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Only Leif looked like he believed her. A glint in his eye told Wren that he was likely going to investigate her version of things on his own, to check for himself the truth of things. It should have been a cause for relief—she still had Leif, and he believed her—but all she felt was tired.

Pure, unadulterated exhaustion. Any time she tried to doanythingon her own she was stopped in her tracks. She couldn’t effect any real kind of change no matter what she did.

Everywhere Wren turned, someone was trying to bind her to their cause.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Vienne said, breaking the awkward tension in the room, “it is high time we met with our benefactor. If we have the prince to contend with as a separate force from his father, then we have even more cause to move faster.”

To Wren’s surprise, Ever did not look in the least bit pleased. With a huff of disapproval, she left the tent. The woman had not once disagreed with Vienne in the entire time Wren had been with the rebellion. She took it as a sign that she was not going to like who their benefactor was in the slightest.

“Whoisthis benefactor?” Wren drawled. It was surprising they’d not banished her from the tent yet.

For a moment it seemed as if Bram was going to tell her that it wasn’t for her to know, but then he said, “Lord Idril. He was married to King Soren’s cousin.”

“And a nasty piece of work,” Leif added on, wincing. “He’s a dark elf who delights in keeping slaves as much as our dear king. Ever was one of Idril’s, back in the day.”

Wren’s lip curled in distaste. “So then why work with him at all?”

“Because needs must,” Vienne said, “and sometimes you have to work with unpleasant people to meet your goals.”

“He couldn’t possibly be worse than Soren,” Wren whispered, resisting the urge to shiver when she thought of the king’s slimy fingers on her skin and his dreadful mouth on her lips.

Leif gave her the most minute shakes of his head—too small for anyone else to see. It spoke volumes. “Prepare yourself,” he muttered, promptly sending a shiver down her spine.

Perhaps Idrilwasworse than Soren. And if that were the case…

Wren believed more and more that she should have flown off with Trove, never to be seen again.

17

WREN

The camp split once more—a message came from their other two camps, informing them that they’d done the same—and Wren was hauled off with Ever and Vienne. She shouldered her pack and once again wished Leif were with her, though she was supremely grateful that Bram was not. He hadn’t stopped throwing glares her way until he left the camp.

The moody blighter.

But the bard and Vienne’s right-hand man were under orders to follow the prince’s soldiers and quietly redirect them so that they didn’t follow the rebels making their way to Lord Idril’s residence. Everyone would regroup there.

Wren eyed their procession. Just how big was the dark elf’s abode? It had to be a veritable palace to be able to accommodate the entire rebellion. She rolled her neck and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She’d find out more about their secretive benefactor in time. Although, from Ever’s reaction, Wren didn’t have high hopes that she’d like him.

“What are you thinking of?” Ever asked, glancing over her shoulder. “I can practically feel you staring through my back.”

“Nothing of consequence,” Wren muttered as Vienne shot an annoyed look her way. Her aunt was still just as angry as she’d been several hours ago. Even now, Wren’s skin crawled. If she hazarded a guess, Vienne had set at least four guards to watch over her. She snorted. As if she planned to take off running through the forest back to Arrik. If anything, it was a relief to be moving in the opposite direction as her husband.

“If you say so,” Ever retorted with a gruff chuckle.

“Just remember we’re not the enemy,” Vienne added, arching her brows.

It didn’t feel that way.

Though Wren hadn’t been restrained, she was nevertheless not allowed to venture out of her aunt’s sight. Considering the dense pine trees as they headed farther and farther into the forest, “out of sight” wasn’t very far at all. The moment she put even a single step out of place, Vienne’s gaze snapped to hers, warning Wren not to even attempt leaving her side.

No matter where she was, it seemed she was a prisoner.

Her thoughts turned to the prince and about what he had said—that she was just as much a prisoner with the rebellion as she was in the Verlantian palace. Wren swallowed hard. She was just a chess piece to be used by either side for their own games, with no will of her own. It would have been easier to discount what Arrik had said if she herself hadn’t been coming to that same conclusion. So what was she going to do about it?

The closest she’d come to having her own will was when her husband had asked her to trust him, and rule with him.

But how could that be? How couldthatbe the situation wherein you have the most free will?