“It’s the secret the court holds close to its chest.” A dramatic pause. “He’s been married three times. All of his wives died on their wedding night.”
Wren’s heart plummeted into her stomach. “All—all of them?”
Kalles nodded. “All of them. Get out of here while you still can.” He dropped her hand and tapped the top of the stiletto, pressing it deeper into her corset. “Use this if you must. Goodbye, princess. It’s been a gas knowing you.”
She stumbled back from the prince and ducked her head. Wren did not need to hear his warning a second time.
Before Arrik could reach her side, she fled the celebration, weaving this way and that, between the crowd, making it hard for anyone to follow. She bolted out into the corridor, throwing off the absurd heeled shoes she had been forced to wear, then ran on silent feet down one corridor and then another and then another.
Eventually, Wren realized she was following her nose. Before long, she reached a kitchen three times as large as the one in Lorne Castle. There was something savory and delicious and entirely unlike the smells of the food at the feast emanating from the fire, so Wren kept on walking until she reached the fire itself. She needed to think. Her belly growled. And she needed to eat.
“You—Princess,” a woman—one of the cooks—said upon recognizing Wren. She bowed her head. “What can I do for you?”
“If I could have some of what’s in that pot, it would be more appreciated than you know,” Wren said, pointing toward the pot in question that contained the delicious smells. “Please.”
The cook blanched. “No thanks is needed.” She retrieved a wooden stool for Wren to sit on and placed it next to a long table in the middle of the room covered with herbs. The cook ladled out a bowlful of what turned out to be chicken and rabbit stew. She set food before Wren and went back to her work. Wren could not believe her luck. Then the woman gave her a plate with several slices of thickly buttered bread that was still warm from the oven.
“Thank the tides,” she whispered.
She sat there in silence for several minutes, reveling in the warmth of the bowl between her fingers and the delicious taste of the stew that passed her lips. It reminded Wren of home, which was bittersweet because her home was now in the hands of her enemies. The servants cast nervous glances in her direction. It was clear she was not supposed to be here but it gave her time to think.
Kalles had given her a weapon. Even now it dug into her breastbone. What was the meaning of it? She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. Was he setting her up? It was a possibility. Wren’s mother had told her the elves were partial to hiring assassins. They didn’t like to get their hands dirty.
Was this Kalles’ plan? Did he expect her to kill his half-brother? Arrik certainly had garnered the attention of his father. Were his other sons jealous?
She finished her soup and then rubbed her temples.
No one in this bloody palace seems trustworthy. They are all vipers. Truly, it seems as if the mad bard in the dungeons is the only one who speaks any sense around here.
She chuckled and ignored the looks tossed her way. The poor servants probably thought she’d lost her mind. Her laughter faded as she stared down at her wedding dress. She ran her fingers over the black fabric. Wren wore her husband’s colors.
Husband.
She was well and truly married to a monster. What had happened to the prince’s former wives? Had he killed them all? If he came at her, she’d strike him down. She would not become his next victim.
Wren chuckled at the thought, which caused the cook to furrow her brow in concern for her. “Is everything… Will you be all right?” the woman asked.
Wren waved her away. “I will be. I swear. Thank you for the food—it is the only true kindness I have seen in this land.”
Wren stared hard at the floor. Hiding in the kitchen wouldn’t be an option forever. Someone would soon look for her, if they hadn’t started already. The servants could be punished for harboring her.
Wren stood from the stool and trailed to the exit. She had too many things weighing on her conscience already. Pushing through the door, she wandered through the hallways, trying to remember the way back to the bathing room.
Somehow, she found what she’d been searching for. She’d almost given up at one point. All the hallways looked alike. It was a veritable maze.
Wren pushed open the door and stepped into the room. She froze as she spotted an unexpected woman inside. Queen Astrid sat on a striped chaise lounge. She straightened when she noticed Wren and stood, gliding forward.
“I…” Wren began, though she did not know what to say.
The queen moved toward her and took her hands. “I figured that when you ran off, you might find yourself back in the only room you knew,” she said, squeezing Wren’s fingers. It was a gesture Wren’s own mother used to do to make her feel better, which hurt her very soul. “It’s not safe to wander, my dear.”
“So I am told.”
Astrid nodded, her deep brown eyes scrutinizing Wren. “You are a princess.”
“I am.”
“With privilege comes responsibility.”
Wren cocked her head. “True.” What was the queen getting at?
Astrid sighed and pursed her lips. “Did your mother prepare you for what’s to come?”
What’s to come…the wedding night. Wren thought she might be sick.
“You are young,” the queen continued. “I don’t want to shock you.”
She shook her head. “I was taken from Lorne on my wedding day,” she reminded her. “Trust me, I know what is to come.” Not that it was going to happen. The prince would not be touching her this night. Nor any of them. The queen didn’t need to know that.
Astrid’s shoulders sagged in relief, and a small smile graced her face. “I’m happy to hear that. I’ve never had to have this conversation before.”
Wren gave the queen a weak smirk. “Not even with your sons?”
The queen’s smile turned brittle before it slipped from her face. “They had their father for that.”
She didn’t even want to imagine what that was like. A moment of silence lapsed between them, and Wren rocked back on her heels. It was too soon to tell but Astrid might be her ticket out of the palace.
Astrid smiled again, except there was nothing but sadness behind it. She did not let go of Wren’s hands. “Come. I shall take you to Arrik’s chambers. You can wait for him there instead of returning to the celebrations.”
Wren breathed deeply, steeling herself for what really was to come.
Let’s do this.
23
Wren
No matter how much Wren hated the situation, she couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of the Verlantian Palace. Even now, as she stood waiting for her new ‘husband’ to arrive, Wren was struck with how breathtaking the chambers were that she was expected to share with the prince.
The sun had already set, and the lanterns bathed the room with soft light. One wall was entirely open to a courtyard, which was held up by tall marble columns. Sheer curtains hung from the ceiling and rippled in the soft breeze. It made Wren realize how it must not really get cold in Verlanti. The insubstantial fabric of her wedding dress made more sense against the still-balmy evening. Huge leafy plants grew outside the room, hiding what lay outside but she could hear water running over stone. A stream or pool?
Looking around the room at large, Wren could not ignore the enormous, finely carved bed, the wood gilded in an ostentatious amount of gold to her left. Tables bracketed the bed. Then there was a fireplace across from it which Wren assumed never got lit given how hot it was in Verlanti. Two upholstered, cushioned chairs sat on either side of the hearth, large enough that Wren could, in all likelihood, curl up on one of them to sleep.
All in all, the room was simple, but beautiful. A wide mirror hung on the same wall as the bed, framed in what looked like bone, and standing close to the end of the bed was a circular table covered in food and drink.
A private feast for the bride and groom.