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It was Bram who answered. “I’m surprisedyoudon’t.”

Wren was about to demand he speak plainly, then scrunched her eyes as she decided instead to try and focus on the tune. Itdidsound familiar, truth be told, though she wasn’t sure why.

Then the bard began singing, and it didn’t take long for Wren to work out where she’d heard the song. Every town they’d traveled through she’d heard snippets sung on the lips of every lowborn—and highborn—reveler leaving a drug den or tavern or whorehouse.

“And though the prince indeed looked fair,

His good wives three he did so scare!

And now I say, without a lie,

Through fright or flee, they did so die!”

“Ahh,” Wren sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. After hearing the truth from Arrik’s own mouth, the song held no amusement for her. At first, the lyrics had made her feel…sad, almost. They were a lie—if the prince was to be believed. Someone had murdered them. Had likely meant to murderWren,too, though Arrik had ensured that did not happen.

No, you tried to kill him instead.

Now the lyrics merely annoyed Wren. She was fed up with hearing them—of feeling sadness, or guilt, or whatever else it was the words made her feel.

He has a hold on you.

Her fingers tightened around her cup. It was a dark truth that she never wanted to come to light. It shamed her. All she wanted was to be done with Arrik entirely.

“And what about the fourth wife?” the pirate-merchant who sat behind Wren bellowed, startling Wren so much she spilled half her ale across the table. She shook her hand off and wiped the excess ale onto her dark cloak.

Leif paused from his flute-playing to grin at the man. “I heard she tried to kill the fair prince!”

Wren couldn’t believe her ears. Was Leif honestly admitting to what shehaddone? But the confession had the entire bar in fits of laughter.

“I’d like to see the woman who could do that,” someone called out.

“Sheisa dragon!” someone else shouted. “If she really tried to off the barbarian prince, just imagine what netting her would get us in return.”

“Hmm, I wonder,” the pirate-merchant murmured, right into Wren’s ear. Far too close.

She flipped around to face him, heart in her throat, and was met with a steely gray-eyed stare, slightly too-long brown hair tied carelessly back, and a roguish grin filled with perfect white teeth. He looked younger than Arrik and even Josenu. Closer to Rowen’s age, if Wren looked closely enough.

She pushed thoughts of Rowen away.

“Take a step back,” she muttered, pressing a blade against his thigh.

He smiled, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he leaned closer. “Or what, my lovely lady?”

“Gunn,” Leif said, when it became clear the bar had returned their attention to the bard and his next song. “Nice of you to make yourself known.”

Wren stiffened. This was their contact?

Bram huffed. “You took your time revealing yourself.”

“I wanted to see what she’d do,” Gunn said, still grinning at Wren and far too close. She wanted to move away but knew that meant losing to the clearly very dangerous man in front of her.

“And what did you want me to do?” she whispered, pressing the blade harder against his leg.

“Cry, maybe. Run out the tavern. Sing along as the bard slanders your dear husband.” His lips tilted roguishly. “Or my personal favorite, fall madly in love with me, let me whisk you away as you lifted your skirts.”

The distinct urge to slap Gunn filled Wren’s veins. Instead, she matched his smile. “Sorry, crying and fleeing aren’t things that dragons do. We do sing, but not about monsters who murder our family. As for the tossing of skirts…” She eyed him from head to toe before meeting his gaze once again. “I doubt anyone has lifted theirs in a long time for the likes of you.”

Gunn’s smile grew even wider, which Wren hadn’t thought possible. “What a treasure you are. You’re everything Leif said you were and more.” He arched a black brow. “Now that we’re acquainted, would you be so kind as to remove your dagger from my thigh?”