In all the ways Rose had imagined her coronation day, she had never pictured it like this. High up in the east tower of Anadawn, she stood side by side with her sister as they gazed at their reflections in the mirror. Rose’s hair was piled in decadent curls that had been pinned away from her face with bejewelled hairpins. She wore a magnificent pale gold ballgown, trimmed in delicate filigree and finished with a generous train. Wren had left her hair long and loose, and had chosen a slender satin gown of emerald green. Together, they shone green and gold – the colours of Eana. ‘I still don’t
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