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Wren might be able to get out.

“Unfortunately,” the prince said, his tone bored. “Whether you would rather die or not is inconsequential.” He dismissed her and turned his attention to the king. By the tides, she wanted to punch him in the face. “I accept this gift, Father. And I would prefer that the wedding occurred sooner rather than later.”

Her stomach bottomed out.

Soren cackled and looked delighted by his son’s impatience to be wed. Wren bit down on her bottom lip as hard as she could muster to stop herself from saying something stupid. She’d always thought of herself as being levelheaded but here amongst her enemies, Wren was a danger to herself.

“Then it shall be tomorrow,” the king announced, gesturing his hands wide to his adoring audience. “Which means we have much to prepare. Get to work!” He clapped his hands and held one out to his wife. “Would you be so kind as to arrange it, my love?”

“Of course, my lord.” The queen rose from the throne and clasped her hands. “My ladies, we have much to do.” With that one action, a flurry of motion filled the room as people went off to do whatever it was that needed to be done.

Wren imagined she would not like any of these preparations organized for ‘her’ wedding one bit. Probably a host of slaves. The thought made her mood sour further. Slavery was barbaric and immoral. No person had the right to own another.

For just a moment, she locked eyes with the queen before the woman exited the room. The queen’s soft smile in her direction was completely at odds with everyone else. There was something sympathetic about her face. Something understanding. Something…motherly.

Wren wished, in that instant, that she knew the queen’s name. Maybe she’d be a friend and ally.

She was startled out of her thoughts as large hands settled on her waist a moment before she was swept off her feet.

“Time to go, Princess,” Arrik said, lifting Wren up and carrying her out of the throne room before she regained the wits to oppose such an undignified exit. Not caring about how much of her body she exposed in doing so, she twisted within his arms and flailed her legs wildly until, finally, Arrik dropped her on the ground.

Her rear smarted but she ignored it as she climbed to her feet. “Don’t touch me!” she spat in his face. “How dare you presume to touch me?!”

He merely laughed, before picking her up again and throwing her over his shoulder. “It seems I will not be able to trust you in my chambers,” he replied. “Another night in the cell it is, then. I can’t have you killing me in my sleep!”

Wren had not meant anything by her outburst aside from getting as far away from Arrik as possible, though it was clear that in attacking him she had ensured that she was returned to the location she actually needed to go.

She wanted to avoid his chambers at all costs. Wren didn’t want to think of what that would have meant.

You need another weapon.

She punched him in the back one last time and hung there. She tried not to stare at his arse, but it was right in front of her face. He may have been a vile cretin, and she was loathe to admit it, but he was attractive.

Stop it. Focus on what’s important.

Wren was going back to her cell, and that was that. It was what she wanted. If Arrik knew that—if he grew suspicious of the fact she wanted to go back there—then he would no doubt do everything in his power to stop her being in the dungeon. Then her hopes of escape would be dashed, and she would be buggered.

She kicked her legs and punched him a few more times to keep up the pretense of her distaste all the way down to the underground level of the palace. Wren screamed and cursed, doing just about anything she could think of to make it as difficult as possible for him to carry her.

“You are wild, dragon lass,” he said upon their approach to the dungeon. He was barely able to keep hold of Wren as he waited for a guard to open the door. “Are you like this in the bedroom, too?”

Wren swore loudly in response, only to repeat the curse when the prince unceremoniously dropped her upon the cold stone floor of her cell.

“Until tomorrow then, Princess,” he said, crystal eyes flashing in the dark, looking down on her, like the inhuman barbarian that he was.

She leapt to her feet as the door clanged shut. Wren slapped a hand against the bars. “I hate you!” she screamed as he walked away.

“The feeling is mutual,” he called over his shoulder before ascending the stairway at the end of the hall.

“You shall pay for this!” Her voice echoed around her but he didn’t respond.

She puffed out a breath once the last guard disappeared up the steps and she turned, leaning her back against the bars. A twisted sense of enjoyment filled her at needling the man. He deserved to be as disturbed as she was.

And one day hewouldpay for it. But that was for another time—if Wren survived long enough to give him his comeuppance.

She glanced toward the bard, and found him staring at her. Wren cocked an eyebrow but he stayed silent. Figures.

Wren wasted no time in approaching the water’s end and eyeing its unknown depths. Was the dragon lurking below? Or were the fish waiting for her?