Page 39 of Twin Crowns

Celeste was staring at her again. “You hate cinnamon.”

Oh, rotting carp.

There was an awkward stretch of silence. Wren spat the tart into her hands. “Oh no! Ew!Ew!Get it away from me!” She balled thehalf-chewed mouthful into a cloth and flung it across the kitchen, where it splattered against the wall.

Cam sighed and shook his head. “Well, that was unnecessary.”

Wren briefly considered crawling into the oven and bursting into flames until only the ashes of her regret remained. First the juggling mistake and now the bloody tart—she had been trained better than this. She wassupposedto be clever, careful.

She smoothed the strands around her face. “Sorry, Cam. It must have crept up on me. Sneaky cinnamon.” She summoned a sheepish smile. “Where were we? Oh yes! Handsome Gevrans.”

Cam swept his arms wide. “I was just about to formally announce that this kitchen is always open to burly Gevran soldiers.”

Celeste turned to Cam, her suspicion softening into wry amusement. “And what would Elliott say to such a generous invitation?”

“Celeste, darling, Elliott appreciates the finer things in life. That’s why he became a trader in the first place.”

“Speaking of fine things.” Celeste scooped a blob of frosting onto her finger and popped it into her mouth. “I hear Princess Anika is a beauty. They say she’s fierce as a snow tiger. And you know how I like a challenge.”

“Oh, you are bad.” Cam descended into uproarious laughter.

Wren joined in, feigning giddy excitement about her upcoming wedding, and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Celeste started to relax around her again, sharing tidbits of palace gossip and delighting in Wren’s reenactment of her disastrous date with Prince Ansel.

“Right,” said Cam, rubbing his hands. “I’d better get started on this special dinner menu. Three days isn’t very much time at all, but luckyfor you, I’m an artiste.” He glanced at Wren, his forehead creasing as he studied her. “And it will give me a chance to feed you up, too. I swear you’re wasting away on us, Rose.”

Celeste cocked her head. “I thought I was just imagining it.”

Wren hugged her arms around herself, trying to obscure the sinewy limbs the Ortha cliffs had given her. “It’s just nerves. With the wedding so close and everything.”

“Well, I have the perfect remedy for that.” Cam removed a tray of cookies from the oven. “Almond and butterscotch. Still warm. And on my honor, not ahintof cinnamon.”

“Well, thank the Great Protector for that.” Wren grinned around a cookie as she popped it into her mouth. Cam wrapped another one in a handkerchief and slipped it into Wren’s pocket. Somehow, it was even better than the tart. Back in Ortha, when the nights were cold and the sea wind was howling through the cracks in Banba’s creaky hut, she often wondered what she was missing out on at Anadawn.

On Wren’s ninth birthday, Thea had stayed up all night baking a flour cake and Banba had risen before the sun to fetch honey straight from the hives to drizzle over it. The three of them had walked down to the shore together, Banba dulling the wind so all the gulls could hear her sing “Happy Birthday” to her granddaughter. Wren had held the meager cake to her chest like a spell that might lift them up and away to better times. To better cake.

“I would give you all the luxuries in the world if I could, little bird.”Banba had cut a slice of cake and held it in her sand-stained fingers. There was sand in everything back in Ortha, even in their teeth.“But for now, let this cake be a promise. There are better days ahead, Wren.For you and for all of us.”

And now, here Wren was, within reach of the crown. She could taste those better days already—the flavor of an oven-warmed treat as it melted on her tongue and the slip of a silk nightgown against her skin. The warmth of a fire in her bedchamber, the bubbling caress of a morning bath. And friends like these, who would gladly chatter away the evening hours in the warm belly of a sugar-laced kitchen.

Rose’s life wasn’t so bad, after all.

And once Wren had removed Willem Rathborne from it, it would be even better.

After saying good night to Celeste, Wren silenced her footsteps with an enchantment and sneaked across the palace to see if the Kingsbreath had made another visit to the west tower. When she spied his guards hovering on either side of the door, she drew back into the shadows.Curious.Rathborne confined himself to his bedchamber all day but was keeping a strict nightly routine. Whatever was in that tower must be important to him. Wren made careful note of this discovery in case she might need it when the time came to kill him. If her dinner party failed, she could meet him in his precious tower with a sharp smile and her trusty dagger. Not quite a clean kill, but she would relish it all the same.

She took off before she was spotted by one of Rathborne’s guards. Oil portraits turned to silver suits of armor as she shuffled through the halls of Anadawn. She was so distracted by what Rathborne was doing in the west tower that she startled at the sudden thunder of footsteps up ahead.

Wren slipped into an alcove between two towering suits of armorand flattened herself against the wall. The footsteps grew louder, a shadow spilling across the stones like ink. She scrunched her eyes shut.

Don’t look to your right.

Don’t look to your right.

Don’t look to your—

“Princess Rose?”

Wren snapped her eyes open. “You,” she breathed.

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