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“There you have it,” the king crowed.

The courtiers cheered but Arrik hardly heard any of it as he stared down at his new bride to be. No doubt his life was about to become a whole lot more colorful…

That’s if he and his new bride made it out of their wedding night alive and unscathed.

His past brides hadn’t been so lucky.

19

Wren

This was not part of the plan.

After everything she’d endured, now she had to marry the man who’d destroyed her life.Wren seethed, making her fury clearly apparent on her face. It took every effort on her part not to spit in the man’s face as she slowly, very slowly, turned to face him. She’d prepared to marry the elf king but not the monster that stood in front of her. She stared him down, willing him to look away in shame.

But he didn’t.

The prince—Arrik, his father had said—merely held Wren’s gaze with his cold, glass-like eyes. She could discern nothing from them, nor from his expression. It was as if he was made from stone. Like he was empty inside. Maybe he was.

Her mind flashed back to his hands around her throat. Therehadbeen something behind Arrik’s eyes then, though she was quite certain she did not want to be at the receiving end of that once more. Rowen would have never touched a woman like that. She focused her attention on his chin and tried to breathe past the pain in her chest at the memory of her betrothed.

“Princess.”

She clashed gazes with him, and she swore a glimmer of emotion flashed though his eyes. Wren did not wish to work out what that was, nor did she care. She hated the man who stood in front of her—even more so now that she was going to become his bride, whether she liked it or not.

“What say you?” the elf king asked.

Wren glanced at the monarch who smirked at her from his throne. A shiver ran down her spine at the chilling smile he gave her. There was something about him that was off. It was more than his too pretty exterior; something dark lurked beneath the surface.

She tipped her chin up and prepared herself. Wren needed to insinuate herself in his court but if she came too willingly, her plan would be too obvious. She could do nothing but ensure everyone knew she decidedly didnotlike it.

Her belly churned and bile rose up her gullet with every moment the elf king watched her. She couldn’t look at him any longer. Wren cast her gaze around the throne room instead. It was a smaller one than before, but it was still full of High King Soren’s retinue. Some of the people lingering by the throne seemed to be advisers or warriors of sorts, judging by their clothes and armor. Others were clearly vain, hedonistic court-goers who had little use aside from looking pretty and predatory. Even as they turned their noses away from Wren—she knew perfectly well that she smelled like something closer to death than life—they delighted in barely keeping their gossip at the level of whispers.

Wren’s upper lip curled in disgust at the lot of them. “I would rather die than marry the Beast of Verlanti.” It was the truth. Rowen wasn’t even cold in his grave. His ashes had barely left the Dragon Isles upon the wind.She turned back to face Arrik once more, who seemed more amused than anything else at her answer. It only made her hate him more, that he belittled the suffering that he himself had caused.

It was clear Wren’s indignant answer was exactly the one the room at large hoped she would give, for all around her was an eruption of laughter and comments made about her, all of them awful. It was then that Wren became aware not just of how she smelled but of her physical state, and she flushed with shame.

But she did notwantto feel shame.

Even covered in rags and muck and blood, with salt crystallizing in her hair, she was a princess. She spoke in the tongue of dragons and flew upon their backs. The only people in the entire room who could stand on level ground with her were the king, his beautiful, dark-haired queen, and his sons. Even then it was in stature only. They were all degenerates, the beast especially.

High King Soren sighed in exaggerated fashion, as if Wren’s answer disappointed him deeply. “Your death could be arranged for you, if that would be preferable to marriage,” he said. “But it would be such a waste of human flesh.” He turned to his followers. “Wouldn’t you agree? Even beneath all that grime and filth, she’s worth something.”

“My dear,” the queen chastised, running her fingers seductively over her husband’s arm. “Let’s not speculate her worth like a horse.”

“Both of us know a horse would fetch more,” the king retorted.

She clenched her jaw but kept silent as the queen pressed her lips together.

The courtiers responded like a pack of dogs on the morning of a hunt, nodding and agreeing with an enthusiasm Wren found positively shameful in its obvious shallowness. The whole thing was despicable and all she wanted was to go home. She hated it more than the dungeon she’d been thrown in, regardless of the fact her companions had been a mad bard, tiny, carnivorous fish, and a deadly dragon.

All three of them are like a walk across a meadow on a sunny day compared to this lot.

Hysterical laughter bubbled from her belly, but she choked it down, wishing she could cover her ears to the sounds of everyone talking and laughing and insulting her.

They cannot hurt you unless you let them. Focus on something positive.

She tuned them out and the wild dragon floated to the forefront of her mind. He was her ticket—the way out. All she had to do was put up with the people of Soren’s court a little longer—especially Arrik—then she had no doubt she’d be tossed back into her cell for the evening. And if the dragon showed up again…