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She chuckled as the guards led her down to the dungeons. It seemed that even marriage to the king’s favorite son did not prevent Soren from throwing her into the dungeon. It only served to show Wren how false everything in Verlanti was—all she had to do was splash the king with some wine and here she was, back in her cell.

Well, nothercell. For whatever reason, Wren was thrown into the cell right next to the mad boy, rather than the one two cells over from him.

“I knew you’d be back,” the boy said the moment the door to the prison was slammed shut.

“By the tides,” she breathed. “You’re still here?”

He ignored her.

“And just as mercurial as before.”

“From rags to riches, and riches to rags,” he sang back.

“Oh, be quiet,” Wren snapped back. She had no time nor patience for his twisted, confusing words. No; she had a pocketful of jewels and the ghost of an idea to escape the hell she’d been placed in.

Feeling bold, she rushed to the very edge of the water and stared intently into its dark and murky depths.

“Watch your toes, watch your toes, oh, watch your toes!” the boy cried in his annoying singsong voice.

“I told you to be quiet.” Wren edged just a little farther back from the water anyway, then crossed her arms and considered her options in blessed silence.

The dragon is clearly not trapped in here. The dungeon is too small to house it, and I doubt this strip of water is a narrow, deep pool. And it definitely rose and receded like the tide. It’s attached to the sea. The dragon can come and go as it pleases.

The fish definitely hadn’t shown up last time when the dragon did. Wren reasoned that its luminous scales served as a warning for the fish to keep well enough away—which was exactly what Wren needed.

Which meant she had to escape alongside the dragon.

No, Wren had toridethe dragon. That’s if he didn’t kill her while she attempted such a thing.

Behind her, the prison door creaked open, and Wren did not have to turn around to know who had deigned to visit. To her left, the mad boy retreated into the shadows of his cell—to obscure his presence or for some other reason, Wren did not know.

“I thought we had a deal,” the prince said softly.

Her shoulders tensed up as his dark tone slithered over her skin. “We did.”

“You broke it.”

“Do not pretend to care about that,” she replied calmly. “You’re put out that I ruined your plans.”

“My plans?”

She slowly faced her husband. “I am not a fool. You gained much more than I in the deal. You may have not locked me away in your rooms, but I am a prisoner just the same.”

But no longer. She’d escape this night. No more waiting. Wren could feel it in her bones: tonight was the night. Soren throwing her into the prison had been exactly what she needed to sneak out of the complacent rut she’d found herself in.

Wren raised her brows as the prince entered the cell and then sat down on the disgusting stone floor a few feet away from her.

“What are you doing?”

He gave her a hard smile. “Sitting, of course.”

“Why?”

Her husband sighed and leaned his head against the grate. “Did you really have to throw wine at my father?” he countered.

“No. Well, yes.” She tossed her hands in the air. “What else would you have had me do?”

He laughed softly. “I suppose I should be thankful you did not have a knife this time.”