His attention was drawn elsewhere when the sound of a struggle in the corridor some ways off from the throne room pricked his pointed ears in interest. Soren straightened in his ridiculously decorated, gilded chair before nodding at him.
“You have done well these last few weeks,” he said, addressing the room at large. All absent-minded conversations that had previously filled the air stopped, and the attention of each and every single person was on Arrik and the king. “It should come as no surprise to you, my son, that you highly deserve a reward.” A pause for dramatic effect. The struggling outside grew louder, and Arrik began to discern voices. One of them sounded female, and Arrik worked out what was happening in an instant.
No. That degenerate.
Arrik pushed down his anger.
His father pointed toward the door. “I need a strong and trustworthy man to rule over Lorne and the rest of the Dragon Isles. After all you have given the kingdom of Verlanti, it seems only fitting that your reward is a kingdom all your own. Bring her in,” Soren ordered, his voice booming around the room.
Not one, not two, but four warriors struggled through the doorway with Princess Wren. Arrik smothered a grin at the sight; he highly doubted all four men had been originally sent to get her from her prison cell.
She was soaking wet, still wearing his old, tattered black shirt. Her bare feet scrabbled against the floor as they forced her into the room. The princess glared at all that would look her way. Her time in the dungeons didn’t seem to have the effect the king hoped.
The guards tossed her toward Arrik, and he caught her bound hands against his chest. He stared down at the top of her deep red hair, the urge to run his fingers through it pricking him. A disgusting smell caught his attention and his nose wrinkled. It emanated off the princess.
“You stink,” he muttered.
Her head slowly lifted, and she bared her teeth. “I’m not here for your pleasure.”
He snorted. That was for bloody sure.
Arrik pushed her away and she hovered next to his side. Water dropped from the sodden shirt onto the floor, and he tried not to look at the way the fabric plastered to her curves. His fingers flexed with the need to run them along her waist.
Get it together.
Wren did not look at him, choosing instead to stare blankly ahead. It was difficult to avoid noticing that she was mostly naked beneath the layers of muck and blood that caked into her skin. Some deep, protective instinct within Arrik made him want to remove his shirt and place it around her shivering shoulders, but he knew such weakness would not be tolerated by his father. So, he stood his ground instead, waiting for his father to continue.
“A gift for you, my son,” Soren said, clearly pleased with himself. His blue eyes had lit up at the sight of Wren in all her damaged, disgusting glory. Like a lion with its prey firmly trapped between its paws. “Secure the cooperation of the Dragon Isles using her. You will be not only their conqueror but their king!”
King.
The word rung in his ears. How had his father known? Arrik’s goal had been to survive his father’s greed long enough to take his kingdom. By Soren placing him in the ransacked isles, it kept him from sowing anarchy in Verlanti. Blast it all.
Think. Just think. Not everything is ruined.
Lorne contained black diamonds, dragons, a stellar long-range navy, and the trade routes…if the king thought he was tossing his son into a backwater kingdom that he could control through Arrik, he was mistaken. This was just one more step in taking Verlanti from Soren.
The princess wavered at his side, drawing his attention once more. Marriage wasn’t ideal. He’d promised himself that he’d never take another bride after the death of his last one. There wasn’t anything wrong with the princess. If he was honest, beneath the filth, she was attractive. But he could not think about such a thing now. Soren had a canny way of ferreting out a person’s deepest thoughts. The undertaking of dethroning the elf king was no small matter. It would take time, planning, and deviousness.
He cast his gaze back down at the last remaining member of King Oswin’s line. For a moment it looked as if Wren was going to keep her eyes forward but then he caught her peeking at him from the corner of her eye. She scowled but smoothed over her expression.
Oh, so that’s how the wild princess would play it. She thought to fool him. But as he eyed her regal stance and flaming hair, it was physical proof that she was not broken or tamed. She’d have to do better if she thought to fool Arrik.
But another wife? He barely kept himself from growling.
While it was certainly intriguing, the idea of having this warrior princess belonging to him, he knew it would only end up one way. With her dead. Something stirred within Arrik at the thought—the same feeling that had erupted in him when she had fallen from the sky—guilt and sadness. Their marriage would only end up in tragedy but there was no other way.
“Well, what do you think, Arrik?” High King Soren asked expectantly.
Arrik took a second to observe his brothers. Their reactions ranged from anger to amusement. His youngest brother, though, seemed to be very interested in the dragon princess. The wild woman commanded attention even dressed in rags and covered in grime. She held power.
Power that is yours if you take it.
He bowed at the waist to his father. “I humbly accept your generous gift, my lord.” He straightened and held his hand out to his betrothed. “Will you accept me, my lady?”
Her deep blue eyes snapped to his face and Arrik could see she wanted to say no. Instead, she clenched her jaw and exhaled heavily, before placing her grimy hands in his. “As my lord says,” she grated out.
“There you have it,” the king crowed.
The courtiers cheered but Arrik hardly heard any of it as he stared down at his new bride to be. No doubt his life was about to become a whole lot more colorful…
That’s if he and his new bride made it out of their wedding night alive and unscathed.
His past brides hadn’t been so lucky.
19
Wren
This was not part of the plan.
After everything she’d endured, now she had to marry the man who’d destroyed her life. Wren seethed, making her fury clearly apparent on her face. It took every effort on her part not to spit in the man’s face as she slowly, very slowly, turned to face him. She’d prepared to marry the elf king but not the monster that stood in front of her. She stared him down, willing him to look away in shame.
But he didn’t.
The prince—Arrik, his father had said—merely held Wren’s gaze with his cold, glass-like eyes. She could discern nothing from them, nor from his expression. It was as if he was made from stone. Like he was empty inside. Maybe he was.
Her mind flashed back to his hands around her throat. There had been something behind Arrik’s eyes then, though she was quite certain she did not want to be at the receiving end of that once more. Rowen would have never touched a woman like that. She focused her attention on his chin and tried to breathe past the pain in her chest at the memory of her betrothed.
“Princess.”
She clashed gazes with him, and she swore a glimmer of emotion flashed though his eyes. Wren did not wish to work out what that was, nor did she care. She hated the man who stood in front of her—even more so now that she was going to become his bride, whether she liked it or not.
“What say you?” the elf king asked.
Wren glanced at the monarch who smirked at her from his throne. A shiver ran down her spine at the chilling smile he gave her. There was something about him that was off. It was more than his too pretty exterior; something dark lurked beneath the surface.