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“So how are things going at the palace?” Wren asked the question casually, though her heart was thrashing wildly in her chest. Suddenly, allowing herself to be alone with Josenu in the middle of the forest felt like a terrible idea. He was one of Arrik’s personal palace guards.

What if helping you escape was all a ploy?

Her stomach knotted and she forced herself to keep her calm façade in place.

What if this was some twisted game of Arrik’s just so he could capture you again?

She exhaled slowly, memories surfacing that brought both fear—and to her shame—a little thrill. The expression on the prince’s face when he realized Wren was fleeing his side lingered in her mind far too often—when he knew once and for all that she was rejecting him—his politics, his plan, everything—in order to go off on her own and protect the Dragon Isles any way she could.

“I’ll hunt you.”

Wren shivered.

Three little words that haunted her at night.

“Princess Wren?” Josenu murmured, concern coloring his fine features. It was only in forcing her attention back on the guard that Wren noted justhowfine those features were. A proud brow, sharp cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose. He was more beautiful than half of the Verlanti court—on par with Arrik and his brothers. Wren had never noticed before; Josenu had always been dressed in his on-duty guard uniform.

Now in casual clothes made to blend in with the lower classes, his handsome features stood out even more.

Josenu frowned, casting a shadow over his gray eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“You look different in plain clothes,” Wren said, which at the very least wasn’t a lie. “It took me aback.”

“Are you sure you weren’t thinking, ‘What if he’s double-crossing the rebellion for the sake of Prince Arrik,’ by any chance?”

Wren winced. Josenu was clearly a clever man; no wonder Vienne had trusted him to help Wren and Leif flee the Verlantian palace. “It may have crossed my mind,” she admitted, slowly. “I’d be stupid not to but…”

“I’ll hunt you.”

“But…?” he prompted.

“You’ve helped me in the past. Until you give me a reason not to trust you, we’re allies.”

Josenu snorted. “How very diplomatic of you. It’ll get you killed. Never trust anyone.”

“Even you?” she questioned, eyeing the forest around them, pushing past the roiling, twisting feelings inside her.

“Even me.”

“How very comforting,” she replied dryly. “What news is there from the palace?” Wren asked, changing the subject.

Josenu leaned against a tree, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded Wren. An evening breeze gently blew his hair around his face, softening his features. For one traitorous moment, Wren wondered what Arrik himself would look like in such a situation: lowborn clothes, hair undone, at ease beneath a forest.

She wanted to see it, almost as much as she didn’t.

Get yourself together. What is wrong with you?

“Queen Astrid plans to visit some of her favorite friends soon—you would do well to avoid straying into her path.”

This gave Wren pause. She liked the queen. She had been perhaps the only member of the royal family who had treated Wren like an actual person. More than that: on the day of her wedding, Astrid had treated Wren like a daughter.

She’s not your mother. They killed your mother.

Bile burned at the back of her throat.

Don’t think about your mother.

“How can I know to avoid her path if I do not know who her friends are or where they plan to meet?” Wren rasped, trying to get control of her emotions. Something told her to keep her curiosity over why she should avoid Astrid to herself for now.