Page 48 of Twin Crowns

“It makes one of you a liar.”

“Believe what you want.” They had reached the bridge. In the distance, Anadawn Palace loomed like a specter in the moonlight.

Tor caught her arm, pulling her back. “Tell me something true, Princess.”

Wren stared at his fingers on her elbow and felt a dangerous shiver ripple down her spine. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He released her at once. “I’m just trying to understand you,” he said, raising his hands. “To trust you.”

Wren cut her eyes at him.“Why?”

“Because I’m charged with the protection of Prince Ansel. I cannot—will not—fail in that.” He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure whether to give voice to his thoughts. “There’s somethingstrangeabout you, Your Highness. Something I can’t put my finger on....”

Wren read the storm roiling in his eyes—caution and curiosity, and something she couldn’t place. It felt threatening, like a rogue wind that might sweep her up if she strayed too close.

“Is it my dazzling wit?”

His jaw tightened. “Prince Ansel might be easily wooed by your beauty, but I will need a little more convincing about your character.”

Wren raised her eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware I was on trial, but I’m pleased to hear you like what you see at least.”

Tor held her gaze. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

Oh, you have no idea.

She turned back to the river to hide her smirk, watching the currents leap over each other. “Do you like stories, soldier?”

Tor hesitated, but he didn’t move away. “Sometimes.”

Wren thought of something true and offered it to him. “Two thousand years ago, when the witch queen Mirella ruled Eana, her moods were famous throughout the land. Her consort was as handsome as he was vain, but he was charming, too. The courtiers called him the Silvertongue because of how quickly he could talk the maids into bed.”

Beside her, the soldier was silent. Listening.

“When the Silvertongue fell in love with a lowly baker from the town of Eshlinn, he changed his philandering ways. He decided to leave the queen and his palace conquests for good.” Wren leaned over the river, straining for her reflection. “But Queen Mirella was so enraged,she used her tears to cut the land in two and made a rushing river to separate him from his lover forever.”

“Witches are not that powerful,” said Tor.

“Not anymore,” said Wren mildly. “But this was long ago. Back before the Protector came to Eana and slayed Ortha Starcrest. When the land was bright and new, and it belonged to the witches.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve never heard of such magic.”

“I’m more than happy to educate you,” said Wren.

“What happened afterward?” he said with reluctant curiosity. “I suppose the Silvertongue built this bridge to get to his lover?”

“No.” Wren turned from the water. “The lovestruck fool drowned trying to swim across it. And Queen Mirella watched from her tower and laughed.”

Tor looked perturbed. “Such a cruel ending.”

“Revenge is a cruel business, Tor. And for that matter, so is love.” Wren took off again, swinging her arms as she crossed the bridge. “And that’s the truest thing I can think to tell you.”

The soldier stalked after her. “When you talk of love with Prince Ansel, you make it sound as if you believe in it. But you speak of it now as if it’s some kind of curse.”

“Sometimes lovecanbe a curse,” said Wren. “It can be a prison. Or a death sentence.”

“Careful,” warned Banba’s voice in her head. Through the haze of frostfizz, Wren remembered who she was supposed to be: Rose. She fluttered her lashes at Tor over her shoulder. “Andsometimes, love—especially the royal kind—can be a shooting star that blazes into your palace at just theright moment and fills your life with such brightness, you know you’llneverbe sad or lonely or without a rousing board game again.”

A dent appeared between his eyebrows.

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