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“No one can accuse you of that.”

Vienne’s lips thinned. “I’ll see you at dinner.” She turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Wren walked to the door, locked it, and then leaned against the wood. She closed her eyes for a moment as she steeled herself for what was to come. Surely, it would be another night of revelries. She opened her eyes and stared at the dress once more and smiled. She’d wear the dress but add her own touches as well.

Rushing across the room, she dug out the strapless black silk nightgown that hugged all her curves, and held it up in the air. It had been a gift from Idril that she’d never planned to wear but tonight it would do just the trick.

Wren discarded her clothes and slid on the slip before donning the dress Idril had sent as a gift. She even wore all of the jewelry, including the Dragon Isles diamond earrings; they flashed through her hair, alluring and entrancing. She touched the cool surface of them, fingertips tracing a line along her ears to feel the barely discernible scars that sat along the edge of her skin there. She hadn’t thought about the scars in a long time—she didn’t even know how she’d gotten them—but now she was wearing such outlandish earrings adorned with the spoils of her homeland it got her wondering why the scars were there. But she pushed the thought to the side to scrutinize her reflection. Wren had to admit she made quite a sight dressed this way, especially now that her skin had taken on the barest hint of a tan from the Verlanti sun.

She hated that she looked good.

Wren grinned as she pinned up a couple sections of hair with simple bronze clips Ever had loaned her weeks ago. Her lips lifted. Not only had she preserved her modesty, she’d also complied with Idril’s request.

Well, mostly.

She ran her fingers through her hair once more before moving to the door, the bangles around her wrists and ankles tinkling merrily. She unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway.

Her aunt scanned Wren from head to toe and pursed her lips.

Wren arched a brow. “What do you think?”

Vienne shook her head, but a ghost of a smile touched her lips. “You look lovely, although I’m glad I didn’t have any children. You all are so contrary.”

A small chuckle escaped Wren. “Perhaps.”

“Let’s be off. We mustn’t be late.”

Vienne directed her to one of the larger banquet halls. Wren had imagined a long table covered in an excessive number of dishes from all across the world, along with a dozen wines in different colors, but Idril’s idea of a dinner party included none of that.

It was more akin to a full-on party.

At first Wren didn’t see any food, but then she noticed servants discreetly carrying trays of bite-size morsels through the horde of people attending the event. Even more servants were ensuring everyone had full glasses—or providing thimblefuls of white powder when it was requested.

Drugs.

She hated the stuff.

Stomach churning, she observed the room once more.

“Is it just me or is everyone a man?” Wren muttered through her teeth toward her aunt, who held an easy smile on her face. She didn’t seem fazed in the slightest by the leering, hungry looks thrown their way. Some of the men were old enough to be Wren’s grandfather—or even Vienne’s. At least from what she could spy from beneath the half masks all the men wore.

A shudder ran down her spine.

These were the people they were trusting with the future of the Dragon Isles?

“This is the way of things, Wren,” Vienne said mildly as they wound their way toward Lord Idril—the only unmasked man in the room. “You have been spoiled, living in Lorne and being treated like a firstborn son. Verlanti is not kind to women. Even women who find high status—like Queen Astrid—do not truly have their freedom, so long as there’s a man like Soren keeping her under his thumb.”

“But that doesn’t have to be the way things are,” Wren shot back, upset to discover that her aunt thought this way. Her mother—Vienne’s sister—had been forced into slavery before escaping to the Dragon Isles. How could she simply accept that the world was not fair to women? Why wasn’t she angry? Why wasn’t she fighting back?

Maybe Vienne leading the rebellionwasher way of fighting back. She simply had to dance with the devils who enslaved her sister first.

Vienne did not respond to Wren’s protest, instead placing a finger to her lips to subtly silence her as they approached Lord Idril. The elf took them both in with obvious approval.

“I am glad to see the two of you accepted my gifts.” He beamed, gaze lingering on Wren for far too long. She could feel all eyes on her, creepy and lecherous, but she kept her head held high to retain what little shred of dignity she possibly had left. The dark elf smirked. “I see that you made alterations to your dress, my dear.”

Wren dipped her head and spun in a slow circle so he could see the full effect of what she’d done. She faced him once more. “I’d say it is an improvement, don’t you think, my lord?”

He smiled thinly. “Quite fetching. The silk is a nice touch.”