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“I hope you burn in hell.”

He chuckled darkly. “I already am. Any other venomous words for me?”

She snapped her mouth shut and turned her face away from him. She would not speak another word to the savage, heartless man.

“So, it’s going to be that way. So be it. I love a good challenge.”

The prince gave her a sharp nod, and swiftly left the dank cell, his steps thundering up the wooden stairs to her right. For a while, she did nothing but look at the staircase. What would become of her now? Was she going to be left to rot in here? Would she be thrown mercilessly overboard to die by the hand of the sea? Or was she to be brought back to Verlanti, where she would be tortured within an inch of her life to give up all of Lorne’s secrets?

Stop. Think. What did the prince offer you?

Wren rubbed her temples and tried to remember her hazy conversation she’d had with him in the great hall. He’d offered her marriage to his father.

You’re going to be another bride to the man with a hundred wives.

She bent over and retched again. Wren panted and wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself. Her mum had told her stories of what the highborn elves were like. They treated their wives as expendable trophies.

“I have to get out of here,” she murmured, moving her gaze from the stairs to the wooden planks on her left, imagining a circular window there overlooking the horizon. There was clearly going to be no opportunity for her to escape while still aboard the ship. And if that was the case…

Wren had to prepare to fight for her life and run the moment she set foot in Verlanti.

14

Wren

She marked the time by how often she received meals. The men who brought her sustenance also brought her a bucket in which to relieve herself; if she couldn’t wait between meals, she guessed she’d be forced to piss in the very clothes she wore and then sit in a pile of filth. She was determined not to reduce herself to such a humiliation, though the time between meals often varied wildly, she resolutely held in all of her bodily functions until the next guard opened her door.

Even when they gave her food, Wren was not let out of her shackles. They fed her morsels by hand and fully expected her to eat in such a way. If Wren had not been so intent on building her strength back up to be ready to fight, then she would have refused any and all such undignified meals.

Her wounds healed on the outside.

Inside, she bled and mourned.

Days blurred together.

Nightmares plagued her.

The Verlantian prince with the haughty face and searching eyes had not once returned. Though Wren had never cared to listen to the many rumors brought to the Lorne Court about its neighboring nations, shedidknow that the Verlantian king was not shy about having shared his bed throughout the years.

A bard had passed through Lorne once, equipped with a lute and a jaunty little song about how the number of the king’s bastards was in the double digits. Wren had dismissed the song back when she’d heard it; now, it was the closest thing to truth she had to cling to. The illegitimate prince who served as the king’s war dog was only spoken about in whispers. He was rumored to be cold and merciless. His name was Erik, or possibly Aron, Wren had never cared enough to know for sure. She’d never imagined that he’d enter her life. The beast from the horror stories had captured her.

She held her hands up and stared at the manacles around her wrists.

Wren still couldn’t fathom the situation. The isles had fallen to Verlanti. She’d gone over and over it in her mind. The elves shouldn’t have been able to make it passed Lorne’s defenses. Only a few trusted commanders knew their ways through the corals, rough waters, and traps.

Someone had betrayed them. But who? That was the question that plagued her night and day. Did that same person know about Britta? There were too many unknowns.

Her attention moved to the dirt that covered her hands and arms. When was the last time she’d been clean? It could have been days or weeks or months since she had been captured, and she would never have known. All that existed for her right now was her mind, her mealtimes, and the sound of the sea. Although…

Wren took a heavy sniff and grimaced. She smelled horrible but at least none of her wounds had festered. The stiff healer visited her every so often to make sure she was healthy and alive. The willowy man was a mystery. He never spoke a word to her during his visits. His sage green eyes were hard but not unkind.

She exhaled and tried to breathe through her mouth. Her person wasn’t the only thing that stank. No one had cleaned up her vomit and her privy bucket wasn’t emptied as often as it should have been. All in all, it was disgusting, but it could have been worse. No men had tried to accost her and no one had tortured her for information. They did however give her the bare minimum allotments of food and water. It was clear they wanted her weak. Her chances of immediate escape were slim. She needed to build up her strength and gather information despite how much she wanted to get away from her captors.

She closed her eyes and another unknown amount of time passed as Wren went over her sums in her mind. She’d always hated arithmetic but her mum had been a stickler when it came to learning her sums. Wren smiled and one tear tickled down her cheek. Her mum would be proud to know her daughter was keeping to her studies even in a prison.

Her eyes popped open as she heard something that broke the monotony of her confinement.

A horn.