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He smiled. “I should hope not.”

Her stony expression didn’t waver. “Don’t lie to me. Be honest and I will do as you ask for my people.”

It was in that moment Arrik realized he hadneverlied to Wren, even when he was goading her into reacting to him. For what could he be with his new-found dragon wife if not honest? She made no attempt to hide her true feelings of him, either. Considering how they met, it made no sense to lie. Wren could hate Arrik, yes, and he could continue watching her like a hawk in case she should attack him, yes, but, through whatever bizarre circumstances, he had found a person he could actually talk to honestly.

He slowly reached out and untucked the edge of the blanket, freeing her arms. It was a show of trust. Arrik held his hand out. “A truce?”

She eyed his outstretched palm like it was a snake but eventually took it. Her hand was calloused like his own, not like any highborn lady of the elven court.

“For now,” she replied.

He released her hand reluctantly, liking her skin upon his own too much. Arrik turned from her to ensure she did not see the small smile that curled his lips, though he was aware her eyes were on the back of his head.

“You really need to sleep,” Arrik told her, before standing and moving back to his chair by the empty fireplace. “I doubt you have slept for days.”

Wren clucked her tongue and clutched the blankets to her chest. The giant prison of blankets Arrik had trussed her up in loosened, but she didn’t move. She sagged into them and let out a sigh. “I would sleep better if you gave me a weapon,” she said innocently.Too innocently.

“Demands already? What a greedy wife you are.”

She shrugged. “When you can’t beat them, join them. It was worth a try.” Wren yawned. “If I need to sleep, then you definitely need to sleep, too.”

“I’ll sleep when I am dead.”

“Wouldn’t that be a miracle.”

Arrik smothered a chuckle. A fiery sense of humor to go with her fighting and her hair. He liked it. Too much.

But despite her words of protest, Wren’s eyes eventually grew heavy, and Arrik watched with some relief when she finally slipped into a resistant, unsettled sleep. He rose and made sure to secure the boy’s hands behind his back before he called in Shane. His second took in the scene and then had his men remove the young assassin.

Shane eyed the sleeping princess. “Quite a fight she put you through earlier and now she is sleeping? How curious.”

“We came to an understanding,” Arrik whispered.

His friend eyed him critically. “Be careful. Females are dangerous creatures.”

“I always am.”

His second left the room silently as the sky turned pink to the east. Curiosity getting the better of him, Arrik moved back over to the bed once more to examine the sleeping face of his new bride.

He did not know when he would next get a chance to, after all.

There were deep shadows beneath Wren’s eyes, and there were barely healed cuts and bruises on her neck that her hair had hidden.

Arrik had not had the chance to look at Wren this closely since he had nearly choked the life out of her. Now that she was washed and clean and dressed in the high fashion of Verlanti, he found it easier to take in her features.

It was the wild, red hair that Arrik liked the most. Truly, he had never seen the color upon any other person he had ever met. Even after their tussle, it was still adorned with tiny jewels, which seemed to burn and glow with her hair. It was as if her head was aflame, especially in the burgeoning light of dawn filtering through the courtyard.

He placed a hand over Wren’s face, not quite touching her skin. She was not a Verlanti version of beauty—the dress she wore to their wedding had highlighted that. Most women in Verlanti, and most of the men, too, were polished. Perfect. All sharp planes and immaculate, shining hair and clothes.

But there was something natural about the Dragon Princess that Arrik found himself drawn to. He liked it a lot. There was a softness to her, despite the lean muscles of her body that made the swathes of insubstantial Verlantian fabric feel more alive rather than sterile. It was that contrast that pleased him so. He wanted to capture her wildness and keep it for himself.

His fingertips touched Wren’s cheek for just a moment, then he retreated from the bed as if he had been burned. He was a fool. Giving in to his attraction was a mistake.

She would sooner kill him than let him touch her.

His new wife was a dragon among vipers and he had a feeling that she’d wreak havoc in the court. Soren should have killed her. She was a dangerous piece to add to the chessboard.

He smiled. It was his father’s mistake.