“Stop right there, Papa,” Wren cut in. “I’m glad I didn’t have to grow up as a stereotypical girl. I could only be who I am today because of you. How can I be anything but proud to be your daughter?”
The king’s gruff face softened. “It is I who am proud of you. I could not have asked for a better daughter. You, Britta, and your mother are the lights of my life. You and I may not share blood, but you are mine in every other way. I hope you know how precious you are.”
“I do not care for blood,” Wren said. “Adopted or not. I do not care. We are a family, and that is it.”
Her father’s shoulders finally relaxed, though he still sat stock-straight in the chair—years of military training. “You’re just at the beginning of your life, Wren,” he said, his eyes shining, pride clear in his expression as he regarded her. “You have so many choices ahead of you. I cannot wait to see what you do.”
They settled into silence, listening to the fire crackle and the storm grow closer. Wren closed her eyes and savored the moment. When was the last time she was able to spend time with her papa, just the two of them?
“Wren?”
She opened her eyes and studied his serious expression. The king sat forward in his chair, his hands clasped together, lips pressed together. It was a look that didn’t bode well. Her gut clenched. What was wrong?
“Father? What is on your mind? I can tell something is troubling you.”
“So astute. You’ve always been like that—able to sense other’s emotions.” The king rubbed his forehead and gave her a weak smile, shaking his head. “Today is a happy day, and I don’t wish to make it otherwise.”
A chill ran down her spine. “Tell me.”
“As you know, our foreign negotiations aren’t the best right now.”
“When are they ever?” Wren wrinkled her nose. “You know how I feel about the damned tithe. What more do the Verlantians want from us?”
“Our kingdom.”
And that was the ugly truth of it. The elves wanted control of the Dragon Isles. “Well, they’re not getting it.”
The king gave her a wider smile. “No, they are not,” he murmured, looking at the fire. “I want you to enjoy this day, love, because the days coming may not be so easy.”
Wren scooted to the edge of her seat and held her hand out. Her father grasped her left hand between his own and squeezed it twice. “No matter what, I am with you. Just because I will be someone’s wife, it doesn’t mean that I’m not your daughter or your rider. My sword is yours.”
“I know that.” He released her hand and cupped her cheek. “If things do not go well, do you remember the plan?”
Wren nodded. She was to get her mother and sister out of the keep and flee. She planned on getting her family to safety, but she wouldn’t flee. Ever.
“I believe everything will work out, but you know how I like to be prepared.”
“I know, Papa.”
“Good.” He released her and stood. “Are you ready to go? We don’t want you to be late.”
“You sound like Mother. She’s been hounding me all day.” Wren moved past the king and gave herself a final once-over in the mirror. She flicked a glance at her father, who stared blankly at the door. He was keeping something from her. Today, he didn’t want to burden her, but, within the next couple of days, she’d needle the problem out of him.
Wren adjusted a few flowers in her hair before facing her papa.
“You ready?” he asked, giving her a warm, reassuring smile.
Butterflies took flight in her belly as her nerves returned with a vengeance. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to three. Wren opened her eyes and nodded, going to her father when he opened the door and held his arm out to her.
She slipped her arm through his as he led her out of her bedroom for the last time.
“Let’s go.”
They descended the stone stairs slowly. Wren ran her fingers along the polished black stones of the wall as they reached the ground floor, the scent of spiced pies, apples, and savory meat in the air. Lorne Castle was not huge, by any means, but it was beautiful in its own way. The keep was grand and sturdy in its polished black stone and vaulted internal wooden ceilings, and, beneath the hewn floors, were a complicated series of underground tunnels, which were the true strength and defense of the castle.
She ran her left hand against an old tapestry as they strolled by, noting the draft. That was another secret of the Lorne Keep that she delighted in. The secret passageways. Even if the enemy managed to infiltrate the keep, they would never be able to figure out the labyrinth of interconnecting, hidden hallways.
“I can see your mind running,” her father commented.
Wren glanced up at him sheepishly. “Just thinking about secret passageways.”
The king rolled his eyes. “Mischief.”
She grinned impishly as he led her from the tower that housed her bedroom and out into the blustery courtyard. The thunderous applause of townspeople calling her name crashed over her. All manner of flowers were thrown her way: blue, green, red, violet, pink, yellow, orange. Wren waved to her people, who were as brash and colorful as the flowers littering the ground.
They waded through the crowd, and Wren released her father when she spied her nanny Mary and Mary’s husband Liam, the dragon master. The couple rushed toward them, and her nanny pulled Wren into a bear hug.
“You look so beautiful, my girl!” Mary cried, tears running down her wrinkled face.
“You’ll ruin her dress, wife,” the dragon master said, pulling Mary away. His gray eyes twinkled as he hugged his wife. “Don’t let that Rowen get his way all the time, you hear me, lass?”
Wren grinned. “I hear you.”
“You know how he can be with his food,” the dragon master clucked. “Fussy as a babe in—”
“Leave it alone, Liam!” Mary chastised, wiping her cheeks. “I’m sure the last thing she wants to hear on the day of her wedding is you complaining about her husband-to-be.”
“On the contrary,” Wren giggled, “It is helping a great deal with my nerves.” She nodded in faux seriousness at Liam. “I shall make sure Rowen always eats his greens. But when has he ever gotten his way when it comes to me?”
Liam laughed uproariously and ruffled his white, curly hair. “I suppose you have a point. Oh, but what a sight you are today. A true princess, through and through.”
“Such a bright, beautiful young woman,” Mary agreed. “May your future with Rowen be long and happy.”
“Thank you.” She slid a glance toward her father. “I better head into the keep. Mum will not forgive me if we’re late.”
“Aye,” Liam commented. “Best be getting on with ya.”
Wren turned back to her father, allowing him to loop his arm with hers and usher her forward toward the main entrance to the keep. She looked at the spires of the keep with pride—the black polished stone, sea glass, and seashells made it formidable and stunning at the same time. It truly was a sight to behold—as was the great room that led to the chapel. An arched wooden doorway the size of a whale’s ribcage marked the entrance, capable of allowing six people astride to walk beneath it.
The king drew to a stop by the heavy wooden doors and kissed Wren’s cheek. “Are you ready?”
She stared up at her papa’s soft eyes. “I am. Are you ready?”
“Never, love. A father is never ready to let his daughter go.”
A surge of love filled her heart and warmed her insides. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Wren.”
She faced the doors and straightened her skirt once more. “I’m ready, Papa.”
The king signaled to the warriors bracketing the double doors. They heaved open the heavy wooden doors, and Wren and her father moved through the archway.
All her thoughts disappeared as she caught sight of Rowen waiting at the front of the chapel. Her nerves disappeared.
It was time to start the beginning of the rest of her life.
3
Arrik