Page 5 of The Forgotten Prince
“My Queen,” interrupted Málik, and Gwendolyn’s heart tripped at the husky sound of his voice, her determination wavering with only his softly spoken words.
My Queen.
Even if only she could note it, the tenor of his voice betrayed affection, and gods knew, only hearing it, there was nothing he could ask of Gwendolyn that she would refuse—a truth that enslaved her even as it lifted her to unimaginable heights.
“He could be of use to us.”
“How so?” Gwendolyn asked.
She would not relish the thought of having Lir’s death on her conscience. Theirs was no pursuit for such a gentle soul—a man who’d never once wielded a sword in battle—and she couldn’t imagine what use he could be.
Málik continued to explain. “As I have said… the Fae king will view your intrusion in the Fae realm as an attack on his sovereignty. Not only does he not believe you to be the rightful heir of Claímh Solais, he is quite certain you are not. The instant you descend upon his territories, he will send armies to end you. Howbeit, he has allies in the Druid village and Lir’s presence may lend itself to diplomacy over commination.”
The Fae king—not his father, nor Esme’s.
Unless pressed, Málik would never confess their relation—most assuredly not in front of Lir, even if it seemed to Gwendolyn that Lir already knew.
She wanted to ask why Lir’s presence would lend itself to diplomacy, but not hers. However, something in Málik’s expression forbade the question. And it was Lir’s eager expression that was Gwendolyn’s undoing.
Gwendolyn sighed. It would be better for her if he did not go, but she would not make him stay. “Very well,” she relented. “Go. Prepare for the morning’s departure. But first, please return to the konsel to advise them to seek your replacement.”
Caradoc would be all-too pleased to hear it, and the notion vexed Gwendolyn. No doubt he would install another of his own, but she hadn’t any choice but to allow it. There was no one remaining she could trust to perform the duties of an alderman. It was a demanding job. And no matter they no longer had the treasury to guard, it was so time consuming poor Bryok and his wife had intended to flee Trevena in order to escape his duties. Gwendolyn was already feeling guilty for the strain it would place on Ely and Kelan’s relationship. But though they might fall wearily into bed together at the close of day, at least they would serve together, and that must count for something. Gwendolyn inhaled an impatient breath as Lir turned to go but stopped him with a word of caution. “We depart at first light,” she added. “If you are not ready, we will leave without you.”
“Do not worry, Majesty!” he said excitedly. “I will be ready!”
The joyful glimmer in his warm eyes only served to further discompose her because that was the point: Gwendolyn was worried. She had grown quite fond of the youngling Druid, and she thought of him as a little brother, which was odd perhaps, considering their ages. But even with so many years spent in that Druid village, Lir was innocent as a babe. Once more, he turned to leave, and Gwendolyn stopped him again. “Lir,” she said, her voice hard. “I will also insist you spend every spare moment crossing swords with Esme.”
At the mention of his Fae adversary, Lir’s joy seemed to dim a bit, but he answered without hesitation, giving her a nod. “I will, Majesty.”
“Please call me Gwendolyn,” she responded with a sigh. “I am still Gwendolyn.” He gave her a look of utter confusion, and Gwendolyn waved him away. “Never you mind. Go!”
“Thank you! Thank you!” he said, and then, before Gwendolyn could think to stop him again or change her mind, he turned to rush back to the konsel, leaving her alone with Málik. Something like starlings took flight in Gwendolyn’s belly as she cast him another glance, only to discover his magnificent lips twisted into a crooked smile—amusement? At her expense?
Gwendolyn glowered at him.
She didn’t like how easily he could read her—nor that, when she tried to rule with her mind and not her heart, she failed so miserably. How was she going to rule this kingdom if she couldn’t even stand firm in her resolve?
Locrinus had no problem hardening his heart!
Málik said nothing, though he needn’t speak a word. Betrayed by the twinkle in his steel-blue eyes, she knew what he was thinking.
Annoyed yet again, she spun about, continuing to her mother’s bower, avoiding further conversation until they were alone, having learned to save all her aggrievements for private moments, when Málik was so much less reserved. However, the moment he pursued her into the antechamber, she turned to face him, confronting him at long last about his resignation as her Shadow. “I thought you gave up this position weeks ago? Why are you here?”
She didn’t mind so much that Bryn had been reinstated—he was the Shadow she was most accustomed to—but she couldn’t help but feel abandoned by Málik.
“I would think it obvious,” he said easily. “Bryn cannot be in two places at once.”
“Neither can you,” she returned. “Doesn’t Esme require your services?”
She knew she sounded like a resentful fishwife and loathed the sound of her own voice. But if it disturbed him, he didn’t show it.
“I may have abdicated my role as your Shadow, but I am no less committed to serve you, My Queen.”
“Gwendolyn!” she snapped, averting her gaze.
Of all her friends, Málik was the one with whom she most resented the use of formalities.
“Gwendolyn,” he said silkily, and the sound of her name on his lips only made her heart trip once more—what a spiteful turn of fate! Either way, she was tormented, and nothing less would suit her now that she knew what it felt like to be held in his arms. As a matter of self-preservation, her gaze drifted to the cot Demelza had once occupied and fixed there as she regained her composure.