Page 77 of Twin Crowns

When she returned to the stables, she was surprised to find Tor saddling Ansel’s spectacular snow stallion. Celeste wasn’t the only person Wren had been avoiding these past two days. She hadn’t seen the Gevrans since the disastrous dinner party. She had used her worry over Rathborne’s lingering illness and the wretched sickness it was causing her as excuses to wriggle out of seeing the prince.

Tor looked up at the sound of her approach. “I was wondering when we might cross paths again,” he said as if they were old friends.

A rush of giddiness coursed through Wren, but she was careful not to show it. “Have the midnight halls of Anadawn been lonely without me, soldier?”

Tor’s gaze lingered on hers. “I think Elske has been missing you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Wren leaned down toward Tor, enjoying the blush that colored his cheeks. She glanced around furtively. “Where is dear Prince Ansel this morning?”

“The prince is having his midmorning nap.” Tor was doing his best to ignore her sudden closeness, but Wren didn’t miss the way his throat bobbed or how tightly coiled the muscles in his shoulders had become. “I came to saddle the horses ahead of our ride.”

“Dutiful as ever,” murmured Wren.

Tor’s gaze darted suddenly to her left shoulder. “Don’t move, Your Highness,” he said in a low voice. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. It won’t harm you.”

Wren glanced sidelong, spotting the brown river spider on her shoulder. It must have dropped from a tree in the forest. “Pesky little thing,” she said, brushing it off.

Tor watched the spider scuttle away. “I’m pleased to see you’ve conquered your crippling fear of spiders.”

He looked up at her, and Wren realized too late she had made a misstep. She bit her lip. “Your bravery must be rubbing off on me.”

Tor frowned, and Wren sensed that old familiar suspicion creeping over him again. The warmth that had been stirring between them quickly evaporated. He was every bit a soldier again, his loyalty to Gevra flashing in the storm of his gaze. He pinned her with it. “I’m glad we ran into each other this morning, Your Highness. I’d like to talk to you about what happened at dinner the other night.”

“Oh, let’s not revisit that dreadful evening,” said Wren morosely.

“I’ve heard a rumor that the Kingsbreath may have been poisoned. I am interested to know your thoughts on the matter.” He took a step toward her, and in her panic, Wren hinged backward, yanking hard on the reins. Her horse reared up onto its hind legs, and she shrieked as she lost her balance. She twisted on to her side, her foot tangling in the stirrup as she clung to the saddle. “HELP!”

Tor reacted at once, grabbing the reins and clicking his tongue against his teeth. The horse settled, and as all four hooves hit theground, he laid a gentle hand against her muzzle. “Easy, girl,” he murmured, putting his nose against her own. “All is well.”

The mare went perfectly still. Wren managed to right herself, but she was trembling awfully. Perhaps she had never truly stopped. Her fate—and that of the witches—now hinged on a tenuous memory enchantment and the uncanny instincts of a Gevran soldier. She had the sudden sensation that the world was tilting and everything was slipping away from her—her careful plan, her longed-for coronation, the lives of her people. Banba had given her a destiny that was crushing her and then had left Wren alone to bear its weight.

Tor swept his gaze over her. “Are you all right? You’re shaking.”

The concern on his face was so raw, it caught Wren off guard. Despite everything, he had come to care about her, and the sudden sureness of it touched a part of her she had been hiding—the soft underside of her soul. The part that was terrified every moment of every day, that threaded nightmares through her dreams and buried screams in her throat. For a dangerous, fleeting moment, Wren thought she might break down.No, I’m not all right, she wanted to tell him.I’m all alone, and I’m frightened as hell.

But those words would damn her just as surely as her tears would. “People only cry for two reasons, little bird,” echoed Banba’s voice in her head.“Guilt and weakness.” Wren inhaled through her nose and blinked away the stinging in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice wavered. “Can you help me down? I’m afraid I might fall.”

Tor opened his arms for her without a beat of hesitation. Wren swung her leg over the saddle and slid off the horse.

He caught her easily, his arms strong and sure as they enveloped her. Wren wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him, her heart hammering so loudly, she swore he could hear it. He didn’t set her down. He held her to him, as if he could sense, in that moment, how badly she needed it.

Wren buried her face in his neck.

Tor turned his head toward hers, his nose brushing against the shell of her ear. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.

She shivered against him. He slid his strong hands along her back, searing his heat into her skin. For a moment, there was nothing but the ragged sound of their breaths heaving in perfect unison.

Wren pressed her forehead against his, waiting, wanting.

Tor’s gaze came to settle on her lips, fear and desire warring in those stormy eyes. His shoulders slackened as his lips parted, and then—

Footsteps pattered nearby.

He went rigid beneath her.

“It’s just the stablehand,” said Wren, not caring if it was or not. She was lost in lust, craving the press of his lips against hers, the release of all that fire surging through her veins. They were so close,so close....

But Tor’s demeanor had already shifted. He was a loyal Gevran soldier once more, and Wren was the forbidden princess.

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