Page 122 of Cursed Crowns

“I’ve served Gevra since I was twelve years old,” Tor went on. “I’ve sustained more scratches and broken bones from beasts than you can imagine. Tamed the worst of them. Fought alongside them. For my king and my country. I was ready to die for them.”

Wren listened to the passion in his voice and secretly wished that all that loyalty—blood-born and bone-deep—belonged to her.

“I’ve never asked the crown for anything. Not from Alarik, as a king. Or as the man who was once my closest friend. Until today.” He inhaled deeply. The storm in his gaze had settled, and behind it, there shone such pure and bold affection that Wren’s breath caught in her throat. “I asked him to let you go, Wren. To let your grandmother go.”

“Oh, Tor,” said Wren quietly. Perhaps she had some of that loyalty after all.

“I’m sorry I can’t do better than that,” he went on. “That all I can offer you is his consideration. But time is better than a noose, Wren. And who knows? Maybe I’ll make it back before—”

Wren took his hand in hers, softly tracing the callouses as she laid it against her chest. “It’s enough. It’smorethan enough. Thank you.”

He dipped his head and she rose to her tiptoes, touching her forehead against his. For a moment, the memory of her and Alarik huddling together intruded upon her. “I’m sorry for everything that got us here. You were right to be angry at me. I was a fool to toy with death.”

Tor raised his chin, their noses almost brushing. “Forgive yourself.”

“Only if you promise to do the same,” she whispered. “I know you still punish yourself for Ansel’s death.”

He huffed a laugh. “Forgiveness is a long road, Wren.”

“Perhaps we’ll meet at the end of it someday. And finish what we started.”

In another place. Another lifetime, perhaps.

Tor pulled his arms around her and pressed a kiss into the crown of her head. Wren breathed him in, relishing the scent of alpine and adventure that made her heart sing.

And then, all too soon, Tor was gone, and she was left staring at the door, feeling like the last candle flame inside her had been snuffed out and the darkness was creeping in. Outside, a cold wind blew, making her feel more alone than ever.

Sometime later, Wren was summoned to the throne room. This time, Alarik sent two soldiers to escort her. Nerves pooled in her throat as she descended the staircase in the atrium. It looked strangely empty without the glass piano. The carpets were damp and the windows had been boarded up, but most of the snow had been shoveled away and, outside, the soldiers had managed to plow a road all the way down to the black gates.

The guards deposited Wren outside the doors to the throne room, leaving her to enter alone. She lingered in the doorway of the huge hollow room.

“Come now, it’s not like you to be so timid.” Alarik’s voice echoed down the drafty chamber. He was sitting on his throne, wearing an embroidered blue frock coat with silver buttons to match his magnificent silver-branch crown. It seemed to wink at Wren as she approached.

She searched the yawning shadows as she went, scouring the spacebehind each towering pillar, but there were no soldiers in here. No beasts. Not even Borvil. Only the king, and to his left, perched on the arm of his throne, his sister, Anika, wearing a beautiful green-velvet gown.

“What’s going on?” said Wren warily. “Is this some kind of trick?”

At close range, Alarik looked just as exhausted as Tor had been, though his hair was as impeccable as ever.

“No tricks.” He tapped the crown on his head. “Official Gevran business.”

“Alarik and I have discussed you at length”—Anika took over, the train of her dress trailing after her as she came down the dais toward Wren—“including what you did to our brother.” A meaningful pause. “What you did for our mother.” Her face softened fractionally. “And I’ll admit I even discussed you with Celeste, who is a darling, though not as subtle as she might think.” Anika tossed her long crimson hair, looking down at Wren with those laser-bright eyes. “And for my part, I no longer desire your imminent death.”

Wren raised her brows. “Well, that feels like an improvement...”

“A marginal one,” said Anika pointedly.

“I’ll take it.”

“I suppose you know a certain soldier came to speak on your behalf this morning,” said Alarik from up on the dais. “I suspect it’s the same one you like to follow down dark hallways.”

Wren’s cheeks burned.

Anika smirked. “You wily witch. How you got Captain Iversen to fall in love with you, I will never know.”

“Must be all that humanity,” said Alarik mildly. “Shame you can’t spare some for me.”

Wren fought the urge to bite back. “Get to the point.”

---