He grunted but didn’t let her leg go. She growled when he ripped the bent tray from Wren’s hands when she tried to hit him again, revealing that she had bloodied his nose and swollen his upper lip.
“I do enjoy a woman full of fire,” he said, grabbing for her once more, as if she had not just viciously hit him in the face.
Wren screamed and reached for her blade. He pinned her arms and she yowled as she tried to escape his other roving hand. “Do not—do not touch me!”
“Perhaps if you didn’t have a knife,” he murmured, eyes shining in the twilight as his hand skimmed over her right hip, “I would not have to.”
He knows.
Wren fired out a fist, intent on punching Arrik in the nose in an attempt to break it. He responded by throwing his entire weight on top of her. All the air was squashed from Wren’s lungs in an instant. She gasped for breath, but no sooner had he slumped onto her than he knelt back up, wrapping several blankets around Wren so tightly and expertly that no amount of wriggling enabled her to get out of them.
By the time Arrik was done, Wren could no longer move an inch. She bellowed in frustration from her soft, unyielding prison. “Let me go!” she demanded, knowing any such plea was useless now. She was at his mercy…and she hated it.
“Stop fighting me!” He slapped his hands against the mattress on either side of her head and glared down at her. “I’m trying to save your fool life!”
What?
She snapped her mouth shut and blinked slowly at him. What the devil was this? Another trick?
His eyes sparked as he leaned close enough that she could count his long lashes. The prince’s hair fell around them, forming a curtain. “You’ll get us both killed if you carry on.”
“So you want to save your own skin,” she spat.
His jaw ticked. “Whether you like it or not, we are bound. Our fates are intwined. I didn’t take my vows lightly. I meant them when I said I would protect you with my life.”
“Lies,” she hissed. What was this nonsense?
His expression sobered. “I don’t lie, Princess.” She held her breath as he continued to stare down at her. “You don’t have to trust me, but you must obey me.”
No way.
She opened her mouth to retorted when he reached down the front of her dress and pulled the sheathed stiletto out. “That’s mine!” she gritted out.
“No, it’s not.” His mask slipped back into place. “It’s my brothers.”
Arrik stood up and she felt like she could finally breathe.
“Go to sleep,” he muttered before moving to the table. The prince picked up some of the food that hadn’t been completely destroyed and placed it on a broken plate, then reclined on one of the chairs by the empty fireplace.
Wren couldn’t believe her ears. “You want me to go to sleep? Oh, I see how it is. If I am asleep, I can do nothing against you raping me.”
His impartial expression slipped and turned to one of disgust. She flinched at the rage and revulsion she saw clear as day written across his face. She expected him to storm back to her side and slap her in the face, but instead the man remained as still as a statue.
“I may be the monster from your every living nightmare,” he said, very quietly, “but I would never force a woman to lie with me. Never. And besides…I do not take vipers into my bed. So, take my bed from me and go to sleep. I know you are exhausted.”
Wren did not know how to take this. His words did not sound like lies, but even so, she could not take them at face value.
“I’m not a viper,” she replied. “Your people are.”
“You’ll find no argument from me,” he said, fatigue coloring his tone. “Go to sleep.”
You cannot afford to sleep a wink with him around. Not with the rumors of his wives.
If Arrik was not the one who killed his wives in the past—and if his three wives being murdered was not merely a story concocted by his brother in the first place—then someone else may very well attempt to kill Wren tonight. For that alone, she could not sleep, regardless of her feelings toward Arrik.
A stalemate it was.
She was unable to move, but not willing to surrender.
The moon rose fully in the sky, and though it grew a little colder, Arrik did not put any of his clothes back on. He sat almost motionless, staring out at the courtyard, occasionally eating from his plate or turning his brother’s dagger in his hands. Wren, in her state of immobility, could do nothing but watch him do nothing.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
“I know,” he responded. “I accept it.”
It would be a long night, but not for the reasons she originally thought.
24
Arrik
If one thing had been made clear to Arrik from the moment he had first cast his eyes upon Wren, it was this: she was as wild as the dragons who dwelled in her homeland.
He popped another grape into his mouth, the sweet taste bursting across his tongue. Arrik winced and swallowed it down quickly. He hated sweet things. Tart grapes were his favorite though. A sigh escaped him, and his gaze was drawn back to his wife. Even in the dark, her red hair was like a beacon.
His new wife had wasted no time in trying to attack him the moment an opportunity arose. Arrik could not blame her. Rather, it only served to impress him. Instead of turning into a weeping mess, she’d fought back. He respected Wren, though he highly doubted she would believe him if he were to vocalize his regard. The lass was suspicious, and she had every right to be. She’d entered the house of serpents and it was wise for her to never forget that. Someone would always want to kill her.
The thought caused something dark and possessive to burn in his chest. No one would touch what was his. Not again. He would not fail. She would not die.
You’re getting too attached to her.
Tearing his gaze away, he focused on the courtyard, on the plants that waved in the breeze. That was the problem. Truly, he’d only spent a handful of days in her presence, but something about her called to him. She had somehow reached inside his heart and made a place for herself. The worst part? He’d felt it happen in Lorne when she’d spat at Shane and then swore she’d never marry his father. It intrigued him. Every woman he’d married before had come to him for any number of selfish reasons, but Wren was the first woman who wanted nothing from him. It was refreshing in a twisted sort of way. But then again, Arrik was twisted. His soul was corrupt but a small part of himself wanted to be better so she wouldn’t look at him with revulsion.
Given what had happened to his last three wives, that was a problem.
If she survived the night…he clenched his jaw. When she survived the night, the princess would be in even more danger. His brothers were jealous, dangerous creatures with a horrid penchant for depravity and violence. If they suspected that he cared one whit for the princess, death would be a kindness compared to the games they played.
Drawn once more, he cast his gaze over the bed. His new wife had turned her face toward him, the moonlight shining in her eyes as she glared at him. Thoroughly wrapped up and unable to move, her gaze promised vengeance. She’d not spoken one word to him in three hours and refused to go to sleep which she clearly needed by the black bags beneath her eyes. It was a waste of breath to tell her to sleep.
He supposed that Wren had no reason to believe he would not ravish her after she fell asleep. Considering everything that happened to her so far—at his hands, no less—it was no doubt the least she would expect from him. It rankled, but he understood it. Trust did not come easily, and he hadn’t earned hers. Yet. Once they survived the night, Arrik would start the process of gaining her trust. They were both in a precarious situation and if he played his cards right, perhaps they could be allies. She wanted to go home to her people, and he wanted control of Verlanti. They could both get what they wanted if they worked together.