Page 7 of Cursed Crowns

“Get back!” Thea pulled her away from the glass, offering a quick pulse of healing magic to settle the spasm in her lungs. “Keep your wits about you, Wren.”

Wren exhaled through her nose, trying to control her anger.

“CHAPMAN!” Rose’s voice rang out as she stalked across the throne room. “This Edgar Barron. Is he known to you?”

Chapman tore his gaze from the window, his eyes wide with horror. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said breathlessly. “Or indeed he was.”

“Good. I want you to bring him to us,” she commanded. “At once.”

4

Rose

Rose sat by the window in the drawing room at Anadawn Palace and reminded herself that she was queen. That her people loved her. That she was a capable ruler. That everything was going to be fine. Better than fine. Everything was going to bewonderful.She had a vision for the future of her kingdom, a world in which the witches and non-magical folk lived side by side in harmony, and she was not about to let a man like Edgar Barron—oranyman for that matter—get in her way.

But a queen shouldn’t have sweaty palms, whispered a voice in her head.

Or a racing heart.

Or a stomach tied up in knots.

Ping!An F-sharp interrupted her anxiety. She looked over her shoulder.

Wren was walking her fingers and up and down the pianoforte, creating a clumsy melody. “This stupid thing is out of tune.”

“You’re the one out of tune,” said Rose. “Perhaps you should take lessons.”

Shen, who was standing by the door doing his best impression of an official palace soldier, snorted. A lock of black hair had come loose from its leather strap, and there was a fresh graze on his cheek fromwhen he had chased down the palace assailants days ago, but apart from that, he looked completely fine.Better than fine. He looked irresistibly and irritatingly dashing. “If you’ve ever tried to teach Wren anything, then you’ll know she doesn’t take kindly to instruction. Or rhythm.”

Wren stuck her tongue out. “You’re fired.”

“I don’t work for you.” Shen must have sensed Rose staring at him, because he met her gaze and held it, the heat of it making her pulse race. She snapped her chin down and fiddled with the hem of her sleeve as he surrendered his post and crossed the room. Her heart hitched as he leaned against the window ledge, the warmth of his body easing the trembling in her bones. His smile was easy, but there was concern brewing in his dark eyes. “I’m only here to make sure things don’t go awry.”

Rose fought the urge to reach for his hand. It wouldn’t be proper here, where the guards were watching from their posts and servants were scurrying in and out, setting up the tea table. So she turned from him as though turning from the sun itself and looked to the gardens.

This was a game Rose found herself playing more and more. How late could she stay up whispering to Shen in the library, stealing kisses between the stacks? How many times could she allow herself to brush against him in the hallway, reveling in the fleeting heat of his skin against hers? What was allowed between them now that she was queen and he was still the warrior witch he always had been? Every time she lingered too long over his smile, or lost herself in those molten eyes, she felt the need to distance herself. After all, she had a kingdom to remake. A palace to run. A grandmother to rescue. And yet every one of those lingering kisses played on her mind, often driving her dizzy.

“I’m right here,” Wren piped up. “Please stop salivating over each other.”

“We’re not even touching,” Rose said primly.

“I can’t help it,” said Shen at the same time, his smile setting loose a flock of butterflies inside her.

“Ugh.” Wren went back to pounding the piano.

There was a rap at the door, and then Chapman appeared. “Barron has arrived.”

Wren pushed herself away from the piano. “Send the traitorous rat in.”

“Less of that language, please,” said Rose, rising from her perch at the window. She made for the couch, allowing her hand to brush against Shen’s as she did so, the lingering touch providing a brief, welcome distraction.

Shen flicked his wrist as he returned to his post by the door, and Rose caught a glint of silver as one of his daggers slid into his palm. She smiled, without meaning to. In a palace teeming with soldiers, she felt safest in a room with Shen Lo. After all, he was a seasoned warrior witch, the most skilled fighter she’d ever encountered, and she knew, deep in her bones, that he would do anything to protect her and Wren. Even if Rose was more than capable of looking after herself these days, well, it was still nice to know Shen was there.

Rose sat down on the couch and smoothed her skirts. Wren leaned against the armrest, as though ready to pounce.

“Barron will be thoroughly searched,” Rose felt compelled to remind her twin sister. “He wouldn’t dream of trying anything here.”

“Oh, really?” said Wren sarcastically. “Then I must have imagined all those flaming arrows that were fired directly at our palace three days ago.”

---