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“You are too modest for someone so beautiful,” Queen Astrid said, and though Wren looked for the jest or insult behind her words, she could find none. “You will look truly a sight in this dress. I have not a doubt about it. Don’t be shy, dearest. I chose it for you. My stepson seems to prefer black, and your hair will set it off perfectly.”

Wren didn’t care what the prince liked or disliked. Plus, Astrid’s compliments were not enough to convince Wren to unwrap the towel from around her body to put on the ridiculous dress. She merely stared at the fabric, wishing it would disappear.

“I hoped you would not be difficult about this.” The queen released a sigh and smiled. “It’s no matter.” She moved to the door and opened it.

Wren’s heart thumped hard as the prince entered the bathing room like he the owned the place. She clenched the towel tighter to her body as he scanned her from head to toe, his expression revealing nothing. He dismissed her and stared out the windows.

“My darling,” the queen purred, placing a hand on his forearm. “Why did you not knock? You know I wouldn’t keep you from your bride. Do you wish to speak with your betrothed?”

Arrik shrugged her off. “I was waiting formy belovedto get dressed. If she takes much longer, we will be late.”

What a terrible shame if that happened.

Wren edged backward until she had immersed herself in the plants. It afforded her more cover than the bloody towel at least. The prince arched a brow at her but said nothing. She glared at him, hating how uneasy and naked he made her feel. Rowen had never even seen her so undressed. It seemed wrong for Arrik to see her this way.

The queen chuckled and waved her hand at Wren. “No need to hide, my dear. He’s not going to eat you.”

“Are you so sure?” she retorted. “There have been rumors of his appetites.”

“Let’s hope some of them are right,” the queen tittered, causing the prince to frown. “Now, stop hiding.”

Wren swallowed hard and slowly emerged from behind the plant, watching Arrik carefully all the while. He did not have to dress up in the same gauzy, barely-there material that was expected of her. Instead, he wore a finely embroidered silk tunic in black and gold over what looked like soft and supple doeskin leggings and knee-high leather boots polished to a high shine. A sword belt cinched in his waist, adorned with a clearly ceremonial rapier and several daggers of various lengths.

With his hair perfectly braided back, and several tiny, golden chains adorning his pointed ears, she had to admit that Arrik was just a little bit handsome.

More than a little bit,the wretch.

It was ironic that under such beauty lay a beast. Beauty could not overwrite the atrocities he’d committed. His looks wouldn’t sway Wren. She knew what he was.

Arrik watched Wren watching him, a spark of interest in his eyes, then let out a chuckle before heading for the door. “Get dressed,” he ordered. “Or don’t. I don’t care what you wear to the wedding. I’ll marry you without any clothes on if that’s the way you wish it. Though I imagine…” He turned his head and raised his eyebrows suggestively at Wren. “I imagine you do not want that.”

She didn’t doubt it for one second that he would follow through. The only thing more humiliating than the wedding would be if she had to go to said weddingnaked. She reminded herself, not for the first time, that since she had not been able to flee the night before, she truly had no choice but to go through with the wedding. Wren had to cooperate—however tenuous that cooperation was—for the sake of Lorne.

For Britta.

How could she ever return home if she was kept as a prisoner in a dungeon? At least as Arrik’s wife she might make it back to the Dragon Isles.

Not might, will.

And even if hewasthe king, the people of Lorne would hold no trust in him. They would want him gone. Perhaps this was the best thing Wren could really hope for: return to Lorne with her new, murderous husband, then stage a coup against him. The Dragon Isles would not be so unprepared against a second attack from Verlanti. They would take their navy out onto the open sea to protect the bay, and everyone would be safe.

“Very well,” she responded and the prince shut the door as he left.

She sagged a little as the queen handed the gown to the servant and they both helped her dress.

Astrid took Wren’s hand and pulled her in front of a full-length mirror that was as wide as five people. “Look,” she said gently, adjusting the ties on the shoulders of Wren’s dress until they were perfect. “You’re beautiful. You’re a princess. This is not the kind of clothing you are used to, but you are undoubtedly still you. There is no shame in wearing beautiful things. They are simply another version of armor.”

What an interesting and cryptic comment.

Wren’s eyes widened at her words as the servant and Queen Astrid both began drying and adorning her hair with jewels. It was nothing like her wedding to Rowen and for that, she was thankful. It would have destroyed what was left of her heart to go through this farce if it had. Even as she looked into the mirror, she hardly recognized the woman staring back at her.

You can do this.

Astrid was right; every pretty thing they were putting on Wren was armor, to make her look every inch the perfect Verlantian bride. And that was what she needed to be until such a time that she could put real armor back on and fight the way she was used to.

When they had finished getting her ready, the queen touched Wren’s shoulder and smiled reassuringly. “Things are not as bad as they seem. I’m here for you and you’re not alone. You’re a princess. So, keep your chin up high, even though you feel like you’re crumbling inside. Trust me. I know how you feel. Can you do that?”

Wren stared at Astrid through the mirror.