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That was new.

Her brows furrowed as the horn sounded again.

There was only one reason for that.

The ship must have reached the shores of Verlanti.

Despite her grand idea of escape, Wren’s heart sank. What horrors awaited her? She pulled her knees to her chest and leaned her head against them.

You must be brave. You need to survive.

Wren swallowed and steeled herself for whatever was to come. Her mum hadn’t raised her to roll over. She was a fighter. If the Verlantians hoped to find her worn down and defeated, they were going to be sorely mistaken. When the king came for her, he wouldn’t find a pliable maiden. They would not break her.

She was her mother’s daughter.

Steps thumped against the ceiling from above.

Wren lifted her head regally and tensed all her muscles, ready like a cat to spring into action. Part of her wanted the person who came through those doors to be the prince. She didn’t want to lose her chance for vengeance. He’d taken everything from her. She intended to do the same to him.

The warrior loped down the stairs, a grin on his face. She squinted at him as he paused in front of her. The man was vaguely familiar. He worried his red mustache and it clicked. He was the elf that had yanked her hair.

“Time to get up,” he said cheerily.

She blinked slowly at him but didn’t move.

He sighed heavily. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”

“Depends if you’re planning on touching me again,” she rasped. Her voice was rusty from disuse.

“I’m not planning on dragging you by your hair.” He pulled a vial from a pouch at his waist and wiggled it at her. “I’ll drug you. It’s your choice.”

Being at the complete mercy of her enemies was terrifying. She uncurled her legs and set them on the floor, making sure to avoid the dried vomit. The redhead eyed her warily as he approached, and she held her hands out. He leaned closer and she eyed his ear. It would be so easy just to bite it off. As if he could hear her thoughts, his amber gaze snapped to her face.

“I know it’s difficult for women but keep your mouth to yourself.”

She snorted before she could help herself. The elf grinned and unshackled her wrists. She rubbed at them; the feeling odd after wearing the shackles for so long. He took a step backward but held out his hand.

“I can do that myself,” she retorted, swatting his hand away and pulling herself up as tall as she could. Her legs shook but she managed to keep her chin up. She was a bloody princess. In Verlanti that meant being haughty and cold. It was better she put it into practice now.

“Suit yourself.” He gestured to the stairs. “You first, my lady.”

My lady. What rubbish.She looked and smelled worse than a vagrant.

Her body quaked as she made it up the first set of stairs. Wren walked through a room full of goods. Stolen goods from Lorne. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and marched through the treasures of her people to the second staircase.

She used the wall for support and blinked furiously as the sun beamed down on her as she made it to the top deck. Wren inhaled the salty breeze and shielded her eyes from the morning sun. Her skin prickled and she knew she was being watched. She stiffened and lowered her hand. What seemed like the entire crew stood at attention. Their focus? Her.

Every single one of the soldiers’ eyes were on her, their gazes crawling up and down her skin from her head to her toes. They lingered on the torn, filthy fabric of the giant black shirt she’d woken up in. Standing, it stopped just above her knees and she blushed, feeling exposed and humiliated. She had never been in such a compromising position in front of other people before—especially not men from a foreign country, with their pointed ears and cruel faces.

You’re a princess.

The redheaded warrior wrapped a hand around her left bicep and propelled her through the men to a pile of crates waiting to be brought off the ship. She shivered but straightened her spine.

Do not let them get to you. You are powerful.

He released her and she leaned against a crate. Something sharp dug into her spine. Wren schooled her expression. It felt like a loose nail. It was possible she’d never get another chance like this again. In a split second, she wiggled her hands behind her and began to work furiously and as inconspicuously as possible to remove the nail from the wood. It took several twists and turns, but she managed to pull the nail free.

With nowhere else for it to go, she slipped it into the waistband of what remained of her underclothes, hiding the motion by pulling down the hem of the black shirt, pretending that she felt embarrassed by her state of undress. The soldiers laughed at her, but it did not matter.