Page 73 of Burning Crowns

‘You’re blushing,’ said Alarik.

Wren scowled at him. ‘It’s hot, that’s all. Idon’tblush.’

‘My mistake.’ He turned away but not before Wren caught the edge of his smirk.

Arrogant ass.

Maeva cleared her throat. ‘I’ll leave you both. There’s a chamber to the side where you can change,’ she said to Wren. ‘I’ll send someone to come and collect your clothes so that they may be washed and cleaned.’

‘Thank you,’ said Wren. ‘I’m sure you’ve noticed that the king smells like dung.’

‘Not unlike the kind that comes out of your queen’s mouth,’ added Alarik. ‘Perhaps you should wash that, too.’

Maeva bit her lip, unsure of where to look. Wren could tell their banter was making her uncomfortable.

‘You may go,’ she said, doing the girl a kindness. ‘I’m afraid Alarik’s only going to get worse in these acoustics. He loves the echo of his own voice.’

Maeva shuffled away from them. ‘Willa says to soak until the water turns black. With any luck, you’ll be up in time for dinner.’

‘Thank you, Maeva,’ said Alarik, with unusual politeness. ‘In the meantime, you might see to my Captain of the Guard. I’m sure he would quite enjoy some company.’

At the mention of Tor, Maeva flushed bright red. Wren wanted to shove Alarik straight into the water but instead turned around and stomped off towards the side chamber, trying to ignore the irritating echo of his laughter.

Wren peeled off her dress and unbraided her hair, running her fingers through the tangles. Then she kicked off her shoes and socks. She resolved to keep on her underwear and chemise, lest the king get any wrong ideas. The very thought of it brought back the memory of their blizzard kiss.

Stop it, Wren scolded herself. That was the last thing she needed to be thinking about right now. She hadn’t come here to bathe with the king. She had come here to get rid of the curse she had accidentally cast the day they raised Ansel from the dead.

Any thoughts of kissing were unhelpful and distracting and—

‘Have you fallen down a crevasse over there?’ called Alarik.

‘I’m changing,’ Wren called back. ‘Mind your own business!’

‘You are my business, Wren.’

Wren grabbed a towel, covering herself on the short walk back across the cavern. Thankfully, the steam was so thick, she could barely see a foot in front of her own face.

She could tell by the sound of rippling water that Alarik was already immersed in the bath. ‘Well? How is it?’

‘Wet.’

‘Thanks for that.’ Wren dropped her towel and found the stone steps, following them down into the water.The first flush of heat stole up her legs, wrenching a sigh from her. ‘Oh.’

Wren didn’t realize how weary she was until the water was lapping at her skin. First her calves and then her knees. Another step, and it was at her hips, and then her stomach. She pushed off the edge, letting the water come up to her neck. She tipped her head back, immersing herself fully.

Salt crystals kissed her skin as she kicked her legs up, floating like a fallen leaf. She sighed again, long and languid.

Alarik stilled in the water. ‘What are you doing?’

Wren had almost forgotten he was there. ‘Enjoying the silence. Don’t ruin it.’

His laugh found her through the steam. She could tell he was close by, but she couldn’t see him.

She closed her eyes. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Damp.’

‘Be serious.’

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