Of course, Oak will have to keep his family from making things extra complicated. Jude will want to punish Wren for holding Oak captive. Cardan will probably still be a bit resentful if he thinks Oak is plotting against him. Cardan may even think Wren is part of a new plot.
And so Oak needs to show his loyalty to a lot of different people, keep Bogdana from hurting anyone, and get a treaty signed before a battle breaks out in the heart of Elfhame. Not to mention he has to do that while proving to Wren he isn’t out for revenge—and that if she forgives him, he won’t see it as a chance to hurt her.
Well, no time like the present to begin. Oak moves across the deck toward her. Two falcons step in his way.
“She is my betrothed,” Oak says, as though there is merely some misunderstanding.
“You ought to be her prisoner,” says one, low enough that he will not be overheard by the Elfhame contingent.
“Both those things can be true,” Oak tells him.
Wren frowns at the guards and the prince both. “I will receive him. I wish to hear what he has to say.”
Her guards step away, but not far enough to be out of earshot.
Oak smiles and attempts to find a tone to communicate his sincerity. “My lady, I wished to tell you how glad I was that you decided to accept my suit and return to Elfhame by my side. I hope you do not begrudge too greatly the manner in which the proposal was given.”
“Should I?” she asks.
“You might consider it romantic,” he suggests, but he knows what she really thinks—that this is a game. And should he claim otherwise, she will be insulted that he thinks her such a poor opponent as to fall for that.
And it is not as though there is no strategy behind his offer, but he feels more like a hopelessly besotted ninny than a master strategist. He’d marry her, and happily.
She gives him a chilly little smile. “However I might feel, I will keep my word.”
Though you may not is heavily implied.
“We need not forever be at daggers drawn,” he says, and hopes she will believe him. “To that end, I did hope that Bogdana would not be accompanying us, since she wants to murder the High King—and me. I think that could complicate our visit.”
To his surprise, Wren glances up at the vulture in frustration. “Yes,” she says. “I told her to stay behind, but apparently I wasn’t clear enough. That’s why she’s hiding up there. If she came down, I could order her to go home.”
“She can’t hide from you forever,” Oak says.
The corners of Wren’s mouth twitch. “What do you think we will find when we arrive in Elfhame?”
An excellent question. “The High King and Queen will throw us some sort of party. But I suppose they may have a few concerns for me to allay first.”
Her lip lifts, showing off sharp teeth. “A polite way of putting it. But you are ever charming.”
“Am I?” he asks.
“Like a cat lazing in the sun. No one expects it to suddenly bite.”
“I am not the one fond of biting,” he says, and is gratified when she blushes, the pink coming up bright enough to show through the pale blue of her skin.
Not waiting to be dismissed, he takes that victory, makes a shallow bow, and departs, heading in the direction of Tiernan.
Her guards watch him go with angry looks. They probably blame him for Valen. Perhaps they blame him for all the things that Valen blamed him for. Might there really be some day that he and Wren were not at daggers drawn? He believed it enough to say it, but he was an eternal optimist.
“You’ve got a bruise on your face,” Tiernan says.
Oak reaches up self-consciously and prods around until he finds it, to the left of his mouth. It joins the bump on his head and the burns from the iron knife hidden by his collar. He’s a mess.
“How is my father?” he asks.
“Allowed back into Elfhame, just as he planned,” Tiernan says. “Giving your sister lots of unsolicited advice.”
Just because I’m bad doesn’t mean the advice is. That’s what Madoc told Wren, although Oak isn’t so sure he agrees on that point. Still, his father must be doing well, to be behaving like himself. That is the main thing.
He lets out a sigh of relief, his gaze going to the horizon, to the waves. His mind wanders to the last time they crossed this water and how Loana tried to distract him with a kiss and then drag him down to the watery depths. That was the second time she tried to drown him.
Drown me once, shame on me . . . He decides he doesn’t like the direction his thoughts are taking him. Nor does he like acknowledging that he has a particular sort of taste for paramours—the more dangerous, the better.