Page 2 of The Forgotten Prince
“We need good men in the Cods Wold, too,” Gwendolyn allowed. “I insist Ely serves with her husband.” She looked pointedly at Kelan to ask, “Have you an issue with this, Kelan?”
“Nay, Majesty,” he responded at once. “My wife will serve this konsel with honor.”
Gwendolyn offered the young man a smile, hopeful for the changing guard. Although there might be fewer men like her father and Beryan, whose knowledge came from age and experience, she was certain, working together, this konsel would prevail, even with Caradoc at the helm.
“Very well,” she concluded. “Ely will serve, and the matter is closed—on to the next.”
“Majesty,” interjected Lir, as he fiddled with one of his ear sheaths—silver leaflets emulating Fae ears to the point. “Do you think this prudent? It could be your dear friend will side with her husband, and what good would it do to have Ely serve this konsel if she’ll not come with her own voice?”
Gwendolyn lifted a brow. “I assure you, my dear friend has no reluctance to speak her mind.” She tilted Lir a questioning look. “What about you? You are neither Dumnoni, nor Catuvellauni, nor even Pretanian, for that matter. As a Druid, you might consider yourself above our ilk.” She’d said it without condemnation, but his cheeks flushed red, and still Gwendolyn persisted. “Must I presume you will side with your Druid interests over those of my Cornish people?” Gwendolyn needed these men to understand whose interests were of utmost concern here. She meant to follow in her father’s footsteps and unite Pretania’s tribes, but Trevena’s interests were still Trevena’s, and in this city, she would not see Caradoc’s will prevail.
“Nay, Majesty. I would not.”
“And please tell; do you believe it entirely a man’s prerogative to adjudicate fairly and objectively?”
For a moment, the Druid did not respond and Gwendolyn knew he resisted answering because Druidkind believed in the dominion of men. And despite this, she and Lir had been through enough together she trusted he would do what was right for this realm, just as she trusted Ely to do the same. “Well?”
At long last, he shook his head, and Gwendolyn smiled. “You must trust this process,” she told the men. “It is my opinion that regardless of a man’s—or a woman’s—personal views, once seated at this table, we must serve the good of the people.”
Shifting her gaze from Lir to Caradoc, she added. “No matter how unjust this might sound to you, I will insist upon filling this seat with a native-born Trevenian. Your good men should remain in the Cods Wold where they’ve chosen to be.”
“You do not trust us?” suggested Caradoc.
Opting for honesty, Gwendolyn replied, “Allied we might be, Caradoc, but you will agree your interests are not my interests. It is my intention to see this city returned to my people after we have removed the Usurper from his stolen throne. You and I have a bargain, and I’ll not fail to reward you for your loyalty.”
Caradoc smiled ruefully. “My father once advised me that any man who’ll not trust cannot himself be trusted. Have you not heard this?”
Gwendolyn returned his smile. “It is also said a wise woman will trust but give force to her interests. Wise words from my mother,” she countered with a nod.
He sat back at last, exhaling, relenting, although not without a last jab. “Lamentably, I am reminded of yet another bit of advice my father gave me.”
Gwendolyn lifted a hand, palm up. “Please share.”
“Never argue with a woman,” he said, after which the room erupted with laughter. And Bryn interjected, “Indeed, my brother, if you are fool enough to argue with a woman and you win, you still lose.”
More laughter.
Gwendolyn tried not to take offense, though she thought it rude on both men’s accounts. Still, she held her smile—until Bryn slid her a sheepish grin, and declared, “Especially with this one.”
Her smile faded.
Leave it to Bryn to interject a word of caution in a manner that no man could take issue with. But, even laced with good humor, there was an undercurrent of discourtesy to his warning. Her gaze sought her dear friend’s, and he smiled, although the smile never reached his eyes. It tempered Gwendolyn’s response. She felt a prick of regret for his sorrows, including the fact he had once loved her, and she could not love him in return. Unfortunately, Bryn had changed, and she understood the fault was in part her own. Although, if she had it to do all over again, she would make all the same choices. She couldn’t even regret their swim at Porth Pool because if she had not swum there with Bryn that day, and her mother had not discovered them together… and her father had not demoted Bryn, only to assign Málik as her Shadow… well… she would not have known Málik. Nevertheless, these past months had taken a toll on her friendship with Bryn—so much so she sometimes questioned his loyalty. For the tiniest, most-terrible moment after discovering Talwyn in her father’s chamber, when Bryn arrived behind her, she’d feared him a turncoat. It wasn’t until he’d spoken that she’d rested easier. But it could certainly have gone another way, and now that she had his father’s blood on her hands, she sometimes wondered if he would come to regret his choices. So far, neither brother nor sister seemed inclined to lay the fault for Talwyn’s death on Gwendolyn’s shoulders, regardless it was her blade that took his life, but she could not tolerate insolence—not in this room. There was a fine line between Bryn’s ease of comportment with her and the appearance of disrespect, and Gwendolyn could not afford for there to be any doubt about who was in command. She was.
“No more quibbling,” she announced, and taking a lesson from her late mother, she added, with a nod toward Caradoc. “You’ve one last seat to fill and you’ve my blessing to fill it with whomever you wish.”
It was Taryn who spoke now, clearly confused. “But Majesty… even with Ely, there are still three seats remaining, are there not?”
Gwendolyn looked first toward Taryn, then again to Caradoc. “One,” she asserted. “To fill the other two, I’ve sent a request to the Temple of the Dead.”
“Nay!” Caradoc exclaimed. “Not the Awenydds!”
“I did not misspeak,” said Gwendolyn. “And please do not tell me you fear the prospect of arguing against four women, even with a majority of fellows on your konsel? Certainly not a man like you?”
The Awenydds were female philosophers who sought inspiration through bardic arts. Her mother had favored them for a reason. While the Gwyddons had similar affinities, the Awenydds had a greater understanding of the past, and therefore, a stronger inkling of what they might need to return this city to its former glory.
Caradoc growled in response, the sound feral.
“Make no mistake, Dragon Queen, I remain your liege, but I will be heartily pleased to see the back of you! This city is too small for the two of us!” He tilted his head then, a flash of cunning in his black eyes. “Unless you care to seal our allegiance with a torc?”