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He was completely opposite of Rowen in every way, but despite her loathing for the prince, she found something about him compelling. She eyed his wide, muscled shoulders and chest that tapered to a slim waist. He was immense. Rowen had been tall, but Arrik would have dwarfed him. Rowen had a swimmer’s physique: muscular, lean, and graceful. But the prince…

Arrik was all hard muscle in brutal, violent lines…

And she’d married him.

She finally forced herself to match Arrik’s stare, as if daring him to acknowledge the horrific amount of damage he had brought upon her. But, of course, Wren saw nothing of the sort in his eyes, nor was she ever going to hear such words of sympathy from his lips. Once again, he was a blank slate. Did the man have no expressions at all?

Nothing he said or did mattered at this point, anyway. Wren did not need empty words from him. He was a demon that was dead inside. All that spoke to him was the lust for flesh and blood.

Arrik took a few careful steps toward the table and its treasure trove of food and drink, as if he and Wren had not just been caught in a tense staring match and as if he was not half-naked. He indicated toward the pot of tea. “I did not see you touch a thing at the ceremony,” he said. “Would you have something now?”

“How observant of you,” she retorted.

Was he watching me throughout the entire celebration? And if he was…did he notice the dagger his brother gave me with which to slice his throat?

Her hand went toward her chest, but Wren jerked it away at the last moment to rearrange the ties upon her shoulders that kept the dress from falling off.

If the prince was bothered by her stony silence, he did not admit it. Instead, he shrugged and popped a morsel of food into his mouth before washing it down with a glass of amber whiskey. Wren could do nothing but watch him from her position by the open courtyard, wishing she could be alone to enjoy the warm breeze on her face and the babbling of the water. Just one night to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

Arrik rolled his neck and set down his glass. He stared at the food and finally looked her way once again and approached her slowly. She pushed away from the column and put it between the two of them, the courtyard to her back.

He slowed and eyed her. “We should get this over with.”

The prince trailed behind her until she was inside the room. Wren moved until the bed stood between them with the door behind her.

“There is no way I am crawling into bed with you,” she said with a calmness she didn’t feel.

“Really?” he murmured, running his fingers along the silk covering his bed.

“I have thought this over today and it doesn’t have to be this way.”

He cocked his head. “How so?”

Wren licked her lips. “It has occurred to me that you are at the mercy of your father as well. I don’t think either of us want this. We can say no. I’ll even sleep on the floor.”

For a moment, it seemed like he was seriously considering her words. “Be that as it may, we have a duty. My king will not be denied.”

“He does not control this.”

“Soren controls everything,” the prince replied softly. “Come quietly to me and I’ll make sure you’re safe and cared for.”

“I’m not taking one step toward you,” she hissed. “You don’t deserve to have even an inch of me.”

A flash of something she couldn’t work out crossed Arrik’s face. She thought it might have been irritation.Or frustration. She’d struck a nerve. Did the pretty prince not like being told he couldn’t have something? Was that how she could rile him?

“So be it,” he said, and, with that, he lunged for her.

Wren was not so foolish as to not have expected it, and when he leapt over the bed, she darted around the end in the nick of time to avoid the prince’s arms.

“You’re fast,” Arrik observed, clearly impressed. “But you are weak from all your days spent as a prisoner. Which means…” He charged around the foot of the bed and toppled her to the mattress. She scrambled forward and the prince grabbed Wren’s leg by the ankle. She cried out in surprise and flipped onto her back as he yanked her toward him, her skirt sliding up. “ThatIam faster. For now.”

She was not going to let her current state of malnutrition get in the way of stopping a degenerate. Reaching out a hand before he managed to reel her in, she grabbed the silver tray, the teapot and food crashing to the floor, and slammed it against Arrik’s face with all her might. The metal cracked satisfyingly when it made contact. Wren followed it up with a swift kick to the gut.

He grunted but didn’t let her leg go. She growled when he ripped the bent tray from Wren’s hands when she tried to hit him again, revealing that she had bloodied his nose and swollen his upper lip.

“I do enjoy a woman full of fire,” he said, grabbing for her once more, as if she had not just viciously hit him in the face.

Wren screamed and reached for her blade. He pinned her arms and she yowled as she tried to escape his other roving hand. “Do not—do not touch me!”