Cursed Crowns


 
 
 
 
 
 
 Map
 
 
 
 Dedication
 For Princess Claire
 A royally good agent, and an even better friend
 
 
 Epigraph
 
 
 Break the ice to free the curse.
 Kill one twin to save another.
 
 
 Contents
 Cover
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Epigraph
 Map
 1. Wren
 2. Rose
 3. Wren
 4. Rose
 5. Wren
 6. Rose
 7. Wren
 8. Rose
 9. Wren
 10. Rose
 11. Wren
 12. Rose
 13. Wren
 14. Rose
 15. Wren
 16. Rose
 17. Wren
 18. Rose
 19. Wren
 20. Rose
 21. Wren
 22. Rose
 23. Wren
 24. Rose
 25. Wren
 26. Rose
 27. Wren
 28. Rose
 29. Wren
 30. Rose
 31. Wren
 32. Rose
 33. Wren
 34. Rose
 35. Wren
 36. Rose
 37. Wren
 38. Rose
 39. Wren
 40. Rose
 41. Wren
 42. Rose
 43. Wren
 44. Rose
 45. Wren
 46. Rose
 47. Wren
 48. Rose
 49. Wren
 50. Rose
 51. Wren
 52. Rose
 53. Wren
 54. Rose
 55. Wren
 56. Rose
 57. Wren
 58. Rose
 59. Wren
 60. Rose
 61. Wren
 62. Rose
 Acknowledgments
 About the Authors
 Books by Catherine Doyle & Katherine Webber
 Back Ad
 Copyright
 About the Publisher
 
 
 1
 
 Wren
 Wren Greenrock’s crown was too tight. The band squeezed her temples, pressing into her skull. She tried not to wince as she stood on the balcony at Anadawn Palace beside her twin sister, looking out over the kingdom they had fought so hard to claim. Wren still couldn’t quite believe it was hers. Or at least half of it was. She and Rose had agreed to share it.
 Still, her nerves were frayed. She had been worrying about this moment all morning, steeling herself for the worst. Given the events of the last few days, which had seen the unfortunate death of Rose’s betrothed, Prince Ansel of Gevra, on their wedding day, followed swiftly by the welcome demise of Willem Rathborne, their traitorous Kingsbreath, Wren hadn’t been expecting a big turnout, or even a positive one, but a jubilant sea of people had gathered just beyond the golden gates. Revelers from the nearby town of Eshlinn and beyond had come to wish the twins well on their coronation day. The crowd was so large it stretched all the way back to the woods. Thousands of grinning faces peered up at the white palace, their cheers rising on the summer breeze. They had come to celebrate Wren and Rose, the new twin queens of Eana.
 The twins, for their part, stood on the balcony, bedecked in their finest gowns and brand-new crowns, absorbing their adoration like sunlight. Together, they glowed like a beacon—the promise of a new era, in which the witches and non-magical folk of Eana would live side by side in harmony, and all the old superstitions and festering mistrust would finally be laid to rest. It was a day of promise and possibility. Or at least it would have been if Wren’s head hadn’t been pounding like a drum.
 “Stop scowling,” said Rose out of the side of her mouth. “They’ll think you’re unhappy.”
 Wren glanced sidelong at her sister. Rose’s smile was full and gleaming. It had been perfectly fixed in place for almost an hour. She had been waving for just as long, too, her hand raised high above her head, so every man, woman, and child below could see it and know they were welcome. Cherished. Rose was a natural at this. She had been born for it.
 Wren had never felt more like a novice in her life. Her smile had come easily at first, her surprise at hearing the cheers as they opened the doors to the balcony filling her with a rush of relief. But now her energy was waning. She had smiled and waved for so long her arm was exhausted. She was exhausted. It was no wonder. After all, she had grown up among the witches on the windswept beaches of Ortha in the west, far from the pomp and ceremony of Anadawn Palace and all the patience and decorum expected of a princess. “How long do we have to stand out here for?” she hissed. “All this waving is making me ravenous. And my head hurts.”
 Rose grabbed Wren’s free hand. She squeezed, and a warm pulse traveled up Wren’s arm. Healing magic. A heartbeat later, Wren’s headache was gone.
 “There.” Rose blew out a breath as she released her. “No more complaining.”
 Wren refixed her smile and returned to waving. Her head felt better but her chest was still tight. Despite her healing magic, Rose couldn’t mend her sister’s heartache. It bloomed like a dark flower inside Wren, reminding her of Banba. Barely a day had passed since her steel-eyed, fearless grandmother had been taken from the burning Protector’s Vault by King Alarik and his ruthless Gevran soldiers. She had been hauled onto a ship before Wren could get to her. The memory of that awful moment plagued Wren’s every waking thought now, the unfairness of it writhing inside her like a snake.
 Wren had become queen, just as her grandmother had always wanted, but Banba wasn’t here to see it. Wasn’t here to help her. Instead, King Alarik, the young, feral king from the northern continent, who harbored a dark fascination with witches, had taken her prisoner. But Wren intended to change that. She had made a vow to herself—and to Rose—that she was going to find a way to rescue her grandmother from the icy maw of Gevra.
 Just as soon as she’d finished smiling and waving.
 Wren caught the moment Rose’s gaze flickered down to the courtyard, where Shen Lo was reclining along the edge of the fountain that marked the entryway to the inner palace. He had one arm slung over his forehead to keep the sun from his eyes, the other drifting in the crystalline water.
 Wren could tell by his smirk that he wasn’t sleeping. She didn’t have to see his eyes to know he