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The queen’s smile turned brittle before it slipped from her face. “They had their father for that.”

She didn’t even want to imagine what that was like. A moment of silence lapsed between them, and Wren rocked back on her heels. It was too soon to tell but Astrid might be her ticket out of the palace.

Astrid smiled again,except there was nothing but sadness behind it. She did not let go of Wren’s hands. “Come. I shall take you to Arrik’s chambers. You can wait for him there instead of returning to the celebrations.”

Wren breathed deeply, steeling herself for what reallywasto come.

Let’s do this.

23

Wren

No matter how much Wren hated the situation, she couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of the Verlantian Palace. Even now, as she stood waiting for her new ‘husband’ to arrive, Wren was struck with how breathtaking the chambers were that she was expected to share with the prince.

The sun had already set, and the lanterns bathed the room with soft light. One wall was entirely open to a courtyard, which was held up by tall marble columns. Sheer curtains hung from the ceiling and rippled in the soft breeze. It made Wren realize how it must not really get cold in Verlanti. The insubstantial fabric of her wedding dress made more sense against the still-balmy evening. Huge leafy plants grew outside the room, hiding what lay outside but she could hear water running over stone. A stream or pool?

Looking around the room at large, Wren could not ignore the enormous, finely carved bed, the wood gilded in an ostentatious amount of gold to her left. Tables bracketed the bed. Then there was a fireplace across from it which Wren assumed never got lit given how hot it was in Verlanti. Two upholstered, cushioned chairs sat on either side of the hearth, large enough that Wren could, in all likelihood, curl up on one of them to sleep.

All in all, the room was simple, but beautiful. A wide mirror hung on the same wall as the bed, framed in what looked like bone, and standing close to the end of the bed was a circular table covered in food and drink.

A private feast for the bride and groom.

Her nose wrinkled in distaste.

In truth, the food on the table looked far more appetizing than the selection that had been provided at the celebration proper—and there was a pot of tea which smelled rather pleasant—but since Wren had only recently eaten an entire bowl of stew and bread, she was not in the least bit hungry. She edged farther into the room and stared at the plants outside.

“I didn’t realize you were so eager to get me alone that you would leave your own wedding celebrations.”

She tensed but didn’t immediately turn at the sound of Arrik’s voice. He’d snuck up on her. Wren walked forward until she stood by the open wall to the courtyard and leaned against one of the columns, looking at the trees and plants. But her entire focus was on the man behind her. She heard the scuff of a boot but that was it.

Wren scanned the plants and attempted to identify their names in order to keep herself distracted from the knife still hidden in her dress. She inhaled deeply and tried to calm herself. Wren didn’t want him to see the attack coming…though, given how on every other occasion they had been alone together she’d attacked Arrik, she very much doubted he would expect anything less from her.

But he doesn’t expect me to have a knife. He doesn’t expect me to be armed.

“Stay silent, then,” Arrik muttered.

She glanced over her shoulder and watched him stride across the room to the bed. He sat down upon it, stretching out his arms and then his legs while sighing in satisfaction. The prince glanced her way, the lantern light turning his silver hair gold.

“All these clothes are far too restrictive, wouldn’t you say, wife? Although there doesn’t seem to be all that much to yours, so I guess you may disagree.”

Her jaw tensed at his use ofwifeand the jibe. It hadn’t been her idea to wear the bloody dress. She restrained herself from lashing out and kept her tongue firmly locked behind her teeth.

Don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Let him tire himself out with insults and innuendos until he makes the mistake of coming too close.

She moved slightly so she could watch him from the corner of her eye. He sat up and unlaced his boots, but he didn’t stop there.

Here we go.

The prince unbuckled his belt, removing the rapier and ceremonial daggers that had been part of his wedding attire, before sliding out of his lavishly embroidered tunic and then stood. Wren’s heartrate skyrocketed despite herself.

Does he have no fear in removing his weapons?Does he truly have no fear, or is this all a ruse? Is he testing me?

Arrik removed the undershirt he’d been wearing, leaving him in nothing but his doeskin leggings, and Wren temporarily forgot all about his weapons and the fact she was meant to kill him. She turned to face him, ignoring her better judgment, eyes widening at the strange and enticing sight of him.

For the prince’s bare skin was of far more interest than the clothes he had been wearing; he was covered in scars and ink, an entire tapestry of interlocking designs in blue and black and bottle green that Wren could make neither head nor tail of.

All she knew was that she couldn’t look away. There was something mesmerizing about the tattoos and scars—as well as the canvas upon which they were drawn.