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“Is this really necessary?” she complained at the end of the week. She was sweaty and sticky.

“It’s for your safety and mine.”

“How so?”

He hadn’t responded.

Time passed in a blur of exploring, luncheons with the queen, and a complete lack of contact with the rest of the court. She hadn’t seen Soren or his other sons in over three weeks and Wren found herself comfortable in Arrik’s quiet presence.

She still didn’t trust him, but she wasn’t terrified of him.

He’d kept his promises and she’d kept hers. It worked for them both.

What she didn’t tell her husband was that she’d successfully managed to hide away several jewel-encrusted hairpins that would hopefully secure herself a ship and provisions. But she was no closer to finding a way out of the castle; all entrances and exits to the palace were heavily guarded, and she had no doubt that the expansive gardens were teeming with spies and guard dogs.

Wren thought back to the dragon and the mad boy locked in prison. It had seemed like such a desperate, suicidal plan to use the dragon to escape, yet now it seemed more and more appealing. The longer she stayed in the palace the more she itched to escape. The castle was enormous, and she hadn’t even scratched the surface when it came to exploring, but it was still a prison.

That evening, Arrik stormed into the room and slammed the door.

Wren blinked at him. That was the first instance of a temper he’d ever shown in quite some time. “What’s wrong?”

“We are expected at dinner with my family,” he said simply. He tossed a green gauzy garment onto the bed and began stripping as he walked out into the courtyard. “My step mother sends her regards along with that dress.”

“I have plenty of dresses,” Wren called back, getting up from the chair. The plants rustled as the prince disappeared from sight.

“Well, I like this one and it would please my stepmother.”

Wren scowled and eyed the dress like it was a snake. She’d seen what the queen viewed as appropriate clothing over the last few weeks. Lifting it up, Wren sighed. The neckline was higher than any of her other dresses and had a solid fabric beneath the sheer layers so no one would see all of her important bits.

She hugged it to her chest and darted toward the privy to get changed. Not only did she want privacy but she had managed to steal a little bag which she could hide beneath her dresses. Wren kept her filched treasures there.

It was time to become the prince’s complicit little wife.

Well, not complete amenable.

Wren slipped on the gauzy emerald-green dress and then exited the privy. She smiled as she ran her hands down the gown. It was stunning. Her mum would have loved it. She swallowed hard, her smile staying in place. It was nice to have a happy thought about her mum.

Water splashed outside; she glanced toward the courtyard just beyond the billowing white curtains. The plants waved in the wind and her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of toned, wet skin.

Arrik.

The elves had no shame. They even bathed out in the open.

Don’t be such a prude. Your people do the same.

Quickly, she adjusted the golden, jeweled straps of her dress on her shoulders and smoothed her hands down the gauzy material. It clung to her curves in a classy way that made her feel beautiful. For the first time since she’d arrived in the elvish kingdom, Wren felt like she was back in her own skin.

In her short time in Verlanti, she’d learned two things: beauty was valued above all else and women were praised for their sensuality.

Tonight, Wren would use both.

She ran her fingers through her tangled red locks to unknot them and pinched her cheeks to add some color.

This was it.

Gut churning, she padded toward the curtains, the trees surrounding the bathing pool gently rustling. Wren averted her eyes and slung a hip against one of the tall, white marble pillars that bracketed the entrance to their room when Arrik exited the pool. She examined the painted sunset, even as she focused on every sound her new husband made as he approached her.

He paused near her side and Wren glanced at him, relieved to see that he was now covered by a towel. His long silver hair hung in his face, dripping water down his chiseled chest. His weapons were tucked underneath his arm. The man never let her near any of them. He was smart.