Page 125 of Twin Crowns

Hissing seaweed.

Moments later, Shen was sitting in the cell opposite hers.

“That went well,” said Wren dryly. “Now what?”

He laid his forehead against the bars. “Now we wait for a miracle. Or our untimely death. Whichever comes first.”

44

Rose

Rose had always hated the Protector’s Vault. It reminded her of a gilded cage with its curved metal beams and dangling chandeliers. Today, the marble floor was so polished, she could see her reflection in it. Beams of colored light streamed in from the stained glass windows, each one depicting the Great Protector riding gallantly on his horse. Rose frowned up at his stern face as she fixed her veil over her own.

The harpist began to play, and a gentle melody filled the Vault.

Up on the altar, the Eternal Flame flickered majestically. Beside it, Percival Reeve, the keeper of the Eternal Flame and officiant of the ceremony, stood next to a stoically weeping Ansel.

Oh, Ansel.

“Neck straight, chin up,” hissed Chapman’s voice in her ear. He prodded her in the back. “Aaaaaandwalk.”

With a stiff spine, Rose began her journey down the aisle, arm in arm with Willem Rathborne. She focused on her breathing, calmed by the gentle strumming of the harp and the morning sunlight warming her bare shoulders.

She had promised herself she would not marry Ansel for anything,but now she knew there was little she would not do for her sister. She would save Wren, and then, somehow, together they would find a way to save the witches. Rose couldn’t give up hope, not yet. Otherwise she would fall to the floor and never get up again. She eyed a snow tiger dozing at the edge of a pew. Perhaps one of the Gevran beasts would even finish her off.

The Protector’s Vault was full of chancellors and courtiers, the noblemen and noblewomen of Eana all gathered together in one place. Names Rose knew only through the Kingsbreath and faces she hardly recognized. Willem Rathborne had controlled every single element of her life since the moment she’d been born. She had so few people truly on her side and had never even known it. She’d been such a fool.

King Alarik and Princess Anika were sitting in the front row. Alarik was dressed all in black, while Anika wore a dress as red as her hair, her fox curled up in her lap. Tor stood to the right of Ansel, his jaw so tight, it looked as if he was in physical pain.

That makes two of us.

Rose searched for her best friend in the crowd, but there was no sign of Celeste anywhere. Had she been caught on her way to find Wren? Celeste’s father, Hector Pegasi, sat in the middle of the Vault, smiling at Rose as she passed. She couldn’t return it, fear creeping up her throat until she thought she might get sick. One step and then another. Inch by inch, Rose moved toward her future, feeling more adrift than ever.

When they reached the altar, Rathborne placed her hands in Ansel’s, which were even clammier than her own. The prince’s gaze roamed along her veil. “I might burst from anticipation, my flower,” he whispered. “Even without a face, you are too lovely for words.”

Rathborne leaned toward Rose, and to all the guests it must have appeared as if he was giving her a fatherly kiss on the cheek.

“Behave yourself,” he hissed in her ear. Then he strode all the way back to the Vault’s entrance, where he stood like a sentinel, blocking the only way out.

The harpist lifted her fingers from the strings, and the music melted away.

Percival cleared his throat in a pointed squeak. “Today is a special day. We join not only two people but country and country. And we do so by the grace of the Great Protector.” He bowed his head, as did all the Eanan guests. The Gevrans did not bow. Nor did Rose. Instead she looked up. And as she did, she noticed a strange shadow flitting in the uppermost window.

The keeper moved behind the ceremonial plinth. “And so, we begin with the chant of the Eternal Flame. For no true marriage can be blessed until—”

He was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. And then the cry of Wren’s voice, clear and ringing as a bell. “I OBJECT!”

45

Wren

Wren leaped from the uppermost window of the Protector’s Vault and sailed through the air, grabbing hold of the chandelier with a bellowing cry.

Below her, the wedding guests tipped their heads back in alarm. Someone screamed. Chapman fainted. The guards—both Gevran and Eanan—grasped the hilts of their swords while King Alarik blinked rapidly as though he were imagining this second princess bride dangling from the ceiling like a white ribbon. Perhaps wearing a wedding dress made her seem a tad indulgent, but Wren had needed to look exactly like Rose to make it to the Vault without incident. Happily, the gown also added a certain dramatic flair to her objection.

She swung her body back and forth, using the force of her momentum to propel her toward the altar. She released the chandelier, the folds of her dress rippling around her as she landed in a crouch, right in the center aisle.

There was a collective gasp, followed by a ripple of shocked silence as Wren rolled to her feet and smoothed her skirts. The wedding dress was nowhere near as fine as Rose’s beaded gown, but then it was abackup dress. Wren only had seconds to wriggle into it after Celeste had shown up at the eleventh hour, having used her father’s good name to gain entrance to the dungeons, where she’d promptly knocked out the dungeon master with a sconce and sprung Wren and Shen from the dungeons.

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