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He smiled at the ground and touched his cheek. “The wound to his face was a nice touch. His vanity is a weak spot.” He lifted his gaze, once again in front of her. Arrik stiffened and his eyes narrowed. “Did he hit you?” His voice was deadly. Sharp like steel.

“Does it matter?”

“More than you know,” he murmured. “No one touches what ismine.”

“I’m not yours,” she bit out.

“We shall see.” He began his pacing once more and her skin tingled. “So what next? Will you burn his castle to the ground?”

“If I could, then yes,” Wren glowered, “The castle he’s built has been from the blood and sweat of those he should have protected.”

“On that we can agree.” The blond prince chuckled softly, then indicated toward a torch gently flickering upon the stone wall with a jerk of his chin. “There’s a flame. Burn it down.”

“What is it that you want?” she questioned, too tired yet full of adrenaline to bother with his games. “Do you want me to destroy him? Do you seek to wield me like a blade? I will tell you now: I won’t be your weapon. Ever.”

“I don’t need you to destroy my enemies for me.”

“Thenwhatdo you want?” She lifted her chin. “Why did you help me? This is the second time we’ve met like this—and the third time you haven’t immediately dragged me back to the palace. You swore to hunt me and yet you’ve let me gotwice. What games are you playing?” Her chest heaved with feeling.

“Dangerous ones.” A devilish grin lifted his lips. It sent a shiver down her spine that was anything but unpleasant. No matter how much she fought against him, Wren found herself drawn back. “Plus, I’ve always enjoyed the chase.”

“I’m not playing your games.”

“Oh, darling, you already have been. And Ilikeit.”

Wren darted forward and grabbed one of his daggers, but Arrik merely laughed again and grabbed her wrists and bodily pushed her against the wall. She gasped as he locked her hands above her head, forcing her to drop the knife. Why did he always make her feel so weak?

You’re a warrior. Fight.

“Oh, I do love when you play hard to get,” he murmured, lacing their fingers together like lovers.

Wren swallowed and held her head high. “Justkillme if that’s what you want,” she said, staring him down.

He leaned closer. “What makes you think I want you dead?”

“I don’t think you want my life,” she whispered, her eyes dipping to his lips that were far too close, and then back to his eyes. “You’re after something else entirely. I think you’re trying to steal your father’s throne.” He didn’t react and she sighed. “I don’t have time for this. Give me the truth of your intentions.”

“Is that all?” he asked softly.

“I think you want to tell me.”

For a long moment Arrik did nothing. His eyes flickered from Wren’s hard gaze to her lips then back up again. Her throat ran dry; she desperately swallowed to fight against the confusing feelings roiling in her chest.

All traces of humor fell from his expression; his grip tightened on her fingers.

“You want to know the truth?” he asked, brushing his nose against the tip of hers.

“I’m tired of being in the dark,” she admitted. “You can trust me.”

He chuckled, his minty breath puffing into her face. “I want to.”

Wren held her breath. Maybe she’d gain the information she so desperately wanted.

Arrik shook his head. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“The feeling is mutual.” It seemed they both were conflicted.

“You want the truth, wife?” She nodded, afraid to speak and break the moment. His expression hardened. “My mother—her name was Lorelai—refused Soren’s advances time and time again when they were teenagers. Still years away from true adulthood. But he didn’t like that. Of course he didn’t.” His jaw tightened. “So he forced her to bend to his will, and in doing so…drove her to her death.” Wren’s lips parted in surprise. Was he telling the truth? The prince cocked his head, still holding her gaze. “It’s true I intend to take Soren’s throne, but I want him to suffer for the crimes he’s committed against my kin and our people.”