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“Trust me,” she whispered.

“I already do.”

Bracing herself, she stabbed her first dagger above her head, then used it to lever herself up just enough to stab the next one above it. It was tough-going, slow work, but so long as she kept her breathing even and made sure not to dangle from the blades, she eventually made her way up to a porthole on the lower deck.

With some clever knife work, Wren pried the window open. Trusting that Leif was right behind her, she pulled herself through the small space, silently slipped to the floor, and popped to her feet, daggers in hand in case she had to fend off any surprised sailors—or pirates. No one was around.

She stuck her head back out of the porthole to wave a sodden, very sorry-looking Leif through the window when it became apparent the coast was clear.

Leif collapsed in a shuddering pile on the wooden floor. “I am never—never—doing that again.”

“Never say never.” Wren chuckled, helping her friend to his shaking legs before scanning their surroundings. By some stroke of luck they seemed to have found themselves in the cargo hold.

Jackpot.

Leif lifted a solid gold candelabra from one of the crates and whistled lowly. “Gunn’s newest acquisitions are stunning.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “It’s just gold.”

He snorted. “Excuse me, little miss black diamond princess.”

It was her turn to snort. “Do I look like a princess to you?”

Leif arched a brow. “To be honest? You resemble a drowned rat.”

“Lovely,” she grumbled, searching through boxes and bags nearby. She sighed when she found a collection of fine linen shirts and trousers. Finding a pair that would fit Leif, she threw them at him, then wasted no time in struggling out of her sodden clothes.

Once Wren was dressed in dry, stolen clothes, she turned to discover Leif gawking at her, still holding his pants.

“What?” she demanded, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

A pause. Then, “Nothing,” Leif murmured, pulling his shirt off in the process. “You’ve just never gotten undressed in front of me before. You’re usually such a prude.”

Wren considered this. It was indeed true that she used to be far more protective over who saw her naked and vulnerable. But she trusted Leif not to take advantage of such a situation, though in truth Wren herself was surprised at how easily she had been able to get changed in front of her friend.

She flashed him a grin, then tossed him a thick-woven cape when she unearthed some from a mahogany box, before pulling one on herself. “I guess I must be becoming less a princess and more a feral dragon.”

“Just so long as you aren’t so exposed around other strange men,” Leif countered, getting dressed behind a barrel. “As it stands, I prefer not having an audience when I’m getting dressed.”

“It was your choice to look,” she retorted, staring at the far wall to give him his moment to dress. No one liked to be ogled.

“I didn’t really look. I gave you privacy as soon as you started undressing. I was just surprised that you didn’t order me to turn around.”

The situation was a far cry from when Arrik had charged into the room Queen Astrid was helping Wren get dressed in before their wedding. A shiver went down her spine as she remembered the way the prince’s eyes prowled across her skin, hungry for something she hadn’t been prepared to give him. A hot flush crept up her neck and set her ears on fire as she thought about the way she’d hidden behind a plant to obscure her nakedness. He’d probably thought she was a spineless ninny at the time.

Why does it matter?

She pulled at a wet lock of her hair, willing unwelcome thoughts of Arrik away from her head. He didn’t have any place here.

“…said he was more merchant than pirate, but I beg to differ. Wren. Wren?”

“Huh?” Wren blinked, then realized Leif was wandering around the cargo hold, investigating the contents of boxes, barrels, and sacks as he passed them wearing his newly filched clothing. She shook her head and was quick to catch up to him. “What do you mean?”

Leif waved toward the open box in front of him. “I mean that these goods have almost certainly been stolen. See the crest inside the box?”

Wren peered at the symbol. Her eyes narrowed. “That’s…the Vadonese coat of arms.”

“Exactly. And since when have Verlantian merchants ever successfully traded with Vadon?”