Villainess is being pampered by her beast husbands-Chapter 403 --

The sparrow had been too stunned by the stupidity to even be properly afraid, for a moment. Then he’d remembered the beatings, the humiliation, the way the vultures laughed at the small, useless bird in their cage, and fear had come back twice as strong.

He’d planned to escape. He had no wish to die.

He remembered the day it changed, claw tips digging into the stone now as he thought of it.

The fight between vultures. The prince showing off. The way the air had felt wrong, charged.

And then ’her’.

The strange female.

He still remembered the first time he saw Kaya—how she’d stood there, looking at the vulture prince. There had been hatred in her eyes, yes, but not the clean kind you aim at an enemy. It was messier. Like she hated him for existing in her path. For being one more thing she had to deal with.

He remembered the booming sound. The prince falling. The flash of movement. For a heartbeat the world had tilted and he’d been sure he was going to die under those claws as the body dropped.

Somehow, he hadn’t.

The vultures had come, taken their prince’s corpse away. If he hadn’t hidden in the bushes, they’d have grabbed him too. He’d held his breath until his chest burned, shaking, waiting for talons that never came.

He’d thought that was the end.

Then she found him.

Same day. Same place. That same strange female. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Everyone knew what happened after that. How he’d ended up trailing after her. How their messes tangled together.

The salt lake? Another tribe had it now. He barely remembered the exact path back. It was almost funny how little it mattered.

And then that idiotic woman had gone and found stray beastmen like him and the others, dragged them under one roof, and called it a tribe.

The sparrow still didn’t know whether to laugh or scream when he thought about it. A single woman with no beast form, no backing, no real power in this world, yet trying to help everyone.

The sparrow would never say it the way Veer or the others might, with big words about falling for Kaya or loving her.

He cared about her, yes. But love? He didn’t know. Couldn’t name it.

He’d seen her eyes too many times.

Most days they were cold. Flat. Like nothing in this world interested her enough to light them up. She looked at people, at tribes, at danger, like everything was just another problem to step over.

But when they were hurt, it changed.

He remembered, too clearly, the way she’d looked at him once when he’d gone down bad—blood in his feathers, breath shallow. Her eyes had gone wide and sharp, like the whole world was falling apart around his small body. No distance. No boredom. Just raw, focused fear.

He remembered her picking him up with both hands, pressing him against her chest, then running—really running—through streets and alleys to get him to a healer. She’d yelled, bargained, threatened, done anything to keep him from slipping. That woman with "no interest in anyone" had looked at him like he mattered more than her pride.

Sometimes he didn’t understand her at all.

Didn’t understand why his own chest ached when he thought of her crying, or the way something warm and uncomfortable twisted in him when she smiled his way. It was messy. Confusing.

But one thing was clear.

This so‑called cousin? This born jinx?

He could die anywhere he wanted. In some ditch, on some road, under some other sky. The sparrow wasn’t going to let him drag Kaya down with him. Right or wrong, family or not, he’d put himself between that jinx and her as many times as it took.

No way was he letting bad luck sit on her shoulder without a fight.

.

.

.

Outside, somewhere deeper in the vulture territory, another ruckus started.

CRASH.

The ceramic bowl hit the rock wall so hard it burst like an egg, shards and leftover soup sliding down in slow streaks. The sound echoed through the chamber, but it was Veer’s father’s voice that really shook the dust from the ceiling.

"What," he roared, feathers puffing around his neck, "did you just say to me?"

No one answered.

A line of vulture warriors stood below the raised stone seat, heads bowed, wings tight to their sides. Some of them had scars from battles, some had flown in storms that could snap lesser birds in half—but right now, not one of them dared to look up.

"How," Veer’s father ground out, each word clipped and hot, "is that woman in this tribe?"

Silence pressed tighter.

His gaze cut across them, sharp and furious, before stabbing into one unlucky warrior at the front.

"And my son," he hissed. "How did he use so much money? Huh?" His beak curled in disgust. "You said he used it on ’that’ female. How dare she touch my son’s money?"

This old man could watch Veer scorch half the mountain and only sigh that "boys will be boys." He could pretend not to notice when Veer gambled with the tribe’s future, dragged them close to debt and chains, then laugh it off because it was "just training." As long as it was Veer burning things for Veer, everything was somehow fine.

But Veer emptying his pockets, ripping his wings to shreds, almost dying—for a human woman?

That was a crime.

"I told you to protect him!" he snapped, teeth clenched. "What did you do?"

One warrior risked it.

"My lord," he started, voice low, "we followed the tribe leader—"

"Shut up!"

The shout cracked the air like a breaking bone.

Veer’s father stepped forward, claws scraping stone, eyes blazing. "Don’t you ’dare’ throw his title at me," he snarled. "I told you to protect him. He is just a child. And you still follow all his stupid ideas?"

Silence dropped again, heavy.

The warriors bit back what they wanted to say.