Wren’s POV For a long moment, the words just hung there. I wasn't sure I heard him right, “I'm sorry what?”The edges of the King’s lips curled up in a way that was very caelum like,“Which one of your parents belonged to a coven?”I blinked, once, twice. My mouth opened, then closed again. “None,” I said finally, my voice steadier than I felt. “None of them belonged to any coven, Your Majesty.”The King tilted his head slightly, studying me as if I were an interesting puzzle piece that didn’t fit the way it should. “Are you certain? Magic runs in bloodlines, Wren Blackwell. It doesn’t simply appear by chance. If you trace your ancestry far enough, you may find truths your parents never told you.”His words landed like stones in my stomach. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I think it’s a stretch to assume I’m a witch because I can smell sandalwood. I don't have magic, I have never done a spell.”
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