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Now she was ready to eavesdrop on Idril’s meeting with Queen Astrid.

She had no idea what she’d discover once she was there.

A gentleman beckoned her closer and held out his goblet. Wren silently lifted a wine carafe from the table and filled his cup before retreating to her spot, carafe still in hand.

For the next hour or so Wren served food and drink to the group Idril was hosting. She recognized some of them from the Verlantian court: men and women who associated with Queen Astrid.

A courtier reached for her leg and she fended off his groping hand with a sweet smile and a regretful shake of her head for the fifth time in as many minutes.

It was odd. Wren’s impression of the queen was somewhat positive. Why would she associate with such horrid people? The queen’s courtly friends were indulging in just as many hedonistic activities as Idril’s own retinue. It didn’t make sense. Was this how they always acted? Or was it just in the absence of their queen?

She leaned against the wall once again, watching the occupants of the room. Where was the queen? Wren hadn’t laid eyes on Astrid yet. Perhaps she was being entertained in another room? It was probably for the best. The queen would most likely be ashamed of her people. In any case, it was clear that Astrid was surrounded by as many vipers as Wren was.

A tap on her shoulder gave her pause.

She turned and came face to face with the chief of staff. The woman’s face was haggard even through her mask.

“Delia can’t handle the liquor Lord Idril keeps feeding her. We need you to step in and replace her, otherwise we’ll end up with more vomit than I’d like to clean.” She took the carafe of wine from Wren.

Step in?

Wren could do nothing but nod and stiffly follow the woman into a private antechamber. As she suspected, Queen Astrid was inside, away from the sight of her followers and their depraved activity. But something wasn’t right.

Wren was given an ornate pitcher of wine and thrust into the room.

Bloody hell.

A man was chained to the sumptuous chair Queen Astrid was reclining on. He was feeding her by hand; she sucked his fingers whenever he brought them to her mouth. At her feet was another male slave—Wren’s heart stuttered to a stop for a moment, because she thought at first it was Leif—acting as a footrest.

What the devil was going on?

Astrid was laughing. When her slip of a dress whispered off her shoulder to expose the curve of her breasts, she didn’t bother fixing it. Her eyes were full of the same arrogant lust Wren had witnessed from every guest of Idril’s thus far.

Stars, she was going to be sick.

This wasn’t the Queen Astrid Wren knew. This was another creature altogether.

“Soren is being such abore,” Astrid drawled to Lord Idril, who Wren realized for the first time was sitting right beside her. Wren rushed forward to fill both of their goblets before they took any notice of her. “All he does is grouch about all the complaining the court is doing!”

“And we grouch with good reason,” Idril replied, before yanking Wren onto his lap. She bit in a cry of surprise and fought to keep from doing anything stupid like slashing the monster’s other cheek wide open.

Idril caressed the exposed bottom half of Wren’s face, then trailed his fingers appreciatively down her collarbone to her waist. It sickened her.

“Take this beautiful morsel of a woman,” he said,lickingWren’s neck as he spoke. She pretended to giggle in surprised delight when inside she was screaming with disgust. “The Dragon Isles have plenty of them like this which I should be harvesting. But Soren is making things so difficult! Be off with you, girl,” he sighed into Wren’s ear, lifting her off his lap and slapping her backside in a way that suggested he’d find her later.

She retreated to the wall, feeling vulnerable and furious in equal measure at his assault. Her hands shook and she felt disgusting; she feltused.Her sire was a pig of a man.

Queen Astrid smirked at Idril. “Soren won’t be a problem much longer, mark my words. Times are changing, Idril. For the better I believe.”

Wren blanched, once again thankful for the veil. Did the queen know something about the rebellion’s plans? Or did Astrid have her own plans to depose her husband? She sounded so certain, there was no doubt in Wren’s mind that Astrid knew something.

Or was planning something.

Not wishing to hang around any longer in case Lord Idril decided he wanted her to sit in his lap once more, Wren filtered out of the antechamber and into the party proper. It took her a while to escape because of her disguise—people kept demanding her services—but eventually Wren made a blessed return to her room.

She closed the door and leaned heavily against it. The plot seemed to thicken at every turn.

Wren’s brows furrowed as she spotted a package upon her bed. It was lustrous and glossy. Approaching it as if it were a poisonous snake, Wren gently lifted the lid to reveal vast swathes of black material.