Wren fed a handful of daisies to her dragon when Aurora nudged her shoulder. “My stomach is fluttering like these flowers in the wind.”
Her mum kissed each of her cheeks. “Nerves are good. They tell you that this is something you care about. That you want to get it right.” She grinned at Wren. “Come on, dearest. We can’t let the eldest Princess of Lorne be late for her own wedding. Your father would never let me hear the end of it.”
2
Wren
The heat from the fire warmed Wren’s skin. She stared at the dancing flames as Ethel, her handmaiden, brushed her tangled red curls. It almost seemed surreal that the wedding was today. From the moment she’d met Rowen at the tender age of fifteen, she’d known he was special. At first, he’d been a show-off who made her nerves grate together, but the more time she’d spent with him, the more she’d liked him. Wren wasn’t really sure when she’d decided that she loved him, but one day it was just there, and it felt right. True, at nineteen, it was perhaps a little young to commit to such a binding promise of marriage, but it felt like she’d loved Rowen forever, and there was no sense in putting off her future with the man she adored, customs be damned.
She winced as Ethel pulled on her hair.
“Sorry, my lady,” the handmaiden said.
Wren waved a hand through the air. Such was the life with hair as wild as hers. She paused and stared at her left naked wrist. Today, she’d receive her marriage mark. Excitement bubbled in her gut at the thought of Rowen’s crest tattooed on the inside of her wrist. A feeling of smugness followed as she thought about her crest marking his skin. From today on, they would be bound, and nothing could tear them apart.
“If I may say so,” Ethel said softly, “you’re a lucky woman to marry the likes of the captain.”
“Indeed, I am.” Wren toyed with her robe.
Even though Rowen was older by four years, he’d waited for her. If it had been up to only her, she would have wed him two years prior. But the stubborn man wanted her to have more time to know herself. He could be so obstinate sometimes. Many would never see that side of him. For the most part, he was good-natured and goofy. Rowen was now first mate to the captain of the navy. But even that responsibility wasn’t enough to make him more serious…at least on the surface. For Wren knew he deeply and seriously loved her and their country and would do anything to protect them both.
Her betrothed had a wicked sense of humor and an ability to swim with the dragons that Wren—and almost everybody else—had always been jealous of. She still hadn’t been able to beat him at a race, and it ate at her. She grinned. But she could hold her breath longer than him, so she didn’t feel too terrible.
“But he is even luckier because you chose him.”
Wren reached back and patted Ethel’s hand in affection. Her maid was one of her most precious friends. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. It’s the truth.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Ethel paused in her brushing. “It’s a good thing you got back to the castle before the rain started again, my lady. We’d never have dried you off in time for the ceremony!”
Wren laughed. “Let the rain come. I would marry outside in the storm if I had to,” she declared. A bit of water or dirt never hurt anyone. She meant it. Rowen wouldn’t care if she walked down the aisle dripping from head to toe, looking like she had decided on an impromptu swim with Aurora. He always accepted her ever-changing moods with humor and grace.
The door burst open to her right, and Wren watched in amusement as Clara, her second handmaiden, bustled into the room, looking frazzled.
“You would not believe the chaos I just came from,” Clara huffed, kicking the door shut behind her, her light-orange hair sticking to her sweaty face. She leaned back against the wood and flashed a smile at Wren, her arms full of fabric. “But, have no fear, I rescued your dress and not one inch is wrinkled.”
“That’s quite a feat,” Wren remarked as her friend pushed away from the door and began to gently shake out the gorgeous swathes of fabric that made up the skirt.
“I can’t wait to see you in that,” Ethel said. “You’ll look beautiful.”
Clara glanced up from her work and winked at Wren. “I half expected your father to put you in a pair of leather trousers.”
All three women burst into laughter.
Wren shook her head, which earned her a gentle reprimand from Ethel. “I’m sure he had that notion, but my mother steered him in the other direction.”
“Your mother has been a good influence on him,” Clara said, her sage eyes twinkling. “My mum used to say the keep was a filthy mess before he married the queen. He rarely even wore a shirt.”
“What a barbarian,” Wren teased. Even now, her mum was barely able to keep the king dressed. That man loathed clothing. Said it was too confining.
“That he is, but that’s why we love him. There’s never been a fiercer or more loving king for the isles,” Clara said.
“Don’t let him hear that or his ego will get even larger,” Wren muttered with a smile.
“Never, my lady,” Clara retorted. “He has enough women to keep him in line.”
That was the bloody truth. King Oswin was plagued by women. He was the eldest of five sisters, who almost all bore daughters. Wren had more female cousins than she knew what to do with. She eyed Clara and glanced at Ethel from the corner of her eye. These were her two favorite cousins. Sure, they were her handmaidens by title, but they were her best friends in all the world.
“How is my father doing?” Wren asked.
Clara arched a brow as she unbuttoned the back of Wren’s wedding dress. “Trying not to lose his mind. I’m sure he was wishing he had a son at this point, so he could fade into the background.”
“I’m sure.” Wren massaged the back of her neck as Ethel began braiding her hair. “Not that he didn’t try to make me into one.”
The king may not have sired any sons, but he’d done his best to help raise his daughters and nieces with all the advantages afforded to men of the world. Wren hadn’t minded; she enjoyed learning all the skills of the battlefront, how to hold her breath for minutes on end beneath the waves, and how to swim five miles without tiring, just as much as she enjoyed learning to read and write and dance and sing to the dragons. That was the way of the Dragon Isles. Your gender and sex didn’t dictate what role you provided in society. Your skills did. Her mother had explained that it wasn’t this way in the other kingdoms. In the Southern Kingdom, women were to be seen and not heard. Wren still didn’t know how one could live that way. Just thinking of it made her want to rescue all the women and steal them away to the isles where they could be free.
“And my mum?” Wren asked, shaking off her thoughts.
Clara gently laid the dress on Wren’s bed and walked back over to her, taking a seat on a small stool in front of the fire. “Calm and serene as ever. She handed Britta off to your father to keep her out of trouble.”
“He has his hands full,” Wren said wryly.
Her little sister was a handful on a good day. After so many years without children from their union, Britta had been a surprise for their parents. Wren was thirteen when her sister was born. As Britta grew, it became apparent that she was different from others. Speech didn’t come to her as fast as other children her age, but her mind was so sharp. She could create intricate nets and finish puzzles faster than adults by the age of three. Britta had a habit of breaking things. At first her parents thought it was just a naughty habit, but the more Wren watched her younger sister, it dawned on her that it was something completely different. It wasn’t that Britta was purposely being destructive, but that she was trying to figure out how things worked. Her brain needed something to keep it occupied. Once they discovered that, life became a lot easier for them all.