Page 32 of Cursed Crowns

This wasn’t a courtyard. It was an arena. Built for beasts, not humans.

Wren tried to make a run for it, but the gate was too high. She reached into her cloak, fumbling for a fistful of sand. She cast it overherself, restoring her appearance with a quick enchantment. The soldiers erupted in shouts as her hair unfurled into honey-brown waves. Her teeth reset, her eyes blazed emerald green once more. She rolled her shoulders back, casting off Marino’s frock coat as she announced herself. “I am Queen Wren Greenrock of Eana, and I demand an audience with your king.”

“Witch!” yelled a voice behind her. “She’s trying to trick us!”

“Raise the hatch, Vidar!”

Wren readied her sand as a roaring snow tiger leaped from the open hatch and bounded toward her. Its maw was stained crimson, and she could tell from the bloodlust in its eyes that it was untamed.

The tiger reached Wren in three strides. She leaped from its path, but not fast enough. It slammed into her side, and she rolled over, inhaling dirt as she cast the sand over her shoulder. She choked an enchantment out just as the tiger pounced on her. It opened its mouth, revealing its long pink tongue and sharp teeth, but its roar died quickly in its throat. It slumped to the ground, and in the next breath was snoring.

Wren scrabbled out from under it. Her cloak had come undone in the scuffle and was trapped underneath the slumbering beast. She yanked her pouch free and grabbed another fistful of sand.

“I’m the queen of Eana!” she screamed as the hatch opened again. “Let me out!”

“Another trick!” yelled Marit. “Don’t listen to her, Vidar!”

Wren backed away from the hatch as more growls filled the air. There were three tigers this time and five wolves. Eight beasts, in total, with nowhere to run. How on earth could she spell all of them at once?

She racked her brains for another enchantment—something to buy her time—but there was nothing strong enough to cheat this death.Nothing to save her from the fate Celeste had promised her. Wren had risked it all for a violent demise inside a fighting yard, where no one she loved could hear her scream.

The first tiger pounced. Wren cast it to sleep. The next one knocked her off her feet. Her head hit the ground with a hard thud. Stars exploded in the sides of her vision as a mouth full of fangs appeared above her. Wren punched it, hissing as the skin on her hand broke open.

She made it back to her feet before the next attack. She tugged her cloak out from under the sleeping tiger and flung it over a snapping wolf to momentarily blind him. She made to run for the gate, but three more wolves stood in her way, ready to pounce. Behind her, the tigers circled ever closer. Not for the first time, Wren wished she were a tempest, blessed with the power of a storm that could blow them all away.

The high wall was packed with soldiers now, onlookers who had abandoned their posts to watch the spectacle of her death. Another wolf leaped at Wren and knocked her on her back. It stood on her chest, crushing her into the earth.

Wren covered her face and screamed one last time, sending Tor’s name up to the winter sky.

This time, Tor roared back. Wren heard his voice in the chaos of her panic and swore she had imagined it. But it came again—the addled shout of a man charging out from the palace at full speed. The gate was flung open, and the wolf thrown off her, Tor’s command ripping through the air like thunder. “HEEL!”

The beasts fell back, all at once.

A new face appeared above Wren. A jaw slack with shock, and eyes the color of storm clouds. Suddenly, the rest of the world melted away, the beasts and the soldiers and the frosted windows of Grinstad Palaceall paling to nothing as Wren stared up at Tor, thanking the stars for this moment. This reprieve.

Wren.Her name was silent on his lips, as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, couldn’t speak the truth of it out loud.

Wren took a shuddering breath—pain and relief mingling together at the sight of him, so real and so close again. Her own lips trembled as she reached for that whisper of familiarity that once existed between them. “Hello, stranger.”

Tor stared down at her in horror. When his words came, they were as sharp as glass. “What in freezing hell are you doing here?”

“You know why I’m here,” said Wren as she sat up.

His expression darkened, silver streaks cutting through the storm in his eyes. “I can’t take you to your grandmother, Wren.”

“Fine. Then take me to King Alarik.”

14

Rose

The following morning, Rose awoke feeling refreshed. Outside, the birds were singing, and the rising sun flooded the room with golden warmth. It made her feel hopeful about the tour, about Wren. With any luck, her sister would rejoin her soon, and they would conquer the far-flung reaches of their land together, charming everyone with their magic and their personability.

Rose bathed and dressed in a bright pink dress trimmed with ivory lace, pairing it with her favorite white shoes. She sat at the dresser then, munching on fresh bread with poached eggs and thin slivers of ham, while Agnes corralled her hair into a long braid wrought with a beautiful floral vine.

“You are the very picture of elegance, Rose,” said the maidservant as she gently settled the royal crown atop her head. A skill she had perfected over the last few weeks. “The people of Ellendale will fall over themselves just to shake your hand. I’m sure of it.”

Rose beamed at her reflection. “I confess I have a good feeling about today, Agnes.”

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