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Vienne had to side with her. Shehadto. The older woman was Wren’s family, after all, and she had succeeded in her mission.

But the head of the rebellion shook her head. “Do not leave the camp—that’s an order,” she added on when it became clear that Wren would argue. “I don’t want another word from you on the matter. Do as you’re told.”

Wren tossed her shaking hands in the air and choked down all the horrible words that wanted to escape. Hateful speech wouldn’t change her aunt’s mind. It would only prove Wren to be immature.

Vienne turned on her heel and left without another word. Bram gave Wren one last glare before he followed in Vienne’s footsteps.

Wren had been dismissed.

Ignored.

She’d done everything that had been asked of her and yet still it hadn’t been enough.

Though Leif accepted her, and Gunn had accepted her, she was never going to be accepted as part of the rebellion, and now she knew it.

“They’ll never trust me,” she whispered.

Leif winced. “That’s not true.”

Wren dropped her hands and met her friend’s gaze evenly. “Don’t lie to me. I’m just a tool.”

She picked up her sack of grain and began stalking into the camp.

When would she ever be free?

9

ARRIK

That Arrik had to act as part of Queen Astrid’s retinue as she visited friends was pure torment. He’d managed to sneak away for a day to meet his spy within the rebellion. It had afforded him a chance to see Wren.

She’d stared at him like he was the wolf and she the hare.

It would have been easy to stay out of sight but he’d wanted his wife to see him. But what was more, he’d wanted a proper glimpse of her to make sure she was okay.

It’s more than that and you know it.

Even now, Arrik wanted to chase after her. To corner her and see how she’d react to him. Though Arrik knew fine well why she’d escaped the palace instead of trusting him—in her place he’d have done the same—there was a feral urge in him to act exactly like the villain Wren clearly thought he was. Thoughts of chains and his bed flashed through his mind.

She’d be shocked by your thoughts, you beast.

When he captured her once again, would she scream at him? Would she attack him? Would she come at him, eyes blazing and daggers out, full of the life and fight Arrik had witnessed when he’d destroyed her life on the Dragon Isles?

He ached for that version of Wren so badly it physically pained him.

Get a hold of yourself. Your wife isn’t truly yours. Focus on the mission.

He was acting as a guard for his stepmother, so Arrik had no choice but to bear the brunt of that pain with no hope of tackling it head-on.

They were traveling through Novenport, a one-day ride from the pirate city Wren had been chased through, a pack of Astrid’s personal guards as well as her simpering, loyal subjects in tow. Arrik didn’t trust a single one of them to follow his orders unless the queen herself willed them to. The ladies in her company were of course holding everyone up, insisting on visiting every shop on the central street to peer through windows and flirt with the upper class.

At this rate they wouldn’t make it to Astrid’s new residence before nightfall. Soren had gifted the keep—built at the highest point of the upper-class living quadrant of Novenport—to his queen as a means of apologizing for his last illicit dalliance, though he had never openly admitted to the affair. But Queen Astrid never seemed to mind when the king was unfaithful…so long as she received some kind of outlandish gift in return for infidelity. Their relationship was mercenary. His stepmother was just as unfaithful…only much more skilled in hiding her affairs.

The whole thing put a bad taste in Arrik’s mouth. Marriage was meant to be between two people, not the whole bloody world.

“What a beautiful afternoon it is,” Arrik heard Astrid comment from her carriage. It was open to the sunshine, though the moment a single cloud appeared in the sky he knew they’d have to stop so the removable, gilded roof of the blasted thing could get put into place over the carriage. He was dreading having to slow the procession even more, so he silently hoped the sunshine would stay. He hated how high-maintenance his stepmother was. A little rain never hurt anyone.

“A single drop of rain wouldn’t dare fall upon your head, my queen!” one of her guards called back. The foolish man blushed when Astrid smiled at him, her dark eyes twinkling at his praise.