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The rebellion members parted and Idril made his way to stand before her, forcing Wren to tilt her chin up to match his stare. He didn’t look like Soren at all.

“Hello, little peach,” Idril said, smiling sweetly as he scanned Wren from head to toe. When she said nothing, he reached out and slid her hood down, eyes widening when he spied her crimson hair.

“Ah, us redheads must stick together,” he murmured, for only Wren to hear, flashing her a grin that was anything but pleasant. The blue of his eyes seemed familiar to Wren, but she didn’t dare dwell on why.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Idril,” Wren finally said, when it became clear he was waiting for her to speak. She nodded politely. “I can only apologize for interrupting just now. It was not my place to speak.”

“Hmm,” Idril murmured, gently stroking Wren’s hair as his eyes noted every permutation of her face. Watching her every move like a hawk.

Like he held a secret about her that only he knew.

Then Idril waved a pointed, long-fingered hand around the room, an easy smile on his face. “Get comfortable, little peach, and enjoy what the night has to offer. We shall speak again over the next few days. You can be sure of it.”

Wren’s stomach dropped.

It sounded more like a threat than a promise.

18

ARRIK

His father was in a foul mood. Which was saying something, because whenever Soren wasn’t in an exultant, hedonistic stupor he was always deep in the bowels of rage. But his mood now was different. Aimed at something very specific.

Arrik was taking the brunt of it.

“They stopped our shipsagain,” Soren spat, guzzling down a goblet of wine. A petite serving girl wearing the barest slip of a dress promptly refilled it, before topping up the goblet of Arrik’s brother, Cathal, the heir to the throne. He had taken to sitting in on all meetings between Soren and Arrik recently, claiming that it was his right as future king to keep abreast of all that was going on.

Which was a bloody joke.

His brother was frightened of what Arrik might be planning. In truth, Cathal was right to be afraid; after all, even their father knew he was a disappointment next to Arrik. But it was all part of Soren’s games that he pitted his sons against each other—all the better to keep them attacking each other rather than uniting against the king.

But Arrik no longer cared about any of that.

He worked alone.

But you don’t want to, do you? You want your pretty little wife by your side.

“But we hold the isles,” Cathal drawled, lecherous gaze sliding over the serving girl as he spoke. A nasty smile curled his crooked-toothed mouth that Arrik wished to punch. “Why can’t our ships go through? This wouldn’t have something to do with you and your runaway savage bride, would it, brother?”

Arrik ignored him.

“If we can’t make it through the isles to trade with Vadon, there will be trouble,” Soren warned. “The people of Lorne are stubborn, far more stubborn than I ever thought possible. Though, given the antics of yourrunaway savage bride—” Cathal’s grin grew wider at his father using his words to describe Wren “—I should have expected this.”

“There was a reason the Dragon Isles always held the sea,” Arrik said blandly. “Their navy and people alike are tough as nails.”

“But youdestroyedtheir navy.”

“No, I destroyed what needed to be destroyed in order to conquer the place. Taking Lorne by surprise by attacking on Princess Wren’s wedding day meant the Dragon Isles didn’t havetimeto get their naval forces together properly. To have destroyed all their ships and killed all their people would only be a disadvantage for us going forward. After all, would you be willing to send thousands of Verlantians to run their navy to replace all the people we massacred?”

Soren hissed through his teeth at Arrik’s observation, but he knew he was correct. Verlantian forces were already spread far thinner than the king was willing to admit aloud, and he knew no elves that he trusted would be willing to move to the unforgiving Dragon Isles to toil and labor away for no reward. Keeping the people and ships of Lorne alive was the sensible thing to do.

“In any case,” Soren muttered, which Arrik took as a victory, “this cannot keep going. Idril has been complaining for weeks now that his shipments of slaves are not going through either side of the isles. He’s causing a ruckus in the upper circles.” The king’s eyes sharpened through their wine-induced haze on Arrik. “My fool of a cousin should never have married him.”

“His gold was worth it,” Cathal commented. “From what I hear.”

Soren snorted into his cup. “She didn’t live long enough to spend any of it.” The king leveled a glare at Arrik. “Idril will offend me no further. Take care of him.”

Nowthiswas an unexpected turn of events. Lord Idril had always toed the line of acceptable conduct in the face of the king, but the two of them ultimately had more in common than they had disagreements. For Soren to have Arriktake care ofIdril meant things were far more fraught and unsettled than he was letting on.