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Stop thinking on the past. You need to focus on the future.

Butterflies filled her stomach; tonight was going to be beyond dangerous. Not just Arrik but his brothers, too, would be in attendance, as well as High King Soren and Queen Astrid. She had to play the perfect, compliant wife, returned to Arrik’s side after deciding that being with him was far more agreeable than being on the run.

So much could go wrong.

The queen could have ruined everything already.

Wren couldn’t afford to mess anything up.

Her mind wandered as the sun sank farther in the sky.

* * *

“You’re nervous,” Josenu remarked, picking up the pace when they exited the thick underbrush of the deep forest for a reasonably well-maintained dirt track. They had been riding for two hours; soon they would come upon the palace for the masked ball. Already Wren could see the signs of torches and stone walls upon the horizon: the city of Othos.

She winced at the observation. “Wouldn’tyoube? All things considered, I think I’m composing myself rather well.” She slanted a glance his way. “I’m trusting him with everything.”

“Nerves aren’t a bad thing. They mean that you care about the outcome of the evening.” He didn’t assuage her trust issues.

“That’s an interesting perspective,” she admitted, shifting upon the back of her horse with as much grace as she could considering she was dressed in copious swathes of no doubt expensive black gauze. “Does that mean you’re nervous too, Josenu?”

He laughed softly, glancing at her before speeding up their horses a little more. “If you aren’t nervous when Arrik has planned something, then you’ve messed up somewhere.”

“How did you become acquainted with the prince?”

Josenu sobered. “He saved my life. I owe him everything.” Wren waved a hand for him to continue but he shook his head. “You may be pretty but you’re not getting anything else out of me, Princess. Now, let’s ride. We don’t want to be late!”

With a kick of Josenu’s heels, his mare flew forward, forcing Wren to let go of any sense of feminine dignity she still possessed to match his speed. In all honesty, this was the kind of riding she enjoyed—the kind she missed. It reminded her of riding Aurora through the skies—the wind upon her face and the rush of adrenaline.

As they pounded through the city gates and closed in on the venue of the masked ball, Wren thought about how devoted Josenu seemed to Arrik. It was clear he did not follow him blindly but did as the prince asked through a mixture of respect, affection, and shared goals.

How I ever thought he could betray Arrik is beyond me.

Having now had two meetings with Arrik where he showed a completely different side to himself—where he confided in her, and allowed himself to be vulnerable—she felt like she understood a whole lot more about him, and why he could possibly be a great leader. She still didn’t trust him, but the devil you knew was better than the devil you didn’t.

You like that devil way too much.

That was the problem.

She wished her bloody heart would stop throbbing whenever she thought about the prince’s lips on hers, or his touch on her face, or the tension that crackled between them as he pinned her to the stable wall and—

“We’re here.”

Wren blinked. She had taken none of Othos in during their ride.

Idiot. Time to get your head out of the clouds.

Josenu dismounted his horse and moved to her side. He reached up and helped Wren off her mount and led her to the back entrance of a grand building constructed of vast stone columns the color of golden sand. It was as if she was having an out-of-body experience.

How was such a feat of architecture built?

“On the backs of slave,” Josenu growled.

Wren blinked. She’d asked that out loud?

The spy paused and pulled her into a dark alcove. Wren flinched as he ensured her mask was secured to her face, then fussed with her hair for a few moments.

She resisted the urge to laugh after she’d gotten over her surprise. “What are you, my handmaid?”