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Wren chuckled softly. “It is hardly as if we will be wearing these clothes to my wedding,” she said, picking at the sleeve of her threadbare shirt. She did notneedto wear such rough, uneven quality fabric, but when she was running about, Wren did not see much point in wearing the higher-end garb. Why ruin someone’s hard work or waste the gold?

Anneke snorted. “If I let you, I think you’d wear breeches to your own wedding.”

“We do live in the isles,” she pointed out. “Only elves have such strict fashion etiquette.”

She dodged as her mother tried to flick her own rounded ear. While she was at least half elven, her rounded ears spoke of some human heritage, which was a blessing. The Verlantian people were known for their brutality, apathy, and selfishness. Wren didn’t want to be identified as an elf.

“What would Rowen think of you if he could see you right now with twigs and branches in your hair?” her mum mused.

“He would probably be disappointed he hadn’t put them there himself,” she retorted.

“If you’re trying to shock me, you’ll have to work harder.”

Wren winced. Her mum was a private person; however, she believed in education ofallthings, much to the chagrin of her father. Even now, there were some explanations and mental images she wished she could erase.

Brushing at her dirty clothes, she eyed the crushed plants beneath her bare feet. “I think Rowen would marry me just like this if I wanted it.”

“I don’t think he cares what you are as long as you are his by the end of the day,” her mother commented wryly.

She blushed at that and patted her wild hair self-consciously. Dressing up wasn’t a bad thing, but Wren just preferred a pair of trousers, lace-up boots, and a leather vest outside, because whenever she attended duties inside the keep, she had to wear dresses. That was the way her father had brought her up—likea chameleon girl, a trader from the mainland had once said.

She’d never seen a chameleon before, and when the trader drew her a picture of one, she laughed. The lizard had big, bulbous eyes, a shifty nature, and green scales that she was led to believe changed color depending on its environment, allowing it to all but disappear from view. Even now, she didn’t know if the creature was real or if the old man had been pulling her leg. A creature whose color changed depending on where it was seemed ridiculous. Too magical. He had argued that dragons were supposed to be myths.

What rubbish.

Dragons were flesh and blood and bone, lurking beneath the waves or soaring above the clouds. There was no magic to them. They were simply creatures of nature.

“I would have thought Aurora would be bothering you by now,” Anneke said, as if reading Wren’s mind.

She scanned the beach and then the sky. Her dragon was nowhere to be seen. She was still awed that Aurora had chosen Wren to be her rider. Normally, a rider chose a dragon and had to conquer the dragon before they accepted the bond, but it had been clear from the beginning that Aurora had chosen Wren, too. They had bonded years before, when Wren had found the abandoned egg that hatched into Aurora. She had helped raise the dragon.

“I’ve no idea where she is,” Wren said. Her dragon was practically glued to her side any time she ventured outdoors.

“I’m sure she’ll show up soon.” Anneke clapped her hands. “We should head back.”

Wren nodded and tipped her head back once more to soak up the sun. Lorne never got very warm, but a summer sun was still a summer sun. And though there were ever-present great gray clouds looming on the horizon, cresting over the mountains and threatening to expand across the sea, hopefully the sun would set before the storm hit. Plenty of time for it to shine over the ceremony.

All she cared about was marrying her best friend. She’d take him rain or shine.

She reached for her mum’s hand, and they began walking through the moors toward the keep in the distance. A small shepherd’s hut leaked curling smoke from its chimney as they passed by. Her mind drifted to old memories.

“Do you think Alec would have liked Rowen?” Wren asked, fleeting memories of the first man she once called father going through her head. She was sure he would have liked her husband-to-be. They were both salt-of-the-earth kind of men, after all.

“I like to think so,” her mum answered. “He had a kind compassionate heart. I don’t think there was a soul that Alec didn’t like.”

“I feel bad that I don’t remember more of him.”

“You were so very young when he died,” Anneke replied. “When I fled to this kingdom, he was one of the few who showed me kindness, despite my Verlantian heritage. Alec offered me work, a place to stay with his family, and all the herbs I could take from his property. Never did he ask for anything in return.” Her mum smiled. “As if that wasn’t enough to make me fall in love with him, he cared for me when I grew gravely ill and never judged or scorned me when my pregnancy became apparent. We were lucky indeed to meet him and get to spend what time we did with him. The world is a grayer place indeed without him.” A pause. “You were so young when he died, but I can still see some of him in you.”

“How so?” Wren asked. For the longest time, she’d wished he’d been her true sire. Eventually, she came to the realization that it didn’t matter if they shared blood—he had been her father through-and-through for the four sweet years they’d had together. They had been happy, Wren, Anneke, and Alec. They had been content.

“You have some of his mannerisms. It seems four years with him left an impression.”

“Do you miss him?”

“The ache and pain are gone. I still long for his company and look back on our memories fondly.” Her mother squeezed her hand. “He restored my faith in men. His love and generosity led me to your papa.”

Wren still didn’t know all the specifics of Alec’s passing, but it had been swift. One evening he’d been fine, the next day he’d sickened, and by the third day, the life drained from his eyes. Wren knew her mother did not like to talk about Alec’s death. Alec and Anneke shared fond memories, but his last few dark days were left in the past.