Page 55 of The Forgotten Prince

“Demand?” Gwendolyn snorted. “How can I demand aught of Málik? You know he will do as he pleases.”

“Not if I provide you his true name,” Esme said. “And I will. For the price of your agreement, I will give you the means to stop him.”

Tears pricked at Gwendolyn’s eyes. She didn’t wish to compel Málik. She daren’t even have his true name. More than anything, she wanted him to love her of his own free will, and if Esme gave it to her…

“His name is—”

Gwendolyn lifted her hand to cover Esme’s mouth, shaking her head. “Do not speak it! Do not! But if I agree to do as you ask, how will I cross the Veil and find this City of Light without help?”

“I will go with you,” Esme declared. “I will stand by your side when you face my father. We will cross the Veil together, and you will leave Bryn and Lir with Málik. I alone will stand by your side.”

“What if your father calls you a traitor?”

Esme twisted her lips ruefully. “If he does, it would be true.”

Gwendolyn’s mind raced with all the arguments for and against. She did not wish to imperil anyone—especially not Bryn, nor Lir. Lir had enough to contend with in dealing with his brother.

And Málik…

Esme anticipated her thoughts. “None of us will fare well in the Fae realm—especially Málik. Forsooth, Gwendolyn, I cannot guarantee you will return—nor I. To stand by your side, I will risk my father’s wrath. He will suspect the very thing I have somehow kept from him all these years.”

“Your rebellion?”

Esme shook her head, averting her gaze, looking down. “Something else—something I dare not speak aloud. Though if you will but trust me, Gwendolyn…” She closed her eyes, and then reopened them, meeting Gwendolyn’s gaze, and in that glance, Gwendolyn saw the Elf she’d first met in the depths of Esme’s bright, green gaze—green, just as her eyes had appeared on that morning she’d gifted Gwendolyn the mithril. “You must trust me,” she insisted. “You must!”

With both hands now, Gwendolyn clutched the towel to her breast, too many thoughts rushing through her mind. But there was something else Esme would not say. This moment she had the same desperate look in her eyes that Málik once had on the ramparts…

“Lir cannot help you,” Esme insisted. “Bryn cannot help you. Neither Málik nor I can truly help you. Only you can sway my father before he strikes you down. But if you dare to utter the wrong word, or if you do not answer every question to his satisfaction, blood will spill, and it will not be his. He is too strong, Gwendolyn. Why do you suppose he has reigned so long? Why do you presume no one challenges him? If you cross the Veil with your army of five, he will view this as a declaration of war, and I promise you there is no more you will accomplish if you face him with five than you will if you face him alone.”

“So, then… you and I?” Gwendolyn pointed first at Esme, then herself, recognizing sincerity in her tone. Despite that, she knew better than to agree too eagerly, keeping in mind Lir’s warning. “I will consider it,” she said. “I swear it.”

“Indeed, you will.” Esme hardened her gaze, “And you will agree, because if all I say is not enough to convince you, I come bearing news you will wish to hear; only to hear it, you must first swear to my terms.”

“What news?” Gwendolyn demanded.

Esme lifted her chin, her green eyes turning a shade of green closer to steel. “Promise you will do as I say.”

“I could promise, but what guarantee have you I won’t lie?”

Esme smirked. “Have you ever lied?” she asked, her tone again with that sing-song quality.

Come to think of it, Gwendolyn never had. She was not the lying sort. Even when it might have saved her from her mother’s wrath. Resigned, Gwendolyn nodded, but hesitantly. “Very well. I promise,” she said. “Tell me your news.”

Esme’s smile returned, revealing the tips of her porbeagle teeth. “Tell no one, and if you do, you will regret it, Gwendolyn.”

“For the sake of Danu, speak!”

“Your mother lives,” Esme said, and Gwendolyn’s fingers released the towel; thankfully, it remained secure.

“My mother?”

Esme nodded, and Gwendolyn’s heart squeezed painfully. “Where is she?”

“After we have returned, I will tell you everything.”

“What if we do not?”

Esme shrugged then, her demeanor returned to the manner she’d displayed over these past weeks—cold and firm. “If you do not, what good will it do to know where she is? Retrieve your sword from my father without finding one through your little mortal heart, and I will happily take you to her myself. In the meantime, take this as a token of my goodwill.”

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