Page 4 of The Forgotten Prince

A painful knot rose in Gwendolyn’s throat.

She tried in vain to swallow past it, not daring to look behind her.

Málik’s footfalls were silent as a ghost’s. Still, she knew he was there, and even if her heart ached for more, she dared to take comfort in his presence.

Tonight would be her final moments spent amidst her mother’s effects. Gwendolyn didn’t know why that should bother her so much. Material things oughtn’t matter. Neither gowns, nor cloaks, nor furs could make up for the loss of a loved one, but perhaps it was because, left intact, the Queen’s quarters were a refuge against the raging storm. Tomorrow, she would begin a perilous, new journey. But for now… everything in those apartments remained as her mother had left them… the same white shaggy sheepskin on her bed.

Her favorite claw-footed trunk at the foot.

The elegantly carved beeswax candles, purchased from a local artisan, half spent by her bedside…

If Gwendolyn sat long enough, closing her eyes, she could almost believe her mother might return… any moment, lifting those thick, dark brows as she swept into the room to press Gwendolyn over why she was lurking in her bedchamber like a tricksy little knocker. And considering that, a wry smile touched Gwendolyn’s lips, because… well, she had pilfered a thing or two regardless that her mother had denied her little. Nothing except affection—a fact Gwendolyn bemoaned whilst her mother still lived, and even now she could not lie to herself and say her grief was driven by true loss. It was something else—the rapine of something she’d never had, and now she never would. Despite that, her child’s heart craved it—even as her woman’s heart desired something else…

Daring to glance over her shoulder at Málik, she found his gaze intent upon her, and she lifted her shoulders and chin, shrugging away the undeniable yearning.

Gods. She wasn’t a child to allow herself to mourn over things she could not have, nor was she free to love where she would. She was a queen, wed to a tyrant, and it didn’t matter whom she loved, or whether Málik returned her affection. Better to focus on practical pursuits—this moment, the question of her departure, and final preparations.

And speaking of her mother’s apartments, instead of leaving them unoccupied, Gwendolyn intended to offer the accommodations to Taryn. It would be foolish to expect those rooms to lie unused so long. As yet, Caradoc had no wife, and those quarters so close to his own would be of no use to him. Meanwhile, Taryn made her bed wherever she could find one. And as a high-serving member of the Konsel of Twelve, they could not expect her to lay her head in a haystack.

By some odd stroke of good fortune, most of Queen Eseld’s belongings had gone undisturbed during the coup that had ended her father’s reign. Gwendolyn discovered the room unoccupied, likely because Talwyn had been saving the quarters for his missing wife. There, along with the Queen’s belongings were Lady Ruan’s coffers—everything untouched since the Feast of Blades. Although Gwendolyn had since come to understand the depths of Talwyn’s betrayal—his collusion with Loc—she hardly blamed Ely or Bryn for their father’s betrayal. Earlier today, she had delivered nearly everything to Ely for safekeeping, but as far as Gwendolyn was concerned, Ely could keep it all. She could do with it whatever she wished. Gwendolyn had never been a collector of gowns. If she had a single good pair of boots and a pair of leathers, she was merry as a songbird. There were only a handful of things she meant to keep for herself, primarily the breastplate like the one her mother had given her to wear with the Prydein gown, this one fashioned of copper, with etchings of sunbirds. While it was not suitable for battle because the alloy was too soft, Gwendolyn was certain it had meant something to Queen Eseld, because even after all these years, it remained free of patina and shone.

Also, among her mother’s effects, she’d discovered an arming sword like the one Loc stole from her to give to his mistress. But since Gwendolyn would not part with Kingslayer, she had given the arming sword to Ely as well—not because she felt guilty over her part in Talwyn’s death, but because Ely and Bryn were the only family Gwendolyn had left. It made her feel good to give what she could. In the end, gold, gems—all of it was meaningless if there was no one to share it with. Besides, Ely would need a sword, and Lady Ruan was never the sort to own more than a delicate poniard. Despite that Ely was raised with gentler aspirations, she no longer had such luxury. Sweet Ely, with her golden beauty and soft skin, had been the object of Gwendolyn’s envy for too many years—not because she was resentful of her lovely face, but because, for too long, Gwendolyn had believed her mother favored Ely above everyone. And perhaps she had, but for all Queen Eseld’s fine gowns and jewels, Gwendolyn also found ample evidence that, regardless of her mother’s aspirations to be more like the ladies of her father’s court, Queen Eseld was still a Prydein maiden at heart. A warrior… in disguise.

They were more alike than Gwendolyn ever knew.

Once again, her emotions betrayed her.

Another sting pricked at her eye, and she moved faster, rushing for the privacy of her chamber. If only her mother had lived…

There was so much Gwendolyn longed to say!

Why did you spurn me?

Because she saw herself in Gwendolyn and couldn’t bear to remember that part of herself she’d lost?

Or because Gwendolyn was too stubborn and brash, and betimes too dirty and sweaty?

Or mayhap because she’d favored horses to jewels and gowns?

Because she couldn’t dance, and spoke too freely?

Gwendolyn knew well she was sometimes an embarrassment to her mother’s aspirations. She was not the example Queen Eseld tried to mold her to be. So oft it appeared to Gwendolyn she was reviled for her face. But Gwendolyn had recently come to suspect her mother’s feelings were more complicated.

“Majesty,” came a shout at her back. “Wait! Please! Majesty!”

Swiping at the corner of one eye to mop a telltale tear, Gwendolyn turned to face Lir, but first slid Málik a glance. He averted his gaze—because he wished to save her the discomfort of noticing her flushed cheeks and moist eyes?

No matter; it gave her a moment to collect herself as Lir rushed down the hall.

“Majesty,” he said again before he’d reached her. “I had hoped for an audience. Forgive me for abandoning your konsel at this hour, but I realize our time has grown short.”

“Speak,” Gwendolyn demanded.

Lir surprised her by kneeling—an act of obeisance Druids rarely offered, as they considered themselves the senior-most rás, second only to Fae.

“I beseech you,” he exclaimed. “I know you wish for me to remain in Trevena, and I understand why, but I’d hoped you would allow me to join you.” His soft-brown eyes were so full of hope. “Of course, I will do as you ask, but it has been my life’s ambition to see the City of Light with my own two eyes.”

Gwendolyn shook her head, not meaning to deny him, though she didn’t believe allowing Lir to accompany her was the prudent thing to do. It wasn’t simply she wished for him to remain to serve the konsel—a task that for good reason he was well-equipped to perform—she was also mindful of the fact that, already, she and Bryn would be a burden to Esme and Málik. But at least they knew how to defend themselves if it came to that. Gwendolyn furrowed her brow. “I thought the position would honor you, Lir. It shows how much I value your good counsel—and I do,” she said.