{"id":257205,"date":"2026-07-13T15:22:30","date_gmt":"2026-07-13T12:22:30","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/crown-of-thorns-emma-rogers\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T15:22:30","modified_gmt":"2026-07-13T12:22:30","slug":"crown-of-thorns-emma-rogers","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/crown-of-thorns-emma-rogers\/","title":{"rendered":"Crown Of Thorns – Emma Rogers"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\u201cYou\u2019re allowed to react when four obscenely hot idiots\u2014real or fake\u2014get in your space.\u201d \u201cI still feel like they\u2026 used it,\u201d I say. \u201cUsed me to see what my magic does when I\u2019m\u2026 overwhelmed.\u201d \u201cYeah,\u201d she says. \u201cThey did. And that\u2019s on them. Not you.\u201d I blink hard. \u201cAnyway,\u201d I say roughly. \u201cI got pissed off. Pushed back. Hard. Broke their fancy glass and briefly turned the tower into a magic dead zone. Ten out of ten, would recommend.\u201d Rowan\u2019s eyes widen.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou dead-zoned the whole chamber?\u201d she breathes. \u201cFor a heartbeat,\u201d I say. \u201cIt felt like\u2026 everything went quiet. Then Thornwick freaked out and turned itself back on.\u201d \u201cHoly shit,\u201d she says. She looks half horrified, half gleeful, which feels very on brand for us. \u201cAnd the Princes?\u201d she asks. \u201cWhat were they doing while you were being used as a crash test dummy?\u201d \u201cUp there,\u201d I say, jerking my chin vaguely ceiling-ward. \u201cWatching. Looking very alarmed when I cracked their fishbowl.\u201d \u201cGood,\u201d she says. \u201cThey deserve anxiety.\u201d<\/p>\n

I huff a laugh. Then the laugh catches on something in my chest and turns into a sound that might be a sob. \u201cHey,\u201d Rowan says immediately. \u201cHey. It\u2019s okay. Let it out.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m fine,\u201d I say, voice wobbling. The tears ignore me. They sting my eyes and then spill over, hot and sudden. Rowan slides an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into her side.<\/p>\n

I let my forehead drop against her, fingers knotting in her sleeve. \u201cI hate them,\u201d I say, voice muffled. \u201cI hate that they can just\u2026 decide to test me like that. I hate that envoys were watching. I hate that Blackthorn keeps making it sound like this is some big honor.<\/p>\n

I hate that part of me is scared and part of me is excited and I don\u2019t know which is worse.\u201d She rubs slow circles between my shoulder blades. \u201cI know,\u201d she says quietly. \u201cOf course you\u2019re excited. Of course you\u2019re terrified. You\u2019ve been stuck in survival mode your whole life.<\/p>\n

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Perfect place to start my new life as an elite student at a prestigious Scottish boarding school for the unreasonably gifted. Totally normal. Totally fine. Totally not a scam. I fold the letter in my hands for the hundredth time, fingers tracing the raised ink like the words might suddenly rearrange into haha, just kidding, back to your council flat, sweetheart.<\/p>\n

They don\u2019t. Miss Wren Ashford, We are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted to Thornwick Academy on a full academic scholarship\u2026 Delighted. That makes one of us. The paper is thick, cream, expensive. The kind of paper that has never been within a three-mile radius of my postcode. The Thornwick crest at the top\u2014 some stylized crown made of thorns and stars\u2014is embossed, the edges faintly silvered. It looks real. It feels real. It still doesn\u2019t make any fucking sense.<\/p>\n

I slouch lower, the bus seat groaning under me, and glance out the smeared window. The landscape\u2019s gone from grey city sprawl to rolling green hills and then to this\u2014endless stretch of mist and dark, hunched shapes of trees. The sky is a low slab of cloud, heavy and sulking. The kind of weather optimists call \u201cmoody\u201d and everyone else calls \u201cshit.\u201d My phone buzzes in my pocket.<\/p>\n

Mum. Again. I ignore it for three whole rings before guilt finally wins and I drag it out. Three missed calls. Two voicemails. A text. Where r u You took my card Wren answer ur phone I swallow around the tight little knot that sentence makes just under my ribs. I didn\u2019t take her card. I borrowed it. With her half-sloshed, half-asleep permission. Also, I put it back. Eventually.<\/p>\n

I open the first voicemail. Her voice crackles in my ear, warped by bad reception and too many cigarettes. \u201cWren? You better not have run off with my bank card again, I swear to God\u2014\u201d A sigh, the sound of the telly in the background. \u201cThey\u2019re saying the electric\u2019ll go off again if we don\u2019t pay, and I can\u2019t\u2014 I can\u2019t do that forms thing online, you know I can\u2019t.<\/p>\n

Call me back.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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