The two women nodded and exited the room without another word. For a moment, the queen simply stood by the door, inspecting Wren in the bathtub with polite interest.
Acutely self-conscious, Wren moved to cover herself even more, but then the queen laughed and closed the distance between them. She knelt down, gently pulling Wren’s right hand free so that she could wash it. “My name is Astrid,” the queen said with a soft smile. “I imagine you’re scared and confused and more than a little bit angry right now.”
Wren did not trust herself to speak—she doubted she knew what to say in the first place—so she merely nodded. Was this a trick?
Queen Astrid scrubbed soft circles against her hand, carefully clearing all the dirt and blood from beneath Wren’s fingernails, only stopping once her skin was pale and white again before moving onto Wren’s left hand.
It was the kindest touch Wren had felt in what seemed like forever, and though this queen was very much her enemy in the same way that Arrik and High King Soren were, Wren could not find it in herself to hate Astrid.
“Thank you,” she rasped.
“Think nothing of it, my dear. We’re family.” Astrid smiled. “Well, soon to be family.”
Wren wisely kept her mouth shut. Her family had died in the isles. The elves were not any relation of hers.
After a few more minutes of cleaning, the queen rose to her feet. “All right,” she said, allowing a demure servant Wren had not even noticed was standing behind a tall, spiky plant to hand her a towel. “Time you got out of there, Princess Wren. Let’s get you dressed.”
Wren had never thought of herself as meek, but that was exactly how she felt as she shakily got out of the tub and allowed Astrid to wrap her in the towel. It was soft as sin—nothing like the rough-spun cloth with which she dried herself back in Lorne Castle. A wave of tiredness washed over her once she was wrapped firmly in the towel, and she let out a yawn.
Astrid merely laughed. “Not the reaction I would hope to see on the day of your wedding! But I guess even I would be tired if I went through everything you have been through.” A pause. Astrid squeezed Wren’s hands. “But you just have to get through today, and then you will be sleeping in a real bed. A soft bed. Then you can recover from all your woes and sleep at will. It’s not so bad here. You’ll find your place. We all do.”
Wren, once again, said nothing. Just having to get through today seemed like the hardest trial of her life so far, which was saying something. It was only when the servant presented Wren with the dress she was to wear for the ceremony that she finally spoke aloud.
“I—I cannot wear that!” she objected. The dress was everything her own gown for her marriage to Rowen had not been: all gauze and sheer material, with a low back and plunging neckline.
And it was black.
All the more skin for the Verlanti Court to ogle.
It was obscene. No self-respecting woman of the Dragon Isles would ever wear something that revealing outside of her own chambers, and even then, the nightwear was, in all likelihood, less scandalous than this. They really expected her to wear that to the wedding?
“You are too modest for someone so beautiful,” Queen Astrid said, and though Wren looked for the jest or insult behind her words, she could find none. “You will look truly a sight in this dress. I have not a doubt about it. Don’t be shy, dearest. I chose it for you. My stepson seems to prefer black, and your hair will set it off perfectly.”
Wren didn’t care what the prince liked or disliked. Plus, Astrid’s compliments were not enough to convince Wren to unwrap the towel from around her body to put on the ridiculous dress. She merely stared at the fabric, wishing it would disappear.
“I hoped you would not be difficult about this.” The queen released a sigh and smiled. “It’s no matter.” She moved to the door and opened it.
Wren’s heart thumped hard as the prince entered the bathing room like he the owned the place. She clenched the towel tighter to her body as he scanned her from head to toe, his expression revealing nothing. He dismissed her and stared out the windows.
“My darling,” the queen purred, placing a hand on his forearm. “Why did you not knock? You know I wouldn’t keep you from your bride. Do you wish to speak with your betrothed?”
Arrik shrugged her off. “I was waiting for my beloved to get dressed. If she takes much longer, we will be late.”
What a terrible shame if that happened.
Wren edged backward until she had immersed herself in the plants. It afforded her more cover than the bloody towel at least. The prince arched a brow at her but said nothing. She glared at him, hating how uneasy and naked he made her feel. Rowen had never even seen her so undressed. It seemed wrong for Arrik to see her this way.
The queen chuckled and waved her hand at Wren. “No need to hide, my dear. He’s not going to eat you.”
“Are you so sure?” she retorted. “There have been rumors of his appetites.”
“Let’s hope some of them are right,” the queen tittered, causing the prince to frown. “Now, stop hiding.”
Wren swallowed hard and slowly emerged from behind the plant, watching Arrik carefully all the while. He did not have to dress up in the same gauzy, barely-there material that was expected of her. Instead, he wore a finely embroidered silk tunic in black and gold over what looked like soft and supple doeskin leggings and knee-high leather boots polished to a high shine. A sword belt cinched in his waist, adorned with a clearly ceremonial rapier and several daggers of various lengths.
With his hair perfectly braided back, and several tiny, golden chains adorning his pointed ears, she had to admit that Arrik was just a little bit handsome.
More than a little bit, the wretch.
It was ironic that under such beauty lay a beast. Beauty could not overwrite the atrocities he’d committed. His looks wouldn’t sway Wren. She knew what he was.
Arrik watched Wren watching him, a spark of interest in his eyes, then let out a chuckle before heading for the door. “Get dressed,” he ordered. “Or don’t. I don’t care what you wear to the wedding. I’ll marry you without any clothes on if that’s the way you wish it. Though I imagine…” He turned his head and raised his eyebrows suggestively at Wren. “I imagine you do not want that.”
She didn’t doubt it for one second that he would follow through. The only thing more humiliating than the wedding would be if she had to go to said wedding naked. She reminded herself, not for the first time, that since she had not been able to flee the night before, she truly had no choice but to go through with the wedding. Wren had to cooperate—however tenuous that cooperation was—for the sake of Lorne.
For Britta.
How could she ever return home if she was kept as a prisoner in a dungeon? At least as Arrik’s wife she might make it back to the Dragon Isles.
Not might, will.
And even if he was the king, the people of Lorne would hold no trust in him. They would want him gone. Perhaps this was the best thing Wren could really hope for: return to Lorne with her new, murderous husband, then stage a coup against him. The Dragon Isles would not be so unprepared against a second attack from Verlanti. They would take their navy out onto the open sea to protect the bay, and everyone would be safe.
“Very well,” she responded and the prince shut the door as he left.
She sagged a little as the queen handed the gown to the servant and they both helped her dress.
Astrid took Wren’s hand and pulled her in front of a full-length mirror that was as wide as five people. “Look,” she said gently, adjusting the ties on the shoulders of Wren’s dress until they were perfect. “You’re beautiful. You’re a princess. This is not the kind of clothing you are used to, but you are undoubtedly still you. There is no shame in wearing beautiful things. They are simply another version of armor.”