“The feeling is mutual,” he called over his shoulder before ascending the stairway at the end of the hall.
“You shall pay for this!” Her voice echoed around her but he didn’t respond.
She puffed out a breath once the last guard disappeared up the steps and she turned, leaning her back against the bars. A twisted sense of enjoyment filled her at needling the man. He deserved to be as disturbed as she was.
And one day he would pay for it. But that was for another time—if Wren survived long enough to give him his comeuppance.
She glanced toward the bard, and found him staring at her. Wren cocked an eyebrow but he stayed silent. Figures.
Wren wasted no time in approaching the water’s end and eyeing its unknown depths. Was the dragon lurking below? Or were the fish waiting for her?
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“A way out.” She sat down and waited.
“If your way out involves death, then you are staring it in the face! Death with the fishes!”
She did not even glance at him. “If you have nothing useful to say, then I don’t wish to hear it. Either tell me your name and speak plainly, or do not speak at all.”
“The Princess of Dragons has no manners,” the boy replied, jutting out his lip as if he was incredibly offended. But then, he grinned like the fool he was. “I told you: I have many names. But none of them matter.”
“Then I guess you should be quiet. I’m thinking.”
It followed, of course, that the boy resolutely did exactly the opposite, and Wren was forced to listen to him reciting all manner of riddles and poems and songs until she thought she might be going just as mad as he was.
But eventually what little light had been in the dungeon faded away, and when the water began to shift and creep toward her, Wren knew it was time. Getting to her feet, she rolled her shoulders, arched her back, then climbed up the iron bars of her cell, hoping against hope that the dragon would appear once again.
The boy watched curiously from two cells down. He clambered up the bars, though he kept his eyes on Wren. “You look ready to kill someone,” he commented. “What is your target? The fish?”
Wren said nothing. She had to concentrate. There was no guarantee the dragon would even show up. Which meant Wren had to be on the lookout for any kind of sign that it may be lurking beneath the water.
Anything at all.
Time ticked by at a glacial pace. The water rose and rose and rose, and, by the time it reached its full height, Wren’s muscles felt close to breaking once more. How had the bard managed it twice a day? She was going to fall into the water when the dragon was not around to keep the fish away. Then she would be chum.
Dark amusement filled her. That was one way to deny the king. Die.
Pale blue luminescent light shimmered beneath the water and she smiled.
It was time.
Wren climbed down into the water as the long, luminous spines of the dragon sliced through the surface as it made its way toward her. It stopped by the edge of her cell, as it had the night before. Then a pair of yellow, narrow pupils emerged from the water to watch her.
She took a deep breath and began to sing.
Wren sang a variation of what she had hummed the night before, still haunting and plaintive but less tragic and more dreamlike. She wanted to entrance the dragon: to make it need her to continue singing like its life depended on it. Wren had to get it on her side.
To her left, the boy grew silent, apparently listening intently to her song.
She ignored him once again.
All her attention was on the dragon.
Wren hummed and sang for what felt like hours, throat already sore from the night before, but whenever she paused to see if it had been enough, the dragon shifted, unsettling the water by growling softly, large spines lifting up along its back.
A male then.
She had not done enough yet. He did not trust her.
It has to be tonight.
Her panic rose when the water began to recede, and, in the space of a few minutes, the dragon stared her down one last time before disappearing beneath the waves.
“Blast it all!” Wren cried, slapping her palms against the stone floor. “Come back.”
Only the echoes of her own voice answered Wren. She’d failed.
There was no escaping her fate now.
Tomorrow, she’d marry the enemy.
20
Arrik
It was ironic that the safest place for his betrothed was a man-eating fish infested cell.
Arrik entered his bed chamber. It was a huge rectangle room with a massive four poster bed on the left bracketed by two side tables and a large gilded mirror. To the right sat a set of chairs that bracketed the fireplace and his weapons. It was sparse, but it was the way he liked it. It wasn’t as if he really stayed here.
The far end of the room was open to the outdoors, only supported by large marble columns. Sheer white curtains hung from the ceiling that gave the impression of privacy. It was a farce. Arrik never could sleep a wink in the room. It was too exposed.
He passed through the room and pushed through the gauzy curtains, entering the courtyard filled with leafy plants. Arrik shoved them aside until he reached the heated bathing pool in the middle. Shane and Ronan stood beside the pool waiting for him.
Ronan—the normally jovial redhead—stared at him with pity. Arrik held his hand up before his friend could utter a word. “There’s nothing to be done about it.”
Shane scowled and crossed his arms. “Another wife?”
Arrik glared at his second in command. “How could I refuse? Soren had already made up his mind. He knew I did not wish to wed again which is exactly why he made the announcement in public.”
“Do you think he knows what we’re up to?” Shane asked.
“It’s hard to know.” Arrik pushed his braids back from his face. “I’ve done all that he’s asked of me. He’s arrogant enough to believe that I worship the ground he walks on but intelligent enough to know that I could also pose a threat if not checked.”
“The wild lass from Lorne is how he plans to control you,” his second supplied.
Ronan snorted. “That’s if she lives long enough.” Arrik shot a glare at his friend. Ronan scowled and held his hands up. “Everyone was thinking it, but I just said it out loud. She has a target painted on her back now and she doesn’t even know it.”
Shane snorted. “That woman knows she’s deep in the enemy’s lair. She’s not stupid, but she is a liability. I wouldn’t put it past her to try and kill you, Arrik.”
That made him smile. He liked a woman with a feisty spirit. His smile disappeared. But would it be enough to help her survive? He doubted it. “The king has granted me power whether he intended to do so or not. The isles control trade, the diamonds, and dragons.”
“The people won’t take kindly to your rulership,” Shane advised.
“True, but if I were to return with the heir…it may work to our favor.”
Ronan scrubbed a hand over his beard. “Hypothetically, that could work, but only if she’s not assassinated. At this moment, she could have someone coming for her.”
“I placed trustworthy men over her,” Arrik replied. “No one will get to her this night, but she will need constant protection.”
“Invisible protection,” Shane added. “Any special treatment toward her will be noticed and stir more trouble. You can’t show her any favor.”
Arrik chuckled. “When have I ever fallen for a woman? I have one goal.”
Shane studied him and nodded. “Then we are agreed. I will arrange for invisible protectors to follow the girl. No one will know they are there.” He strode to Arrik’s side and clasped his shoulder. “I know you don’t want this, but it is in our favor.”
He nodded as his second disappeared through the plants.
Ronan pulled a flask from his vest and held it out to him. “Shall we celebrate your last night as an unmarried man?”
Arrik took it from him and uncapped the spirits. “To my fourth marriage. May it not end in blood and guilt.”
21
Wren