Meet Park Sparrow, a feisty and reckless outcast who's just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. Except Park is the Princess of Cimeria, a potential heir to one of the last monarchies in the world. All her life, Park has known nothing but po...
dedicated to @michaelaprobably ; my jaw genuinely dropped when i saw this cover, i cannot believe such talented people read this story
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Before Darkwood could jump up and down with undying gratitude (the only acceptable response when the girl you tried to kill offered you a royal pardon, mind you), a voice commanded: "Step away from the princess."
Four sets of rifles steadied their aim at Darkwood. Directly against the order, Darkwood shrunk behind me, as though my shorter height would've been a sufficient shield from any stray bullets.
"And here I thought," Nathaniel's voice called out from behind the agents, "you could finally stay out of trouble for once."
He strode through the barricade of men. A sharp wave of his hand had the agents lowering their guns. Two of the agents stayed in flank. The others broke off to help around the cruise ship. Stretchers were brought on board, laid besides the bodies of the kidnappers that were now wrapped in black zip-up bags. Replacing their spots on the floors were white chalk outlines of their bodies.
Several agents were attending to Jasper. They worked at untying his knots, first by manually tugging at the thick rope cuffing his wrists. When that didn't work, a pocketknife was brought out to saw through the bindings.
Nathaniel stopped short a few feet before us, looking frustratingly happy with himself. Like he had won a bet.
"So, you run away from your safe house, turn yourself over to your cousin's kidnappers, and then, what, befriend one of them? Why is Alec Darkwood standing behind you?"
"How do you know my name?" Darkwood piped up, still hunched behind me.
Nathaniel's answer came in a silent, yet strikingly judgmental once-over of Darkwood's figure. I told you guys, it was the leather jacket. And, of course, you know, those dead-people eyes.
"Would you believe me if I said I picked him up on the way?" I asked.
"No." A pair of silver handcuffs flashed underneath the spotlight of the helicopters circling overhead. Within seconds, Nathaniel was pinning Darkwood's arms behind his back, securing the cuffs around his wrists with a loud click! A resigned sigh escaped Darkwood, who couldn't look any less unbothered by his restraints.
"I have a suspect in custody -- male, approximately five feet, eleven inches, and a hundred and--"
"Actually--" Darkwood interrupted, "I'm 6'2"."
Nathaniel's eyes flashed. "Do you understand the word 'approximately?'"
"Yes, but I can't have you stuffing me into a tiny little squad car. These gazelle legs get claustrophobic."
A beat of silence passed while Nathaniel's radio crackled with static. Then, Nathaniel said into the speaker, "Please have a squad car ready for transfer. No need for a holding truck."
