Page 64

It would be a long night, but not for the reasons she originally thought.

24

Arrik

If one thing had been made clear to Arrik from the moment he had first cast his eyes upon Wren, it was this: she was as wild as the dragons who dwelled in her homeland.

He popped another grape into his mouth, the sweet taste bursting across his tongue. Arrik winced and swallowed it down quickly. He hated sweet things. Tart grapes were his favorite though. A sigh escaped him, and his gaze was drawn back to his wife. Even in the dark, her red hair was like a beacon.

His new wife had wasted no time in trying to attack him the moment an opportunity arose. Arrik could not blame her. Rather, it only served to impress him. Instead of turning into a weeping mess, she’d fought back. He respected Wren, though he highly doubted she would believe him if he were to vocalize his regard. The lass was suspicious, and she had every right to be. She’d entered the house of serpents and it was wise for her to never forget that. Someone would always want to kill her.

The thought caused something dark and possessive to burn in his chest. No one would touch what was his. Not again. He would not fail. She would not die.

You’re getting too attached to her.

Tearing his gaze away, he focused on the courtyard, on the plants that waved in the breeze. That was the problem. Truly, he’d only spent a handful of days in her presence, but something about her called to him. She had somehow reached inside his heart and made a place for herself. The worst part? He’d felt it happen in Lorne when she’d spat at Shane and then swore she’d never marry his father. It intrigued him. Every woman he’d married before had come to him for any number of selfish reasons, but Wren was the first woman who wanted nothing from him. It was refreshing in a twisted sort of way. But then again, Arrik was twisted. His soul was corrupt but a small part of himself wanted to be better so she wouldn’t look at him with revulsion.

Given what had happened to his last three wives, that was a problem.

If she survived the night…he clenched his jaw.Whenshe survived the night, the princess would be in even more danger. His brothers were jealous, dangerous creatures with a horrid penchant for depravity and violence. If they suspected that he cared one whit for the princess, death would be a kindness compared to the games they played.

Drawn once more, he cast his gaze over the bed. His new wife had turned her face toward him, the moonlight shining in her eyes as she glared at him. Thoroughly wrapped up and unable to move, her gaze promised vengeance. She’d not spoken one word to him in three hours and refused to go to sleep which she clearly needed by the black bags beneath her eyes. It was a waste of breath to tell her to sleep.

He supposed that Wren had no reason to believe he would not ravish her after she fell asleep. Considering everything that happened to her so far—at his hands, no less—it was no doubt the least she would expect from him. It rankled, but he understood it. Trust did not come easily, and he hadn’t earned hers.Yet.Once they survived the night, Arrik would start the process of gaining her trust. They were both in a precarious situation and if he played his cards right, perhaps they could be allies. She wanted to go home to her people, and he wanted control of Verlanti. They could both get what they wanted if they worked together.

Only if she survives the night.

From his past three experiences, he was well aware of the mortal danger his dragon bride now found herself in. He turned his attention back to the courtyard. Surely the attacker would come from there. He’d stationed men throughout the corridor and on the roof, but Arrik doubted it was enough. Whoever kept sending assassins to kill his brides hired only the best. He touched his left side, running his thumb along the scar there. The last time, he’d almost died as well.

Arrik never had a chance to know any of the women who were married to him for not even a full night. They had all been arranged marriages—much like this one—only those women had been of Verlantian blood, women seeking money and prominence. Though the marriages had been arranged, that did not mean that he hadn’t felt their deaths keenly. It weighed heavily on his conscience.

He had been responsible for them. They’d been in his care. And yet, each and every time he went to sleep on his wedding night, he’d awoken to discover his new wife lying dead beside him.

One had been poisoned. Another suffocated.

The last time, he’d moved his bride to a secret location. Despite all the planning that had been put into place, the assassin still had killed two of his men and slipped inside the small cottage. Arrik had been prepared for the fight, but his new wife had not listened to him. She hadn’t stayed hidden, instead joining the fray. The assassin had stabbed him and then slit his wife’s throat and disappeared into the night. He could do nothing but hold her and watch as she labored to breathe her final breaths. Even now, he remembered the horrid sound. What was worse was the silence afterward.

That had been the final straw.

He’d thrown everything into discovering who was killing these women…and why. It was obviously a ploy to get to him. But if the assassins had been quiet enough to murder the women lying beside Arrik without him waking until it was too late for him to save them, then why had they simply not killed him too? It wasn’t as if there hadn’t been many attempts on his life already. It was practically part of his schedule each week.

Eat, train, ward off an assassin, eat again.

Whoever was responsible was trying to send him a message. A bloody, unknowable threat. But what was it? And who was it? The assassins he’d managed to track down had been paid in untraceable coin and had never met their mysterious benefactor.

Quietly, Arrik examined the blade that he’d found in Wren’s possession. A quick look over at the bed confirmed she was, indeed, still watching him, but, at this point, he no longer cared. It was clear that, beneath her hatred and revulsion of him, she was deeply curious about what was going on, so Arrik decided it was up to her to finally give in and vocalize that curiosity.

If she wants to know what is going on, then she can ask me. I will not simply hand out the answers she seeks, whether she’ll ever admit to wanting them or not.

He held the thin stiletto up in front of his eyes and twisted it this way and that. It was a finely made Vedonian knife, from far down south: too expensive and rare a weapon for most in the nation to be able to afford it.

This was Kalles’ work.It screams him.

Of all of his brothers, Kalles was the one Arrik was least sure about. His youngest brother acted just as lazy and as hedonistic as his other brothers, yes, but Arrik was growing more and more suspicious that it was all simply an act. Kallesdidlike to play games—of that he was certain. His brother had so many faces that he wasn’t sure which one was genuine.

“What did my brother say to you when he gave you this knife?” he asked Wren, irritated that he had to break the silence between them first to get an answer. But this wasn’t merely a tit-for-tat situation: both his and Wren’s very lives depended on why she was given the dagger.

She remained stonily silent. This was going to be a long bloody night.