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A gown.

The bodice was strapless and low-backed, but it was solid, opaque, and promised to cinch in Wren’s waist to within an inch of her life. She ran her fingers over the fabric. The skirt was far more Verlantian—flouncy and sheer, with tiers and tiers of gauze that swept to the floor and looked as if they’d trail behind the wearer. Perhaps it was because the dress was black, or perhaps the bodice was actually substantial, but Wren found herself admiring the dress rather than hating it. It was as fierce as it was beautiful.

The box also contained delicate-heeled shoes, gloves, and a hauntingly beautiful mask inlaid with black Dragon Isle diamonds. A creamy note fell out of the dress when Wren lifted it to inspect it further. She unfolded the thick paper and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the elegant script upon it.

A beautiful dress for my beautiful wife.

The prince.

Heat filled her cheeks and her heart traitorously quickened. She dropped the dress on her bed like it was a hot coal. Arrik was going to be the death of her. Irritated beyond measure, Wren replaced the contents inside the box, note and all, then stashed it beneath her bed.

The door creaked just as a familiar voice spoke from behind her. “Men are treacherous creatures, aren’t they?”

Astrid.

Wren spun around to face the queen, grateful beyond measure for her good sense in immediately hiding the box and not stripping out of her disguise.

“My queen,” Wren said, bowing low. “I do not know what you mean.”

Astrid laughed softly and sauntered farther into the room. “My dear, you cannot fool me, even with your clever disguise. I never forget a face—especially not the face of my daughter-in-law.”

Wren straightened, dread curling in the pit of her stomach. She stared at the queen, who motioned for Wren to come closer with a curled finger. She felt powerless but to obey, comforted only by the fact that her daggers were strapped to her forearms. If Astrid caused trouble, Wren would knock her out and escape to warn Vienne.

Gently, the queen removed Wren’s veil and her wig, satisfied to discover that she was indeed correct.

“My lovely Wren,” she purred, “how long you’ve been away.”

She said nothing.

The queen smiled. “You must have been surprised by what you saw back there. Idril makes Soren seem tame at times.”

“What are you doing here, my lady?” Wren asked softly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Astrid laughed and tossed the veil and wig onto the bed. “Neither should you. He has a way of destroying the women in his company.”

“Then why are you talking with Lord Idril in private?”

“Sometimes we have to exploit specific expectations in order to lower someone’s guard so we can get what we want.” The queen’s gaze sharpened. “I could ask the same thing of you, Wren. Why are you here? I half-expected that you were back in the isles, and yet I discover you here.”

“Will you turn me over to your husband?” She needed to know how to proceed.

Astrid cupped Wren’s cheek. “Never. It’s been a long time since someone has gotten the best of my husband. I enjoy watching him struggle. He gets his way too much.” She dropped her hand. “You still didn’t answermyquestion. What are you doing here?”

What was she doing here? How much should she share with the queen? What had Idril told her?

Less is more.

“To get what I want,” she admitted. “I’m tired of being at the mercy of others.”

“Clever girl.” Astrid gently touched Wren’s bruised cheek, her lip curling. “I hope whoever damaged you suffered tenfold.”

“He will never hit me again.” Wren shared a smile with the queen, thinking of the scar Idril would carry for the rest of his life.

“Good.” Her dark eyes warmed and glittered in the low light. “Never let them see you squirm. Also, you should not hide your beauty, lovely girl,” she said. “It is one of your best weapons. Wield it whilst you have it, because before you know it, it’ll be gone, and you’ll regret never using it when you had the chance. What is the point of fighting if you don’t use every tool in your arsenal?”

“Is that what you do?” The question was out before Wren could censor herself.

Astrid smirked. “I do what I must to survive. Something we both share, no?” Wren knew Queen Astrid was right. “Don’t be ashamed of your femininity.”