He leaned back, still straddling the woman. Pain lanced up his side, and Arrik winced and cupped his left hand over the wound. She’d come at him like a wraith. He noticed her presence a split second before she so foolishly chose to stab him. Did she know her chances of gutting him were slim from the back? There were too many bones in the way.
He pushed to his feet and stood and growled as heat and pain radiated from his wound. While she hadn’t killed him, his wound still hurt. Arrik cursed and strode toward the tapestry hanging on the southern wall and tore a section from along the bottom before holding it against his bleeding injury.
Facing the woman, he glared at her. Any other man would have died for deigning to attack him. And yet, he hadn’t killed her and that was a problem.
He didn’t take prisoners.
The dark elves didn’t take prisoners.
Arrik had made a name for himself by being a cold, brutal monster. He couldn’t make exceptions to his rule. That’s how people got killed.
He tossed away the soiled rag and yanked another long strip from the bottom of tapestry. From the corner of his eye, he could still see her flaming red hair. It was clear from the way she moved that she was exhausted and lacked the strength to counter-attack while he almost lazily removed the sword from his side. Nimbly, he wrapped the torn tapestry around his waist, over the seeping wound, and knotted it below his naval. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at her face before she passed out.
In all honesty, he hadn’t really noticed anything but her wild mane. The other rule he abided by was not to allow himself to see the people he conquered. Too many faces already haunted his sleep each night. She was merely a faceless, desperate Lorne citizen.
Look at her.
Arrik lifted his head and fully faced her once again. She was the one bright spot amongst the destruction in the room. He frowned at her. Why was he so drawn to her? What the devil was this? He prided himself on control. It was a skill he had to learn at a very young age. His father’s court was a depraved place where only those with an unflinching mask or a sadistic streak a league wide could survive.
Steps echoed in the corridor across from him, but he didn’t move from his spot. The man’s gait was distinctive.
His second stepped into the room, his attention moving straight to the unconscious woman on the floor. Shane’s upturned hazel eyes narrowed and then turned to Arrik, missing nothing. His black brows lifted in surprise.
“She wounded you?” he asked, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “And yet she still lives?”
Arrik didn’t have an answer for Shane.
His second pushed away from the wall and approached the woman. He paused at her side and crossed his arms. “What obscene hair.” A pause. “I like it.”
For some reason, that caused Arrik’s hackles to raise. He moved to the woman’s left side and stared down at her as well. Her face was turned toward Shane, like she didn’t want to look at Arrik. Some of her hair covered her eyes and cheek so he couldn’t see her face.
“It’s nothing like the women of our court, no?” Arrik asked.
Shane shook his head. “While I appreciate the finer things in life, there are times that I’m tempted to join the wild side.” He sighed. “But alas, her fate has already been decided. She spilled royal blood and so she must pay with her own.”
“A moment,” Arrik commanded, something in the back of his mind bothering him. He knelt, looming over her now almost-peaceful form, and took in her appearance properly for the first time.
Of course, his eyes strayed first to her intensely red hair, which was wet and knotted from the storm outside but unmistakably a shade he had seen just once in his life before—earlier that very day, upon the head of the warrior he’d ordered to be shot from the sky.
It couldn’t be.
He ran his fingers through the woman’s hair until he picked out a stray pansy from within a ruined braid. But he knew it had to be. Nobody had hair that red.
Only her.
“My lord?” his second asked.
“Did you find the heir?” Arrik asked quietly, pushing the woman’s hair from her pale, cheeks. He gently turned her face toward him so he could get a good look at her. Freckles dusted the tops of her cheeks and nose. Long lashes and a pert, full mouth.
“There has been no sign of her. My men are now scouring the outlying moors.”
Arrik hummed and took in the rest of her appearance. Her clothing was too big for her as if she’d changed in haste. Had she thrown on the clothes to join the battle or because she was trying to disguise who she was?
He reached from the hem of her wet soiled shirt and lifted it until he could see her belly button. Shane cursed when Arrik pushed down the right side of her trousers, revealing a jagged scar.
A shark bite.
Princess Wren.
By the stars, he’d almost killed the heir to Lorne.
“How in the blazes did she come upon you?” his second questioned. “Surely, they would have hidden her away?”
Arrik traced the scar gently and then pulled down her shirt. He was a barbarian not a lecher. “I have a feeling no one can control this woman.”
“Which is a problem. Your father doesn’t like wild women.”
He chuckled darkly. “Oh, he does, but only to break them.” Like he’d done to Arrik’s mother. The heir’s eyes began to rove beneath her lids. She’d be waking soon, and he needed to be ready. Soon their battle of wills would begin, and he’d be the victor. It was the only way…for the both of them. “Call your men back. We’ll need them I suspect.”
Shane nodded and strode away, disappearing the same way he came.
Arrik stared hard at the woman who would make the king of Verlanti the most powerful man in the western hemisphere. Nothing would be out of his father’s grasp. Not much was known about the royal family of the Dragon Isles. Oswin had kept his kin deliberately private, which almost anyone in Verlanti took to mean that he was hiding any number of secrets. Illegitimate children were the most obvious of these secrets. It was common knowledge that the former king of the isle had one daughter, but her appearance and age were a mystery. It was only through a very, clever spy that they were able to discern that she was of age, had red hair, and had a scar on her right hip from where a shark bit her.
His attention moved to her bare arms. No markings. Legally, she had not been married.
Wren had lost her family, her future husband, and her dragon in one fell swoop.
He recalled how she’d recklessly dove from the sky time after time on her mount. She flew like she didn’t care how it all ended. That was a problem. A person with nothing to lose was dangerous.
Arrik gave her another once-over, taking in the lean and compact muscles of her arms and her legs. Even beneath the ill-fitting clothes, he could tell she was strong. The young woman was in prime fighting shape, and given the way she’d so fearlessly attacked Arrik…
She was no mere princess who spun thread, sang songs, and read all day. Wren fought fiercely for her people. He would have to tread carefully, or he’d find another sword in his back.
“It’s fortunate for me that you didn’t die when I had you shot from the sky,” he murmured. “You should have remained hidden,” Arrik told her unconscious form.
Several sets of footsteps approached and he stood as Shane and his men filed into the room. Arrik’s hard mask slipped into place as he strode from the chapel.
“Bring her to me when she wakes,” he commanded. “We have things to discuss.”
11
Wren
“She’s waking up.”
Wren groaned as someone seized her arms and dragged her across the floor, her shins bumping painfully against the debris of the chapel. Her eyes snapped open. She lifted her head and glanced up at the brutes on either side of her. The elven warriors were both extremely tall and were almost mirror images of each other except one had long shiny black hair and the other orange curly hair and a short beard.
She struggled to get her feet beneath her, drawing the attention of the redhead. He smirked at her and shook his head.