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She had a weapon.

“Commander,” the redhead called.

Wren lifted her head as the prince strode in their direction, all power and lithe. Her breath hitched and she clenched the fabric of her shirt between her fingers. Dressed all in black, he made an even more intimidating figure, somehow, than how he’d looked in the chapel, bare-chested wearing only pauldrons and vambraces. It served to accentuate the sharp lines of his face, which were not softened even by the scruff growing along his jawline—the result of however many days or weeks they had spent at sea.

A monster wasn’t allowed to be attractive. Or was that the point?

The prince stopped and eyed the soldier.

“I’ve retrieved the prisoner as you asked,” the redhead said.

She kept her head held high as the prince peered in her direction. She stared down The Beast of Verlanti who had tried to kill and then imprisoned her. He held Wren’s gaze strong for a moment, before dismissing her.

He turned his back to her and spoke in low tone with the redhead. Her fingers itched for the nail. The arrogant man thought him safe with his back to her. What a fool. She could easily take his life.

Patience.

Killing him would only lead to her death or permanent imprisonment. Neither would help Lorne. Her gaze moved to the sprawling white city beyond the docks and emotion swelled in her chest. She’d never actually been away from Lorne before. In fact, her very first trip to visit the southern islands of Neamh and Meith had been due to take place that summer, two weeks after her wedding. It felt only proper to do it then, her father had said. She had a dragon now, and was in the prime of her life, and she would be married to a fine man in the navy.

Now, that would never happen.

Wren held back what felt like the millionth sob. She had no idea when she had become such a crybaby, but now it felt like tears were a welcome friend of hers. The elven capital Wyrn was absolutely stunning. It was so different from home. The isles hosted small stone homes or buildings with thatched or moss-covered slate roofs. Wyrn was comprised of interlocked bone-white buildings with terracotta and cerulean roofs, and cobbled streets. A thick dark green forest crouched at the edges of the city.

“Welcome to our kingdom, Princess Wren.”

She stiffened and looked at the prince when a couple of his men sniggered. Had she been gaping like a country bumpkin? Or was it because he’d sneered princess? Either way, it didn’t matter.

The prince gestured to the castle just west of the docks. “Upon reaching the palace, you are to meet the High King Soren. A great honor indeed. I fully expect you to cooperate or things will,” a weighted pause, “go badly for you,” he finished, his voice much softer than before.

It was chilling.

The commander’s words, alongside his tall, well-built, and ruthlessly efficient crew truly did frighten Wren. The Verlantians were a cruel people, and now she was caught in their web.

Don’t show fear.

She kept her mask in place and forced herself to focus on the feel of the cool nail twisted beneath her shirt.

You can defend yourself. You’re not helpless.

“You will be afforded the privilege not to be gagged or bound on our way there. If you trespass upon my generosity, customs be burned. I’ll treat you like a common piece of trash.”

It was with great difficulty that she held her tongue.

He nodded and once again dismissed her, walking across the ship ramp to the dock.

The redhead smiled at her then mockingly sketched a bow. “My lady, if you please.”

She arched a brow at him and walked off the ship on wobbling legs. It was embarrassing how weak she’d become in captivity. Regardless of how she was half-starved, sore and filthy, she kept her head held high. Men could take many things, but they couldn’t take your spirit if you didn’t let them.

Barefooted, Wren trudged along a grandly built harbor twice the size of Lorne’s, then up, up, up an elaborately paved path that led through a small grove of oak trees. It continued to climb until Wren was struggling to breathe, and then, when she thought she might pass out from malnutrition, the group came across perhaps the largest building she had ever seen.

The Verlantian Palace was immense and not like Lorne Keep. The palace was not built upon many levels, for one, instead spreading itself out like a yawning cat in all directions for what felt like forever.

Three towns could fit in that building.

She hated it but Wren had to admit it was impressive.

The stonework did not seem to have any lines that suggested the building had been made with anything but one singular piece of carved, smooth white rock.