss was just another lie?

It was like having a bucket of cold water dumped on my head. I tore my mouth away, the realm slamming back into sharp focus.

The morning was too bright, too cheery, for the torment in my soul.

I stepped out of Ransom’s reach, glancing around the training center.

Empty.

Ransom dragged his thumb over his wet mouth. “Odessa.”

It hadn’t taken him long to master my name.

I left before he could wield it like that sword he carried.