Page 47 of Twin Crowns

“Get off me!” shouted Wren as she tried to wriggle free.

“Give it here!” He fumbled about beneath her cloak. His eyes lit up at the feel of her drawstring pouch. “Ah.”

“No. Not that.” Wren tried to snatch it back.

He ripped it free, releasing his hold on her. She flicked her wrist, her dagger sliding into grip. Using a maneuver Shen had taught her, Wren slammed her foot down on her assailant’s toes, then yanked his collar and brought her knee to his nose. It shattered with a sickeningcrunch. He doubled over with a groan, dropping the pouch. Wren swiped it as it fell, swinging her other hand around in an arc. The man cried out as she plunged the dagger into his thigh.

She yanked the blade out and kicked him hard in the shoulder. He slumped to the ground with a pathetic whimper.

“Thief,” she spat as she wiped the blade on the edge of her cloak. “Next time it’s going in your heart.”

With her own heart clattering in her chest, she hastily restrung her pouch and hurried back toward the main street. New footsteps sounded in the dark, and a figure appeared before her. Wren didn’t even hesitate. She lunged from the shadows and slammed her elbow into his stomach. The man stumbled backward, and she seized her chance, ramming him against the wall and pressing her dagger to his throat. “Don’t move,” she hissed.

He lifted his chin. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll gut you.” Wren had to rise to her tiptoes to keep the dagger flush against his throat. Her head was still swimming. The frostfizz caused her to stumble. He moved, quick as lightning, spinning her around. He swiped the dagger, shoving her back against the wall and pinning her there with his arm.

The point of the blade appeared at her chin, while her hood was tugged away from her face. “Good evening, Your Highness.”

Wren blinked up into a familiar stormy gaze. “That’smyknife.”

Tor raised the dagger above his head. “Then take it.”

Wren looked up. The soldier was far too tall, and she was not about to humiliate herself by jumping for him. “Do you think you’re funny?”

His chuckle warmed the air between them.

Wren jerked her knee up, catching him between the legs. Tor groaned as he crumpled, and Wren yanked the dagger from his slackened grip. She spun on her heel, throwing a withering glance over her shoulder as she stalked out of the alleyway. “Because I don’t.”

The rush of the Silvertongue almost drowned out the determined thud of Tor’s footfall, but Wren knew he was following her. “If you try anything, I really will stab you,” she called behind her.

“I’mtryingto look out for you, Your Highness,” he called back. “What are you doing here all alone?”

Wren turned around, her cloak thrown open in a gust of river wind. “You know how I enjoy a midnight stroll.”

“In the capital of Eshlinn,” said Tor dryly. “In a dark alleyway. All by yourself.”

“I find I make for my own best company.”

“Your nightly movements are unusual, to say the least.”

“No more unusual than the fact that you seem acutely aware of them,” said Wren pointedly.

Tor raked his gaze over her as he drew nearer, as though he was searching for clues. Wren folded her arms, suddenly conscious of her appearance. She had renewed her enchantment earlier that evening, but she had learned the hard way that the potency of the petals couldn’t be trusted.

“What areyoudoing out here?” she said, in an attempt to seize control of the conversation. “I don’t see your wolf anywhere.”

“Sometimes I get restless, too,” said Tor with a shrug. “I was going for a walk when I spotted you through the window of the Howling Wolf. That’s hardly a place for a princess.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “Have a day off, soldier.” She made for the bridge.

Tor jogged after her. “Who trained you to fight like that?”

“The Anadawn squirrels.”

“The Kingsbreath said you had no training.” He drew level with her, and Wren was once again thrown off by the sheer size of him. The top of her head just about reached his shoulder. “He told King Alarik the closest you’ve come to a knife is when buttering your bread.”

Wren snorted. “Well, I suppose that makes Willem Rathborne a liar.”

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