Page 83 of The Forgotten Prince

But did he say that? Remembering Bryn’s words, all he ever claimed was that though Esme pretended to revile Lir, she did not. And, in fact, he believed she was trying to protect him. And now she wondered how he would have known this unless he knew her private thoughts?

So then, all those times Esme had slipped away, perhaps Bryn had slipped away as well? Somehow, this had escaped Gwendolyn.

“Sit,” the Máistir said, grinning. “It appears you are not so well as you’d like to believe.” He gestured at a stool beside his bed, and Gwendolyn sat.

35

Esme and Bryn?

Gwendolyn could not believe it!

Apparently, the conversation she’d overheard in her bedchamber, mistaken for a dream, wasn’t a dream at all. And now she also remembered how often Bryn was so oft drawn to her side during the journey north. He’d claimed it was because he was protecting Lir—and perhaps he was at first—but those were the only occasions Esme had seemed more animated. And perhaps if Esme was vexed at Gwendolyn for something, it wasn’t about her relationship with Málik; it was about Bryn.

Intending to confront Bryn and perhaps give him her blessings if this was true, she went straight for his bower, but the sounds she overheard coming from within stilled her hand before the knocker. They sounded as though they were battling a horde of spriggans!

Good for him.

Good for Esme as well.

And yet, thwarted once more, she left them to their clamorous affair, red-cheeked as she walked away, intending to investigate the village on her own. They would have to emerge at some point. Until then, Gwendolyn could prepare for the journey.

Counting on the chef’s generosity, she found a small sack, intending to pack it with whatever sustenance she could find—preferably, not Hob cake.

She would need all her wits about her to deal with the Fae king.

Staying clear of her own room, Gwendolyn made her way back to Bryn’s.

If by now Málik had returned from wherever he had gone, that would be the first place he might look for her. But that he’d not yet come looking, led her to believe he must not have re—

“Where are you away to?”

Gwendolyn squealed with surprise, startled by the sound of his voice so near. She spun to face Málik, unable to hide the disappointment she felt over seeing him leaning against a tree, watching her.

“So pleased to see me?” he teased, but there was an obvious note of suspicion in the question. His gaze moved at once to the sack dangling from her hand.

“Oh!” Gwendolyn said, shaking her head, and then nodding. “I am… quite pleased,” she lied.

“Indeed?”

She nodded jerkily. “Oh, yes. In fact, I was looking for you,” she said again, lifting the pouch in her hand. This wasn’t entirely a lie. She was looking to avoid him. “Victuals,” she explained. “To share.” Simply not with him.

His silver eyes pierced her as surely as would a sword. “Indeed,” he said, again, but it wasn’t a question.

Gwendolyn’s cheeks burned. “Where have you been?”

“If I told you—”

“Yes, I know, you might have to slay me,” she said, annoyed by the timeworn jest. It wasn’t the least bit amusing the first time she’d heard it at six, when she’d first asked her father what was in his treasury. It wasn’t amusing now, knowing this was Málik’s preeminent intention where she was concerned. She still couldn’t believe it, and yet, somehow, she could. She had never felt assured by the circumstances of his arrival, nor by the way he had treated her before they became closer acquainted. She had to stop herself from blurting out everything Esme had told her.

“I was… you might say… making certain… of our options,” he explained, his gaze inspecting her from head to foot, noting the sword on her back, the mithril and leathers, Borlewen’s blade in her boot. He missed nothing before returning his gaze to her face. And Gwendolyn knew… he knew.

“Come,” he said, launching himself off the tree with a foot, offering Gwendolyn a hand. But there was no affection in the glint of his eyes, and Gwendolyn hesitated.

He left his hand extended. “Art afraid of me?”

“Hardly,” Gwendolyn replied, but not so quickly as it should be between lovers. In the end, she had no choice but to take the hand he offered.

36

---