Page 91 of Cursed Crowns

“I did it for Banba,” said Wren defensively. “I had no choice. And Alarik promised Anika he would find a way to bring Ansel back. So they could be a family again.”

“But not like this!” shrieked Anika. “For Great Bernhard’s sake, his finger just fell off! If our mother finds out about this—if she seeswhat her dear Ansel has become, she’ll keel over! She’s barely coping as it is. She hardly eats or sleeps. She rarely leaves her bedroom.Thiswill be the end of her!”

“She won’t find out,” said Celeste quickly. “We’re going to contain this. And then we’re going to fix it.”

“But how?” wailed Anika.

Celeste threw Wren a warning look. “Get him out of here. Fast.”

Wren stood up and grabbed Ansel’s arm. “Come on, Ansel. Let’s go for a walk.”

The prince leaped to his feet, sending his chair clattering to the floor. He stuffed a pancake in his pocket as Wren dragged him away from the table and out into the hallway.

She was still trying to figure out what to do with the undead prince when Tor turned the corner and stepped into their path. He froze in mid-step, his jaw slackening as he took in the beaming prince.

“Tor! Do my eyes deceive me or have you got even taller?” Ansel prodded Tor in the chest, then pinched his nose. “Gotcha!”

Tor’s gaze narrowed, taking in the rest of Ansel’s appearance. His jaw tightened as he looked at Wren over the prince’s head, the horror on his face giving way to something much worse. Betrayal. “I can’t believe you did it.”

Wren shifted awkwardly. “Honestly, neither can I.”

“Why the stone face, Tor?” Ansel removed the pancake from his pocket and flapped it about. “Perhaps a little pancake will cheer you up.”

Tor dragged a hand across his jaw, straining to keep his voice steady. “Does Alarik know about—”

“Yes,” said Wren tightly. “But he’s sleeping.”

Ansel was still waving the pancake about like a handkerchief. “When we’re married, youmustwave to the masses just like this, darling! Let’s call it the Pancake Salute! The people will love it!”

Wren grabbed his arm and lowered it. “Ansel, please put down the pancake.” She turned back to Tor. “I’ll explain everything later,” she told him urgently. “But right now, I need your help. Queen Valeska could hear of this any minute. Anika is already in there throwing a tantrum. And frankly, I don’t blame her.”

Tor cocked his head. “Who do you blame, Wren?”

Wren hated the accusation in his eyes. “I’ll fix it. Just help me get him up to my room before this gets any worse.”

“What about when Alarik wakes up?”

“I’ll cross that crevasse when I come to it,” said Wren, hastily shooing them along the hallway. She shuddered at the thought of what lay ahead for her—and for Banba—if she didn’t find a way to make this right. And fast.

34

Rose

The moon was high in the sky when the desert air began to buzz with excitement. Rose had been surprised by how late the festival began, but Lei Fan said it was customary to start the celebrations at midnight, so the dancing and feasting could carry on until sunrise.

“And then,” said Lei Fan, who was fixing her hair in the mirror, “when the sun rises, it will surround Shen Lo with its golden rays, marking him as the new Sun Crowned King.”

A king,thought Rose, as she tightened a silk sash around her waist. She had barely got used to Shen as a prince. “But if everyone thought Shen was dead all this time, why didn’t your father ever become king?”

“You can’t become king without the sun’s blessing.” Lei Fan wrinkled her nose as she twisted one side of her hair into an intricate knot. “That’s why we have the festival in the first place. My father ruled as regent, waiting for the day we would be unburied once more.”

“And then Shen came home. He must not have expected that.”

Lei Fan smiled. “Our true king returned with the sun. Father’s never been a true king here. He likes to think he is, though. He loves bossing everyone around. Especially me.” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I’m surprised at how easily he handed over the Sun Walker’s Crown.Grandmother Lu used to joke that he sleeps in it.” Her eyes sparkled as they met Rose’s in the mirror.

“No, no!” she said, shaking her head. “You’re tying the top part all wrong! Here, let me help.” She fiddled with the tie on Rose’s dress, knotting it into an intricate bow atop her right shoulder. “There! Now you look like the perfect sun maiden.”

Rose was wearing a dress the color of flames. As she moved, the gossamer silk shifted—vermilion one moment, and burned amber the next, turning to ochre and then saffron. Iridescent golden threads were woven throughout, making it shimmer in the candlelight. The material was daringly cut, leaving her left shoulder bare. It tapered in at her waist, the sash securing it, before cascading to the floor in a riot of color.

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