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A surge of love filled her heart and warmed her insides. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Wren.”

She faced the doors and straightened her skirt once more. “I’m ready, Papa.”

The king signaled to the warriors bracketing the double doors. They heaved open the heavy wooden doors, and Wren and her father moved through the archway.

All her thoughts disappeared as she caught sight of Rowen waiting at the front of the chapel. Her nerves disappeared.

It was time to start the beginning of the rest of her life.

3

Arrik

“Is it done?” Arrik asked quietly. He never raised his voice at anyone. He’d learned long ago that keeping his voice soft and low inspired more fear than any yelling ever did. Plus, he didn’t want to be like his father.

“It is, my lord,” Shane, his second in command answered. He was a tall burly man with more scars than Arrik and that was saying something. “The first ships have already made it into position.”

“And the scouts?” he replied, eyeing the blasted storm. It would help give them cover but it was also a problem. It was perilous in of itself traveling through the Dragon Isles, let alone with a squall that threatened to dash them against the rocks or sink their ships with the sharp coral below.

“They’ve been taken care of,” Shane confirmed, tossing his long black braid over his shoulder. “No one will be sounding the alarm.”

Grim satisfaction filled Arrik. King Oswin had made a grave mistake crossing the King of Verlanti. The two kingdoms had held a tentative peace until the ruler of the isles decided not to pay his dues. He got too comfortable in his own strength, thinking that he could defy the elves. That was where he was wrong. No one defied the elf king and survived. It was a death sentence.

“And the palace?”

Shane grunted. “Your men are in the tunnels, waiting for the signal.”

“Good.” If all went to plan, it would be a relatively bloodless invasion. Arrik grimaced and brushed a piece of his stark silver hair from his face. That’s if the people were willing. The inhabitants of the Dragon Isles were known to be barbarians. In fact, they even trained their women in combat. The very notion disgusted him and yet…it thrilled a very small part of him. A woman with fire was appealing indeed. “The royal family?”

“To be exterminated except for the heirs.”

“Heir,” he corrected. The islanders were secretive about the heir. The princess was to be married on this day. It was fortuitous for him. Arrik would have hated to leave her a widow. It was better for her if she wasn’t attached to any man. His father would want her, either as his concubine or for other political intrigues.

Their ship groaned as the bottom scraped over some coral. He spotted several fins slice through the dark water. It was as if the beasts could sense the battle to come. Maybe it was a sign that there would be blood.

It didn’t matter to Arrik either way. He was just a tool in his father’s scheme to rule the isles. Everyone wanted them for their dragons, the diamonds, and control over the trade route. They held too much power. The King of Verlanti was a power-hungry monster.

And Arrik…well he was his father’s son.

War was in his blood.

4

Wren

Anervous walk down the aisle and a few whispered words, and that was it. After all the fuss, it was shocking how quickly the ceremony went by. Technically, the words were all a formality. They would only truly be sealed in marriage once their markings were complete and when they’d shared their first kiss as mates.

Wren inhaled deeply, Rowen’s lemony scent filling her lungs. She glanced at the storm raging outside the windows behind the dais before looking up at her almost-husband. Rowen grinned at her as the holy woman gestured for them to face the crowd. Almost done.

She squeezed his fingers and smiled as he helped her face their friends and family, gently nudging aside the train of her dress. Her father stood from the first row; his deep eyes were glassy as he approached the dais. Wren’s own eyes filled as the king took her left hand, and both men helped her to sit on one of the marking chairs.

She sucked in a breath as Rowen released her and moved to his own chair across from her. The king’s hand settled on her shoulder as the holy woman set a table between Wren and her husband-to-be. Dara, the marking artist, rose to her feet and shuffled to the dais, a leather bag tucked under her arm. Bjorn Rowen’s father, trailed behind her and took his place behind Rowen as Dara set her bag on the table and unfurled the tools and ink.

Wren eyed the wicked-looking needles and tried to regulate her breathing. She’d received two markings in her life, and, while they weren’t horribly painful, she’d never been fond of needles.

“Don’t pass out on us, lass,” Bjorn said, a twinkle in his tawny eyes. He shook his head, and the movement emphasized how his black hair was streaked with white. Even at his age, he was a striking man. Not only that, but he was also still young at heart.