Page 15 of Twin Crowns

“Then I’d caution you to steer clear of the Ganyeve. Your face would melt right off,” said Wren absently.

He raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t you say you’d never been outside the capital?”

“Or so Ihear,” she added hastily. “And if it helps, today is a lot hotter than I was expecting it to be.” She glanced at Tor, then laughed awkwardly. “Anyway. What do we have here?”

In the center of the table sat an ornate box full of small wooden pieces. Ansel inclined his chin toward it. “I thought instead of embarrassing myself at chess again today, you might like to have a go at a puzzle instead? It is such sweet destiny that we both enjoy the rush of a good board game.”

“Ah, mild, orderly fun,” said Wren as she reached for her teacup. “My favorite.”

“Strawberry tart?” offered Ansel, plucking one for himself.

She shook her head as she sipped, trying to figure out why on earth her sister had decided to court a Gevran prince of all people.

“Keeping yourself nice and trim, I see,” said Ansel approvingly.

Well, that certainly wouldn’t do. Prince or no prince, he had no right commenting on how she ate. Wren shot her hand out and shoved an entire tart into her mouth. “SHANGED SHMY MINDSH,” she said, crumbs flying from her lips. “MMM, DELSHSSS!”

The prince’s bright blue eyes went wide.

Wren chewed expressively while she fished a puzzle piece from the box and set it down between them. A blur of white.

“Then again, a woman who satisfies her appetites can be just as alluring.” Ansel took a puzzle piece out and connected it to Wren’s. “Ah!What an auspicious start.”

Wren swallowed, thickly, and wiped a bit of custard off her mouth. “I’dhateto put you off.”

“Impossible.” Ansel placed a corner piece of puzzle. A smudge of gray. Wren picked through the wooden box, looking for another. How was this alreadyso boring?

“This is the most fun I’ve had in months,” said the prince with a sheepish smile. Wren could admit he had nice teeth, even if they were wincingly bright. “I’m not used to such charming company. With each passing day, I grow ever more thankful to the Kingsbreath for opening his palace to me.”

“I think you meanmypalace.” Wren pressed two gray blobs together, imagining the sweet cracking of Willem Rathborne’s neck as they snapped into place. What business could he possibly have with the bloodthirsty nation of Gevra?

“Yes, well, he has certainly taken great care of it. Especially after what happened to your poor parents...” Ansel rubbed the back of his neck, sorrow pooling in his eyes. “What awful circumstances. To be murdered in the very place they called home, and then all that horrid war business that came afterward. You must feel most grateful to the Kingsbreath for taking you in.”

Wren was careful to control her face. “Bank your temper, little bird,” cautioned Banba’s voice in her head.“Even if it burns you alive.”

Wren’s parents’ story was as tragic as it was romantic, the news of their untimely deaths reverberating in every far-off corner of Eana. Falling in love with the king should have made Wren’s mother fear for her life, but the bloodshed of the Protector’s War was long pastthen—and by all accounts, Wren’s father did not bear the same resentment toward the witches as his ancestors had. After all, how else could he have fallen in love with one? Banba said it was hope that made Lillith Greenrock open her heart to a Valhart: the possibility of a kingdom finally united by a marriage between two lineages long at war. The dream of a child who would be a descendant of both the Protector and the witches—and one day, a bringer of peace.

But then Lillith was murdered moments after giving birth, and all that hope died with her. King Keir was found poisoned in his bedchamber soon after. Willem Rathborne swore it was a jealous palace witch who did it—a midwife who couldn’t stand the thought of one of her own marrying a Valhart—a claim that was bolstered by several witnesses who saw her fleeing across the Silvertongue River not long after.

Rathborne’s story contained a clever half-truth. The midwife was indeed a healer witch. And she fled swiftly, across the Silvertongue, but not from guilt. For life. The palace guards who saw her disappear didn’t notice the mewling bundle wrapped up in her arms.

They spoke only of the one left behind.

The tale of poor orphaned Princess Rose and her slain parents was all the Kingsbreath needed to usher in Lillith’s War, a bloody, futile battle designed to finish what the Protector had started a thousand years ago. To finally stamp out the last of the witches in Eana. Almost all of them—enchanters and healers, tempests and warriors, and even the seers—were decimated within weeks of the Kingsbreath’s order. The few fortunate survivors escaped to a secret windswept coastal settlement in the west, which they named Ortha, after the last reigning witch queen.

And for all the years since, nobody—not Willem Rathborne norRose herself—knew of the other twin. The girl who had inherited her mother’s craft. The girl who had finally returned to reclaim her kingdom for the witches.

There was so much more at stake than pride, but Wren couldn’t help herself. “Willem was merely my father’s adviser.”Snap!Another puzzle piece. “So really it wasIwho tookhimin.”

Ansel frowned. “But you were just a baby.”

“Which makes it even more impressive, no?” Wren stole another glance at Tor. His gaze was on the distant trees, but she could tell by his furrowed brow that he was eavesdropping. She knitted her hands under her chin. “But let’s not talk of brutally murdered parents. We’ll spoil our afternoon.”

A blush rose in Ansel’s cheeks. “I’m afraid I’ve broached a topic I shouldn’t have, my flower. Please forgive me.”

He reached across the table, and Wren, masquerading as Rose, had no choice but to take his hand. Its clamminess betrayed his nerves, but she pretended not to notice. “All is forgiven.” She fished another three pieces from the box and slotted them into place....Snap! Snap! Snap!The grays were bleeding into white.

“I should have known you’d be a champion of puzzles, too,” said Ansel admiringly. “I can scarcely keep up with you.”

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