Page 28 of Twin Crowns

“I suppose I have been lonely, too,” she said, just as she imagined Rose would say it.

“Which is precisely why we should fill our lives with children at the earliest opportunity!”

A scream built in Wren’s throat. She played it off as a high-pitched laugh. “What a novel idea!”

Ansel’s face lit up. “I wonder how many we’ll have, my flower? Six feels like a nice round number,” he went on with the confidence of a man who wouldn’t have to bear them. “We can have our own little Gevran army.” He looked over his shoulder. “What do you think, Tor? You could train them up!”

Tor chuckled good-naturedly. “I look forward to it, Your Highness.”

“And perhaps Elske can be their nanny,” said Wren.

Ansel’s face turned serious. “Don’t be absurd, my darling. Elske is a wolf.”

Tor smiled at his boots. At least one of them got the joke.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves with such talk,” said Wren deftly. “We still have our wedding to discuss.”

Ansel clapped his hands, leaping to the topic with eagerness. “It’s thrilling to think that in just three short weeks, you will be my wife.”

Three. Short. Weeks.

The words exploded like cannon-fire in Wren’s head. Her stomach swooped, and for a heartbeat, she thought she was going to get sick.

She clawed back her composure, her left eye twitching just a little.“It seems I’ll have a husband in time for my birthday.”

“And a great many jewels.” Ansel beamed at her. “I intend to shower my new bride with the finest Gevran treasures.”

So Rose is to be married before she turns eighteen. She must wear a Gevran veil before an Eanan crown. But why would Rathborne push Rose into the arms of Gevra mere days before her coronation and risk losing control over her and the kingdom? It didn’t make any sense.... Which made Wren even more uneasy.

“I only wish my father were still here to see us married.” Ansel pressed his palm against the window, a touch of sadness creeping into his voice. “He always said a good man is made great by the wonder of love.”

Wren fetched her teacup and perched on the armchair nearest the fireplace, where her parents’ portrait hung. “What a beautiful sentiment. I’m sorry he’s no longer with us.”

Ansel turned from the window. “It’s hard to believe it’s been seven years since we lost our great king. We haven’t had a hailstorm that brutal since and, thankfully, nothing strong enough to sink another ship.” A shudder passed through him, and Wren felt a sudden rush of empathy.

“What a tragedy,” she murmured.

His eyes misted. “It brought the country to its knees.”

“Your brother, too?”

“Not Alarik,” he said distantly. “My brother has always been ready to wear the crown.”

“How fortunate for Gevra.” Wren glanced at Tor to find him watching her. As if he wastryingto make her squirm. “What was he like? Your father?”

“The best I could have asked for.” Ansel lit up with the memory of his father. Wren let the prince talk, her eyes flitting to the portrait of her own parents. Her mother looked so young—just a few years older than Wren was now. Her smile was wide, her emerald eyes the exact shade of her gown. They were softened by love. Beside her, King Keir looked regal in his golden crown, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other resting on Lillith’s burgeoning bump. His eyes were soft, too.

Too soft.

“A soft ruler is a dead ruler,” echoed Banba’s voice in her head.“You will not make the same mistake.”

No, thought Wren as she tore her gaze from her parents’ portrait.I will never fall in love.

What a foolish way to throw away your life.

“... my dear mother refuses to leave Grinstad Palace ever since Father died. And she hasn’t played a single note in all those years. The truth is, I miss the music. What do you say, Rose?”

Wren blinked.

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