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His words were a promise and a threat.

Wren kicked her mare to follow the spy away from the ball and onto the streets of Othos as quickly as they dared.

Adrenaline pounded through her veins as they crept through the city on horseback. Soldiers were everywhere, and several fires had broken out. She glanced over her shoulder more than once toward the palace. It was high time she admitted the truth to herself. The devil prince had grown on her. Somehow, they’d formed a bond. She wasn’t sure what that was or what it entailed, but Wren knew she didn’t want him to die. At least by anyone else’s hand.

You couldn’t do it even if you wanted to.

What concerned her was the succession.

Arrik had been claimed by Soren. He was second in line to the throne. If Cathal was really dead, then Arrik would be next up for the throne, painting a larger target on his back and her own.

Her chest constricted painfully as she tried to draw in another breath. Memories of the attack on her wedding day kept assaulting her to the point she felt like she was going to pass out. It was as if her organs weren’t getting enough blood to function.

Get yourself together.

Wren scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to refocus on the cobbled streets as they tore along them. Arrik could handle himself. It was ridiculous for her to worry about him.

They neared the city limits and Josenu slowed. She followed suit and watched the people attempting to flee.

Ice dripped down her spine as she spotted a familiar face.

A ghost.

Rowen.

“No,” she mouthed, shaking her head.

He’s not real.

“We have to go now. Keep close,” Josenu ordered.

She followed the spy, her eyes glued to the stunning dark-skinned man dressed in midnight blue as they galloped past. They moved too quickly for Wren to discern his face. She cursed underneath her breath. What was happening to her? Had she lost her mind? Why did she keeping seeing Rowen at the most inopportune times? What was her subconscious trying to tell her?

Put it from your mind.

She had to get back to Lord Idril’s castle as fast as possible. No doubt a messenger was already on the way to inform him about the death of Prince Cathal. If Wren didn’t make it back before then, the castle would be on high alert, and Wren would never make it back inside unnoticed.

The journey was punishing and chilly.

By the time she came upon the castle, both Wren’s and Josenu’s mares were frothing with exhaustion. She slipped down off the creature’s back, patting its nose before asking the elf, “What will you do now? The horses can’t manage another journey like that.”

He smiled grimly. “I’ll camp out in the forest with them so they can recover. Do not worry. I have plenty of food and water for them.” Gratitude overwhelmed Wren at his reassurances, for she could not abide the cruelty of men, for dragons or horses alike. Animals deserved to be treated with respect, especially when they enabled you to escape certain death.

“Be careful,” Wren said.

“You as well, Princess. Now run.”

Wren turned and did just that.

She tripped on her ragged dress as she made her way through the servants’ entrance, then quickly pushed herself into the shadows against the stony corridor wall when the silhouette of two patrolmen came into sight. Hardly daring to breathe, Wren counted: one, two, three, then rushed from her hiding place to steal up to her bedroom.

When she entered the room, it became clear that nobody had searched through her things or torn the place apart in their attempt to find a missing Dragon Princess, which Wren took as a good sign. Most days they left her to her own diversions.

She released a relieved breath and wasted no time in shedding her gown and all its accessories, though she spared a minute to carefully place the mask and jewelry back into their shiny box and tuck it beneath her mattress. Next, she stoked the fire and tossed the dress and gloves into the flames. She watched it burn, erasing some of the evidence of her night.

Then she dressed in a simple nightgown, making sure to strap her daggers to her thighs, before she headed toward the kitchen, on the lookout for something that might help the pounding headache building behind her eyes that was threatening to make her vomit. She needed to be able tothink; otherwise panic and memories would overwhelm her.

Besides, considering she was supposed to have food poisoning, her current ashy appearance and search for medicine would only lend credence to her alibi.