Before them, the hallway vaulted into a marble archway that overlooked the sprawling courtyard. Chapman turned from her, murmuring something as he went, but Wren was too dumbstruck to share in his babble. She was adrift now, floating across the pale stones in a cascade of golden sunlight. And there he was, waiting for her at the edge of the rose garden. Prince Ansel. Wren’s eyes widened. Hissing seaweed. Ansel was handsome. Being Rose was becoming more enjoyable by the minute.
