Page 66 of The Forgotten Prince

There was a shadow growing in Málik’s eyes that warned her against drinking even a sip. He knew something. That glint in his gaze gave her every assurance he would press for answers. Discomposed, she pulled the glass closer—close enough to peer within. The bright red liquid seemed to have grown brighter. When she peered up again, he smiled, giving her a glimpse of his fangs. Gwendolyn shoved the glass away, dropping her hand to her belly.

“I am not thirsty,” she proclaimed, and then rose from the table as the Púca once more began to wail. “I am knackered,” she said. “I must bid you good eve.”

His eyes glittered as she rose. “Sleep well. Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” he said, and he didn’t bother to rise to see her out. “I mean to stay. I’ve been watching for Esme. If you see her, please tell her I would like to speak with her.”

“I will,” Gwendolyn said, and hastened away.

29

He knew.

That was the first thought Gwendolyn had upon waking, and she squeezed her eyes tight against the brightening light.

Last night had been the single most harrowing night between them, and she loathed their dance of deception. Nor did she know what more to do. She’d spent half the night waiting for Esme, and Esme had never arrived.

Fatigued and troubled, she opened her eyes to a curious display of dust motes dancing along a nimbus of morning light—nay… not dust motes. They were wriggling.

Bedbugs? She thought, remembering Málik’s sendoff, but nay. Although they were certainly small enough to be bedbugs, bedbugs couldn’t fly.

Could they?

Momentarily disoriented, she peered about to find herself alone in the chamber, and then, blinking, she tilted her head up to study the swarm…

Piskies?

Indeed.

They were piskies. The tiniest of creatures flocked above her head, like gnats… or, truly, more like minuscule winking stars floating along in the soft morning light.

Blinking again, she stared in wonder.

Never was she afforded such an opportunity to watch so many up close, nor had she encountered them anywhere besides Porth Pool.

As they did there beneath the surface of the water, they sailed over her head, swimming through the air, effortless in flight. And yet, if they had wings, they fluttered them so quickly it was impossible to see them, and it was only once she’d lifted a hand and one landed atop the butt of her palm that she could actually see the filigreed wings—tiny, but perfectly formed. And no wonder they twinkled! What might have been hair sprang from its wee head, reflecting golden light.

For the space of an instant, Gwendolyn daren’t blink as the bright speck bounded over to land atop the tip of her nose, where she could further make out its pointy little ears—like Fae. She peered at it through crossed eyes, afraid to breathe lest it startle like a nervous fly. “Hello,” she said as the piskie crouched, lowering its face… to sniff?

Or…. Did it intend to bite her?

Poke a finger into her eye?

Demelza used to claim whenever Gwendolyn awoke with sore, red eyes she must have angered a piskie. She’d claimed they liked to sprinkle dust like glass into the eyes of those they did not like.

Even now, as Gwendolyn watched, she half expected to feel the prick of teeth. But when the bite didn’t materialize, she smiled and cooed. “Look at you!”

How adorably fierce it appeared, gazing at her with such unbridled interest, simply watching to see what Gwendolyn might do. For the sake of the moment, Gwendolyn did nothing, not wishing to frighten it away. They could be wicked, perhaps, but they also had a desire to champion good. Demelza also told her a tale about a fellow arrived in their city, who’d set about wooing a young maid. One evening, he’d lured the lovesick girl to Porth Pool, and there, took her virginity, after which, the girl told him her father would welcome a match between them. The young man had laughed in her face and then sent her away sobbing. He never returned to the city, and they discovered him the following morning, covered in blights, lying amidst the bracken with a look of terror on his face. Piskies, they’d claimed.

From that day forward, only the purest of hearts ever dared swim at Porth Pool—and perhaps Gwendolyn subconsciously considered that on that day she’d contemplated taking Locrinus to the Pool. Somehow, even knowing so little about him—only that he was a pompous, vainglorious man—she hadn’t believed he would fare well in her special place. So, she took him instead to see her stone maidens. What a disappointment that was, too. He’d trod all over her maidens with his rude horse, showing such disrespect Gwendolyn had longed to smack him, even then. Conversely, Málik had stood back to honor the fallen, kneeling beside her stone maidens to pray—why, she still didn’t know. But it was during that moment Gwendolyn had seen him differently—not as the belligerent creature she had tried so hard to make him to be.

A tear stung one eye, and she pushed the memory away. She had been such an innocent, with no notion of how much pain she would come to endure.

Today, she must talk to Málik, she decided. They mustn’t go on this way. She didn’t know what to say. She only knew if he had wanted her dead, he would have slain her long ago. He’d certainly had many opportunities, and instead, had shielded her, not once, but so many times—including the other day in the woods, when she’d nearly leapt out at Loc’s men. It didn’t matter how her swordplay had improved; she had been one against too many. Altogether, they would have cut her down before she could plunge her blade into a one, and she would have endangered Bryn and Lir.

She swallowed with some difficulty, remembering Málik’s expression as she’d walked away last night… so much suspicion and disappointment.

Gwendolyn couldn’t bear it.

And yet… she still could not reveal Esme’s plan—she daren’t.

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