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That was, until their father broke them apart. Arrik knew why. Two sons banded together against the king was bad news for Soren. Especially his smarter sons. It would not take much for them to overthrow him.

And so now here Arrik and Kalles were, divided.

“Do you really believe I would kill my own brides?” Arrik asked his brother. “That’s what you told Wren. Do you believe it?”

“Didn’t you? Simply by marrying you the poor women signed their own death warrants. What is that if not your fault?”

A thread of old guilt wrapped around his heart. Kalles always knew how to strike a person to the bone.

Arrik would get nowhere with his brother this way. Time to change tactics. “Where did the blade come from? I do not recognize it from your armory. “

Kalles merely smiled. “A friend,” he said, eyes hazy and even more unfocused than before. He held up the loose rope and smiled. “I have lots of friends and yet none at all.”

Arrik cursed. Even high, his brother had managed to untie himself. The wily little fox.

Kalles gurgled, and then his eyes fluttered closed, and he fell from his horse with an ungraceful thump.

Arrik dismounted his horse and touched his fingers to the base of his brother’s neck.

A steady pulse, but Kalles was out cold.

Perfect. He was none the wiser about what his little brother was planning.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

4

WREN

By the time Wren made it back to camp, word had been sent of Prince Arrik’s movements and everyone was busy packing up to head to a new location. It reminded her of a bunch of ants scurrying to and fro. She wasted no time in searching out her Aunt Vienne’s tent, knowing full well that Bram was likely already inside. He was probably tattling on her. If Wren was going to get chewed out for saving Lillia the little child, best to get it done with quickly.

She reached the flap that covered the opening of the simple brown canvas tent and paused. There were a cacophony of voices coming from inside, not just Bram’s. Listening carefully, Wren managed to pick out Leif, Vienne, Bram, and Ever—her aunt’s best friend and stalwart companion. But there was another voice Wren recognized, though she hadn’t heard it since the day she escaped from the palace.

Josenu.

She entered the tent and, sure enough, there he was, the spy the rebellion had planted within Prince Arrik’s very own retinue of guards. His dark, shoulder-length blond hair and gray eyes, along with his height and imposing figure, cast the ghost of Arrik himself before Wren, and her stomach flipped.What news of her vile husband did he bring?

You want to know more than you should.

Her jaw clenched. The fact she wanted to know more about Arrik not just for the sake of the rebellion but for herself was a disgrace.

Wren pasted on a smile as the group quieted. Leif cast a fervent glance over at her before dropping his gaze to the floor. Even Bram was avoiding looking at her, though Wren had fully expected a loud scolding from him full of every expletive the man knew—of which there were many. Were they speaking about her before or something else?

Wren’s aunt tossed a map over several documents on the large, circular table that stood between everyone. Suspicion curled through her chest. What were they trying to hide? She was well aware that she was a newcomer and that several members of the rebellion—especially Bram—did not trust her, but something still felt off.

Wren knew better than to demand an explanation. She would come across as childish and entitled. Instead, she hung back at the entrance of the tent and quietly listened to the group’s whispered plans for relocating the camp.

“There are soldiers flocking into every port town in search of Wren,” Josenu said, flashing a look of concern her way before pulling his attention back to the map. “We will not be able to recreate this entire camp in one place. If you split our forces here, here, and here”—Josenu stabbed the central forest drawn on the map with each word—“then we should be able to avoid detection. You will have to stick to foraging and hunting in the forest though. It’s too risky going into town to buy food.”

At this, Ever frowned. “Game is scarce in this area,” she muttered, clearly unhappy. “It will be difficult to feed everyone.”

“Perhaps if someone hadn’t made such a scene earlier,” Bram growled, obviously insinuating Wren, “then the port town guards wouldn’t be on such high alert.”

“I wasn’t recognized,” Wren protested, speaking in her defense before she could stop herself. She took a step toward the group, feeling altogether like an outsider. What did she have to do for them to trust her? Was she not the biggest victim in this situation? And yet still they did not trust her. They expected Wren to be in cahoots with her husband—a man who had plundered her home, slain her parents, and dragged her away to be forcibly married?

“But I will hunt for food,” Wren said, eager to make herself useful. “Game is hard to come by on the Dragon Isles too. Hunting in such conditions is something I am particularly good at. So let me be useful.” A pause. “Please.”

Vienne shook her head, looking so much like Wren’s own mother that it caused her breath to catch. “That is far too dangerous. You cannot go alone.”