Page 8 of Cursed Crowns

“That was probably just a way to get our attention,” said Rose.

“Tell that to our olive tree.”

Chapman returned shortly with Edgar Barron and Captain Davers. The once-lauded governor of Eshlinn stalked into the room with infuriating ease, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud. He was taller than Rose had expected, lithe and narrow-shouldered, with coiffed brown hair, pale skin, and deep blue eyes that flitted back and forth between the twins.

“Majesties,” he said with no small amount of derision, “you have clicked your fingers, and here I am.” He flashed a smile that contained far too many small, square teeth. “Like magic. No?”

Of course, it had not been quite so simple to summon Barron to the palace. Captain Davers and his soldiers had spent two days searching for him, and another half-day convincing him to sit down with the new queens, on the assurance that they would not have him arrested for his part—though it could not be proven—in the attack on the palace.

Rose gestured to the armchair opposite her. “Please, sit.”

Barron fanned the end of his long black frock coat as he did so. With reluctant appreciation, Rose noted its fine tailoring, and the crisp white shirt he wore underneath it. Barron possessed a surprising elegance. He was certainly less of a brute than Rose was expecting. He was refined, well dressed, and soft-spoken, which of course made him all the more dangerous.

He looked between them. “Which of you is the healer witch?”

“Why?” said Wren. “Are you planning an assault?”

Barron curled his lip. “I have heard she is the more reasonable of the two.”

Rose’s gaze darted to Captain Davers, who was standing stone-faced by the window. Shen had moved to the pianoforte and was making noattempt to conceal his interest in their conversation.

“We will be entirely reasonable today, so long as you are reasonable in return,” said Rose. She gestured to a pot of peppermint tea and the plate of macarons Cam had prepared just that morning. “May we offer you some tea? A macaron, perhaps?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Coward,” muttered Wren.

Rose shot her a warning glance. It did not go unnoticed by Barron. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other. His leather boots were impeccable, their gold buckles gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Here was a man who did not get himself dirty, thought Rose. No wonder they did not spy him at the gates three days ago.

“Sir Barron,” she began, as politely as she could. “The recent stirrings in Eshlinn are most troubling to my sister and me. We have reason to believe thatyouare the orchestrator of this discontent.”

“I’m afraid you mistake my intent.” Barron plucked a macaron from the table and twisted the top. “For many years, I was in the business of peacekeeping. It was my solemn duty to keep watch over Eshlinn for any...untowardactivity.”

“You mean witchcraft,” said Wren.

“And now, well... what could be more untoward than the present circumstance?” he went on, peeling the macaron apart with his fingers. “The Kingsbreath himself has been murdered, our prosperous kingdom torn at the seams, its throne divided between two witches.”

“Eana is still prosperous,” said Wren. “Despiteyourattempts to divide it.”

“Eana is suffering.” Barron crushed one half of the macaron between his fingers, letting the bright green dust fall and stain the carpet. “Thelaws of our Great Protector have been stripped away, his land given over to the witches and their sordid ways. Tell me, Majesties, how can a kingdom respect that which it fears?”

“We are nothing to fear,” said Rose, straining to keep her temper.

Barron crushed the other half of the macaron. “That is not for you to decide.”

“Stop wasting our macarons,” said Wren. “Or I’ll make you lick that carpet clean.”

Barron dusted his hands, then wiped them on a pristine velvet cushion. “I trust you have called me here for a reason.”

Rose bristled at his tone. “My sister and I want you to cease spreading your hateful lies and turning our own people against us. We demand a fair chance to rule this kingdom, as is our birthright.”

“At what price?” said Barron.

“Your immediate arrest,” said Wren.

Barron had the nerve to scoff. “Captain Davers assured me that I would leave this palace unharmed.”

“That was before we knew how hideously infuriating you are,” said Wren. “This is our first and final warning, Barron. No more protests. No more flaming arrows. No more treasonous town meetings. We’re watching you.”

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