Page 28 of Burning Crowns

She heard him sigh, then mutter, ‘I don’t remember her being this irritating. Do you?’

Marino sidled over to Wren. ‘Just so you know, this feels a lot like flirting to me.’

‘It’s power play,’ Wren corrected him. ‘I’m resetting the balance between us. Alarik Felsing needs to learn how to meet me half—’

Thud.

She paused at the sound of footsteps on the plank. Wren smirked. ‘See?’

The gangway creaked as it bore new weight, the footsteps drawing closer, and then the mist shifted, revealing the figure stalking across it. It was not Alarik.

It was Tor.

Wren peered up into the soldier’s perfectly chiselled face and was suddenly all too aware of her heartbeat. Tor was impossibly tall and broad-shouldered, and dressed in his impeccable blue uniform. His tousled hair swept low across his storm-grey eyes. He raked it back to see her better, the hint of a smile softening the hard edge of his jaw.

Stars above.

Wren’s mind whirred, desperately searching for something clever to say, a greeting so alluring and disarming, it would flood him with the same rush of longing she was feeling just then. ‘Um, hi.’

‘Smooth,’ whispered Marino.

Wren shoved him aside. ‘Hi,’ she said again. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘And you, Wren.’ Tor’s voice was huskier than she remembered. ‘As ever.’

Not for the first time, she found herself caught in the lightning of his gaze.

Tor paused on the edge of the gangway and offered his hand out to her. ‘Let me help you across.’

Wren stared at it.

He misread her hesitance. ‘I won’t let you fall.’

‘That’s not why I don’t want to come,’ she said, realizing she hadn’t won the battle of wills after all. Alarik had simply sent Tor to fetch her. ‘I’m … well, I’m making a point.’

‘Wren,’ he said, his voice stern. ‘This is not the time.’ Wren glowered up at him, but his frown was sharper. ‘Trust me,’he said, and in the gravel of his voice, she heard a plea. She saw the worry in his eyes. ‘Please.’

She sighed, wavering.

‘You shouldn’t go over there by yourself,’ said Marino, his hand coming to the hilt of his sword. ‘I’d be happy to escort you.’

Tor’s jaw tensed. ‘She’s in no danger.’

‘Even so,’ said Marino, stepping forward. ‘The queen should have an escort.’

‘I am her escort,’ said Tor, shooting Marino a warning look.

‘I’m all right, Marino,’ said Wren, if only to quell the rising tension between them. ‘I’ll be back within the hour.’

Tor’s gloves were made of leather, but Wren could still feel the warmth of his touch as he took her hand, curling it inside his own. She clambered up on to the wooden plank and let him lead her through the mist, to where the king of Gevra was waiting.

Tor leaped easily off the gangway, then turned back to her. Even though Wren was confident enough to make the jump by herself, she hesitated, letting him curl his arms around her waist, holding her tight against his body, if only for a fleeting moment. When he set her down, she found herself momentarily breathless.

‘I knew you’d come for him.’ Alarik Felsing was leaning against the mainmast of his ship with his arms folded. His skin was almost as pale as his hair but his eyes were bright. Focused. ‘It took you long enough.’

Wren stalked towards him. ‘Tell me, Alarik, was it laziness or cowardice that kept you from my ship?’

‘Call it stubbornness,’ he said, mildly. ‘Speaking of which, thank you for surrendering yours.’

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