Page 95 of Cursed Crowns

More and more people crowded into the narrow lane.

“Shen, I have to talk to you!” said Rose frantically.

“Hush now, everyone. Move out of my way,” said Grandmother Lu, using her cane to push through the fray. Lei Fan followed close behind her, sending out a warning gust.

Rose got lost in the swell of the crowd. They took Shen and Elske away and she was left utterly alone, with nothing but her singed dress and the memory of Kai standing over Shen with hatred burning in his eyes.

35

Wren

“Do you think he’s getting worse?” said Wren anxiously, as she paced her bedroom.

“Yes,” said Tor, who was leaning against her dresser, with his arms folded. “His thumb just fell off.”

Prince Ansel the Undead, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed, seemed not to notice his missing finger. He was too busy gazing adoringly at Wren.

“My Rose!” he crooned.

“Wren. My name is Wren.”

“What a funny little nickname! If you are a wren, can I be an eagle?” Ansel began to caw.

Wren sighed. “I really messed this up.”

Tor raised his eyebrows. “Messed upis an understatement. You raised Ansel from the dead.”

Wren groaned. After smuggling Ansel up to her room under Tor’s coat, they had been working on him all morning, trying to make the prince seem more like himself again. Wren had spent hours trying to enchant Ansel into remembering different parts of his life—even his death—but her magic had little effect on the prince. Tor had evengone down to retrieve a stack of Ansel’s favorite poetry books from the library, reciting them in vain to the blank-eyed prince. “This is a disaster. Alarik’s going to wake up soon.”

Tor turned back to the prince. “Ansel, do you remember the sword-fighting steps I taught you when you were a boy? Do you want to practice them?”

“Muscle memory,” muttered Wren. “Good idea.”

But Ansel was unmoved by the suggestion. “I’m afraid there’s no time, Tor. I’m about to be married.” He stiffened suddenly, as if he had been set to pause.

Wren looked deep into the prince’s blue eyes, ignoring the yellow tinge that lingered around them. “Do you know where you are, Ansel?”

“I am with my love, at the beginning of our lives together,” said the prince.

“I meanliterally,” Wren clarified.

“I amliterallydwelling in a state of pure bliss.”

Tor opened another book. “Maybe another poem might help...”

“Sterling idea!” said Ansel, leaping to his feet and spinning on the heel of his boot. He lost his balance and nearly fell into the fire, but Tor lunged, catching him just in time.

“I will compose a masterpiece this very moment!” Ansel went on, as if nothing had happened. “Oh, Rose, sweet Rose, of Anadawn, she is as graceful as a swan! My love for her is deep and... and...”

“Perilous?” said Wren.

“Perilous!” cried Ansel. “And her green eyes are like...” He paused, searching for another word.

“Asparagus?” said Tor.

“Yes! Brilliant!” said Ansel. “Her green eyes are like asparagus!”

Wren glared at Tor, who chuckled to himself.

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