Page 137 of Burning Crowns

His eyes danced. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve seen enough magic to last me a lifetime.’

‘Then you’ve learned your lesson at last.’

He flashed his teeth. ‘Who says you can’t teach an old wolf new tricks?’

Wren looked at her wrist, tracing the place where the crescent scar had once been. It occurred to her that Alarik’s must have faded, too, the last remnants of Oonagh’s spell finally leaving their bodies. The king might have seen enough magic for one lifetime, but Wren was pleased to have hers returned to her in full working order. Even now, she relished the familiar hum of it under her skin. ‘I admit it’s nice not to feel broken any more.’

‘For what it’s worth, Wren, you were never broken to me.’

She jerked her chin up.

‘Just annoying,’ he added.

Wren snorted. ‘Thank you for that modicum of sincerity.’

‘I’m afraid a modicum is the best I can do.’

They were silent then, looking unashamedly at each other as they tried to unpick this strange new closeness that had outlasted the curse. For Wren, her pull towards the king was not the same one she had felt in the mountains. It was softer now, simpler. And yet she could not deny that she felt great affection for the king of Gevra. That the thought of him sailing away from her – fromhere– at daybreak made her feel … well, sad.

Alarik turned his wrist over, caressing the spot where his scar had been. ‘I think I shall miss it, you know,’ he said, quietly. ‘I suppose I had got used to it.’

Wren smiled, knowing precisely what he meant. ‘I think I’ll miss mine, too. Stubborn as it was.’

‘At least it wasn’t mouthy,’ he conceded. ‘Like mine.’

‘But you can’t deny it made for good company,’ said Wren.

Alarik didn’t deny it. He looked up at her, his eyes shining. When he spoke again, his voice was sombre. ‘A good king knows when to fight … and when to lay down his weapon.’ His gaze flitted to Tor, and then back to her, and Wren knew then that he understood where her heart truly lay.

Wren nodded, slowly. ‘Sometimes the right thing is to give up. Even for a Gevran.’

He offered the ghost of a smile. ‘I suppose that remains to be seen.’

Tor rolled to his feet. He dug his hands in his pocket, waiting. Watching.

Alarik took a step backwards. ‘Well, then … friends?’

‘Only if you promise to be nice to me.’

‘The only promise I’ll make is to keep you on your toes.’ Alarik turned from their conversation to follow Elske up to the Mother Tree, his parting words flying over his shoulder. ‘You’ll have to make do with that.’

‘In that case, I will gladly make you the same promise,’ Wren called after him.

His laughter reached her on the wind.

When Wren turned around, Tor was standing before her. His eyes shone silver in the moonlight and though he was battle-worn and bruised, he looked achingly handsome. Achinglyhers.

He found her gaze and held it. ‘Just so there’s no confusion, I don’t want to be your friend, Wren.’

‘Good,’ she said, a little breathless. ‘I don’t want to be your friend either.’

Tor opened his arms and she went to him, happily folding herself into his embrace. When he brought his mouth to hers and their tongues met, Wren’s magic erupted until she felt as if she was lit from within by the moon itself.

The war was finally over, and though grief hung heavy in the air, love had found Wren again. She reached for it with both hands, swearing to herself that this time, she would never let it go.

Rose

CHAPTER 52

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