She held her hands up and stared at the manacles around her wrists.
Wren still couldn’t fathom the situation. The isles had fallen to Verlanti. She’d gone over and over it in her mind. The elves shouldn’t have been able to make it passed Lorne’s defenses. Only a few trusted commanders knew their ways through the corals, rough waters, and traps.
Someone had betrayed them. But who? That was the question that plagued her night and day. Did that same person know about Britta? There were too many unknowns.
Her attention moved to the dirt that covered her hands and arms. When was the last time she’d been clean? It could have been days or weeks or months since she had been captured, and she would never have known. All that existed for her right now was her mind, her mealtimes, and the sound of the sea. Although…
Wren took a heavy sniff and grimaced. She smelled horrible but at least none of her wounds had festered. The stiff healer visited her every so often to make sure she was healthy and alive. The willowy man was a mystery. He never spoke a word to her during his visits. His sage green eyes were hard but not unkind.
She exhaled and tried to breathe through her mouth. Her person wasn’t the only thing that stank. No one had cleaned up her vomit and her privy bucket wasn’t emptied as often as it should have been. All in all, it was disgusting, but it could have been worse. No men had tried to accost her and no one had tortured her for information. They did however give her the bare minimum allotments of food and water. It was clear they wanted her weak. Her chances of immediate escape were slim. She needed to build up her strength and gather information despite how much she wanted to get away from her captors.
She closed her eyes and another unknown amount of time passed as Wren went over her sums in her mind. She’d always hated arithmetic but her mum had been a stickler when it came to learning her sums. Wren smiled and one tear tickled down her cheek. Her mum would be proud to know her daughter was keeping to her studies even in a prison.
Her eyes popped open as she heard something that broke the monotony of her confinement.
A horn.
That was new.
Her brows furrowed as the horn sounded again.
There was only one reason for that.
The ship must have reached the shores of Verlanti.
Despite her grand idea of escape, Wren’s heart sank. What horrors awaited her? She pulled her knees to her chest and leaned her head against them.
You must be brave. You need to survive.
Wren swallowed and steeled herself for whatever was to come. Her mum hadn’t raised her to roll over. She was a fighter. If the Verlantians hoped to find her worn down and defeated, they were going to be sorely mistaken. When the king came for her, he wouldn’t find a pliable maiden. They would not break her.
She was her mother’s daughter.
Steps thumped against the ceiling from above.
Wren lifted her head regally and tensed all her muscles, ready like a cat to spring into action. Part of her wanted the person who came through those doors to be the prince. She didn’t want to lose her chance for vengeance. He’d taken everything from her. She intended to do the same to him.
The warrior loped down the stairs, a grin on his face. She squinted at him as he paused in front of her. The man was vaguely familiar. He worried his red mustache and it clicked. He was the elf that had yanked her hair.
“Time to get up,” he said cheerily.
She blinked slowly at him but didn’t move.
He sighed heavily. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”
“Depends if you’re planning on touching me again,” she rasped. Her voice was rusty from disuse.
“I’m not planning on dragging you by your hair.” He pulled a vial from a pouch at his waist and wiggled it at her. “I’ll drug you. It’s your choice.”
Being at the complete mercy of her enemies was terrifying. She uncurled her legs and set them on the floor, making sure to avoid the dried vomit. The redhead eyed her warily as he approached, and she held her hands out. He leaned closer and she eyed his ear. It would be so easy just to bite it off. As if he could hear her thoughts, his amber gaze snapped to her face.
“I know it’s difficult for women but keep your mouth to yourself.”
She snorted before she could help herself. The elf grinned and unshackled her wrists. She rubbed at them; the feeling odd after wearing the shackles for so long. He took a step backward but held out his hand.
“I can do that myself,” she retorted, swatting his hand away and pulling herself up as tall as she could. Her legs shook but she managed to keep her chin up. She was a bloody princess. In Verlanti that meant being haughty and cold. It was better she put it into practice now.
“Suit yourself.” He gestured to the stairs. “You first, my lady.”
My lady. What rubbish. She looked and smelled worse than a vagrant.
Her body quaked as she made it up the first set of stairs. Wren walked through a room full of goods. Stolen goods from Lorne. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and marched through the treasures of her people to the second staircase.
She used the wall for support and blinked furiously as the sun beamed down on her as she made it to the top deck. Wren inhaled the salty breeze and shielded her eyes from the morning sun. Her skin prickled and she knew she was being watched. She stiffened and lowered her hand. What seemed like the entire crew stood at attention. Their focus? Her.
Every single one of the soldiers’ eyes were on her, their gazes crawling up and down her skin from her head to her toes. They lingered on the torn, filthy fabric of the giant black shirt she’d woken up in. Standing, it stopped just above her knees and she blushed, feeling exposed and humiliated. She had never been in such a compromising position in front of other people before—especially not men from a foreign country, with their pointed ears and cruel faces.
You’re a princess.
The redheaded warrior wrapped a hand around her left bicep and propelled her through the men to a pile of crates waiting to be brought off the ship. She shivered but straightened her spine.
Do not let them get to you. You are powerful.
He released her and she leaned against a crate. Something sharp dug into her spine. Wren schooled her expression. It felt like a loose nail. It was possible she’d never get another chance like this again. In a split second, she wiggled her hands behind her and began to work furiously and as inconspicuously as possible to remove the nail from the wood. It took several twists and turns, but she managed to pull the nail free.
With nowhere else for it to go, she slipped it into the waistband of what remained of her underclothes, hiding the motion by pulling down the hem of the black shirt, pretending that she felt embarrassed by her state of undress. The soldiers laughed at her, but it did not matter.
She had a weapon.
“Commander,” the redhead called.
Wren lifted her head as the prince strode in their direction, all power and lithe. Her breath hitched and she clenched the fabric of her shirt between her fingers. Dressed all in black, he made an even more intimidating figure, somehow, than how he’d looked in the chapel, bare-chested wearing only pauldrons and vambraces. It served to accentuate the sharp lines of his face, which were not softened even by the scruff growing along his jawline—the result of however many days or weeks they had spent at sea.
A monster wasn’t allowed to be attractive. Or was that the point?
The prince stopped and eyed the soldier.
“I’ve retrieved the prisoner as you asked,” the redhead said.
She kept her head held high as the prince peered in her direction. She stared down The Beast of Verlanti who had tried to kill and then imprisoned her. He held Wren’s gaze strong for a moment, before dismissing her.
He turned his back to her and spoke in low tone with the redhead. Her fingers itched for the nail. The arrogant man thought him safe with his back to her. What a fool. She could easily take his life.