Page 38 of Cursed Crowns
Tor’s hand was warm against her back. “Wren.”
She tried to trap that heat inside her as she stepped over the threshold and onto a marble floor so polished, she could see her own reflection in it.
The throne room at Grinstad Palace yawned around Wren like a glacial cavern, cold and hollow and absent of any natural light. Huge white columns climbed up to an arched ceiling that depicted the great wars of Gevra, a sprawling mural of sparring beasts and bloodied soldiers that looked even more dramatic in the flickering sconce light.
Wren snapped her chin down before fear got the better of her. Tor nudged her onward, his voice feathering the shell of her ear. “Mind your temper. And your tongue.”
They passed endless white pillars, where soldiers and their beastslooked on dispassionately. Snow tigers skulked in the shadows, while two wolves, one gray and one black, prowled alongside Wren, matching her step for step. If she wasn’t so terrified, she might have complimented Tor on their impeccable training.
They came at last to a marble dais, upon which sat a formidable crystal throne. The shards were so sharp, it looked like cut glass, but Wren didn’t linger over the impressive carpentry nor the ice bear slumbering to one side of it. Her gaze fell on the king, who was reclining on his throne.
In a room full of beasts, Alarik Felsing was the most ferocious creature of all. He was dressed in black, his high-collared frock coat embroidered with delicate threads of silver that shimmered faintly in the candlelight. His hair was as blond as summer wheat, save for the black streak that cut into it like a line of spilled ink, and his skin was as pale as ivory. Shadows pooled under his cheekbones and beneath his icy blue eyes, which were fixed firmly on Wren.
“So, my soldiers have spoken true. A queen of Eana walks the halls of Grinstad Palace.” His voice echoed back at her from every corner of the cavernous room. “I’m surprised you didn’t swing in from the chandelier.”
“I’m nothing if not unpredictable.” Wren summoned the ghost of a smile. “I got your invitation.”
“I was hoping you’d take it literally.” The king pitched forward in his seat. “Go on, Wren. Say those hateful things to my face.”
Tor looked between them with obvious confusion. The king’s note was a game, but clearly Alarik liked to play alone.
“Let’s not waste time on well-trodden ground,” said Wren. “Now that I’m here, why don’t we talk?”
Alarik’s face darkened. “I don’t do casual conversation.”
“Well, that’s one thing we have in common.”
Alarik flicked his gaze to Tor. “Search her. Thoroughly.”
Wren bristled as Tor turned on her. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she protested. “You hardly think I came in here armed?”
“And you hardly think I’d take you at your word?” countered Alarik.
Tor didn’t look at Wren as he searched her. He was the perfect Gevran soldier, stone-faced as he patted her down, his hands sliding over her shoulders, and then her waist. She closed her eyes, trying to distract herself from his touch, the memories conjured by his alpine scent.
“You look like you’re enjoying that,” mused Alarik.
Wren snapped her eyes open.Mind your temper.It took every ounce of her self-control not to tell Alarik exactly what she thought of him.
Tor moved down to her trousers.
“Don’t,” she hissed, trying to push him off, but he was too quick. Too good. He found her drawstring pouch and held it up to King Alarik.
“Sand,” he said as he stepped away from her. The betrayal was small, but Wren felt it like a slap in the face.
Alarik’s eyes gleamed. “What was that you were saying just now about trust?”
Wren snorted. “Sand is hardly a weapon.”
“Unless, of course, you use it for your spells.”
Wren folded her arms. “I didn’t know you knew about that.”
“You’d be surprised at the things I know,” he said darkly.
Wren cleared her throat. “I feel like we’ve got off to a bad start.”
“We can trace our bad start to the day you killed my brother,” saidthe king, so casually Wren thought she had misheard him. He went on without pause. “You are the one my longest-serving captain saved over Prince Ansel.” He flicked his gaze to Tor. “But of course you already knew that, Tor. You can tell the enchanter and the healer apart, can you not?” He didn’t wait for Tor’s response. “What I want to know is why you didn’t confiscate that sand before you brought her before your king.”