Page 92 of Twin Crowns

He threw her a withering glance.

“Oh, cheer up,” she said brightly. “Maybe the beasts can dance.”

Privately, Wren was glad of the added distraction. The less attention everyone—especially Celeste—paid her tonight, the better. And if it took the menacing growl of a wolf or the thundering roar of a snow tiger to allow her to slip away unnoticed, then so be it.

The Gevran soldiers didn’t seem to notice the alarm they were causing or perhaps they simply didn’t care. They were stern faced as they moved purposefully through the mingling crowds, ignoring the jaunty music and the passing platters of food. They posted themselves along the walls, each with one hand on the head of their beast, the other resting on the glittering hilt of their sword.

When Tor entered the ballroom, his gaze found Wren’s almost immediately. He swept it over her dress, his jaw tightening. For a fleeting moment, he looked ravenous. Wren felt a blush rise up from her toes and settle in her cheeks. Suddenly, she was ravenous, too.

“Music,” muttered Chapman, spinning on his heel. “Protector save us! Why has the bloody music stopped?” He took off toward the minstrels, but Wren was too busy staring at the Gevran soldier to care. Tor looked away first, and she felt the absence of his gaze as if the sun itself had turned its back on her. She ran her fingers through her hair. “I need a drink,” she murmured.

“A fine idea.” Celeste appeared at her side, holding two goblets offrostfizz. “Chapman could probably do with a couple of these, too. As if I’m going to spend tonight with some random Gevran gossips instead of my best friend.”

Wren smiled into her goblet, careful not to make eye contact this time. She downed her drink in one go, silently encouraging Celeste to do the same. She was about to reach for a second goblet on a passing tray when the ballroom doors swung open once more.

Anika Felsing, the crown princess of Gevra, waltzed into the room, with all the feline grace of a snow leopard. Celeste’s mouth fell open. “Rose, we have been blessed by the Great Protector tonight.”

Anika wore a plunging silver gown that looked as if it had been sewn from the stars themselves. It clung tightly to her generous curves and, with her crimson hair pulled away from her face in decadent waves, she caught the eye of everyone in the room. Around her shoulders, she wore a white stole, and in her arms, a tiny snow fox was slumbering like a baby.

Wren whistled under her breath. “What an outfit.”

“What anentrance,” murmured Celeste, who was starry-eyed. For once, it had nothing to do with Wren’s enchantment.

Like her brother Ansel’s, Anika’s nose was dainty and her eyes were pale blue. They were rimmed in long dark lashes that made her roving gaze all the more noticeable. She wrinkled her nose as she swept through the room as though the full spectacle of Eana’s hospitality had fallen drastically short of her expectations, and Wren was seized by a sudden unexpected defensiveness on behalf of this place she barely knew.

“I don’t think I like her,” she said.

“You don’tknowher yet.” Celeste drifted toward the Gevran princess, like a moth drawn to a flame.

Wren grabbed her arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Being welcoming.” Celeste grinned. “Isn’t that the point of this evening?” She waggled her fingers at something over Wren’s shoulder. “Your fiancé’s waving at you. You should go and see to that. I think he might also be drooling.”

Wren summoned the dregs of a smile, but when she turned to look for Ansel, she found herself caught in the snare of King Alarik’s gaze.

Hissing seaweed.

It was like being caught in a blizzard.

The king of Gevra stalked into the ballroom like a proud stag, and as if alerted by a frigid wind, every single person turned to look at him. The minstrels slowed their music as he strolled purposefully toward Wren. He was taller at close range, like a statue cut from pristine marble. His perfectly coiffed hair shone golden in the flickering light, the lightning streak in the middle the same color as his fine black coat.

Wren sensed a challenge in his pale blue eyes and decided she would meet it head-on.

The Gevran king might be used to inspiring fear in people, but she was no coward. She had been raised by Banba Greenrock, after all, trained on the unforgiving cliffs of Ortha and sung to sleep by howling winds and raging seas. Yes, Alarik was a king, but he was still only a man.

She offered him her most ravishing smile as she dipped into a curtsy. “Your Majesty, it’s an honor to host you and your countrymen here at Anadawn. You are most welcome.”

“The honor is all mine, Princess Rose,” purred the Gevran king. He bowed low, revealing the smaller figure of Prince Ansel, who was hovering awkwardly behind him. Ansel waved enthusiastically at Wrenbefore being eclipsed once more. “My little brother is a lucky man indeed.”

Wren tried not to balk as a passing snow tiger brushed its tail against her skirts. “I am cheered to see your beasts have settled in well.”

Alarik flashed his teeth. “You needn’t be frightened of them. We’ll keep them on their chains tonight.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” said Wren. “In fact, they fascinate me.”

His eyebrows rose. “Do you have many beasts here in Eana?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

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