Page 25 of The Forgotten Prince

Gwendolyn had once believed herself astute enough to judge the character of others by the way she was treated, but Loc had sat there beside her at the high table, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, telling her how lovely she was, how well-matched they were, and she had believed every beautiful lie that sprang from his lips. And now, she feared she had herself more to blame than anyone else because she had suspected Loc’s character, and despite that, she had ignored her intuition.

A lesson well learned.

She would not do so again.

For all that time imprisoned in his palace, she’d discovered her heart as ravaged as this land, but she was more than a princess, waiting for a crown.

More than a bride, waiting for a husband.

More than a woman, waiting for a purpose.

For now, she was a queen without a throne, but she had rediscovered her purpose in the most unexpected of places… locked in that prison chamber. For too long after the fall of Trevena, she’d been forced to endure the evils of her husband’s court. Come what may, she would be the one to end him and if anyone dared to stand in her way, she would end them as well. Once more, her gaze traveled to Esme and Málik, frowning. More than anything, she wanted to give Aisling a heel and insinuate herself into their conversation.

“What do you make of it?” Bryn asked, sidling up beside her.

During the past few days, he had been much more companionable, his demeanor not unlike the Bryn she knew and loved. She waved a hand to indicate the bewildering spectacle of green. “You mean, this?”

“Indeed,” he said. “This land is far from wasted.”

Gwendolyn’s gaze bore into Málik’s back, reluctant to meet Bryn’s knowing eyes, lest he glean what was lurking in her heart. Málik was right. She was jealous, and jealousy was a bitter, grudging creature. Even a queen wasn’t immune to her siren’s song. “I don’t know.”

As soon as she had a moment alone with Esme, she would ask about it. Cantankerous or not, Esme was never so reticent as Málik. Indeed, she had plenty to say to everyone, and far too many words for Málik. Gwendolyn wished to believe Málik when he’d scoffed at the possibility that they were lovers, but those two were up to something, and whatever it was, their confidence didn’t include Gwendolyn.

“A copper for your thoughts?” Bryn suggested, and Gwendolyn wondered if he already knew what she was thinking, judging by the coyness of his tone.

She loathed he knew her so well.

“I was thinking about something Esme said,” Gwendolyn lied, turning to assess his reaction. Although, in truth, it wasn’t entirely a lie. Gwendolyn had been contemplating the Rot, and Esme, as well, and she remembered how Esme once told her there were lands where the ysbryd y byd would not be affected by Pretania’s trials. She simply never disclosed that those lands could be Loc’s!

“Something you wish to share?”

“When I’ve made more sense of it,” Gwendolyn promised. “Though I wonder about your thoughts on the Rot?”

“Mine?” said Bryn, blinking, his hand lifting to his leather-vested chest, patting himself. “Since when do you wish to know what I think?”

“Always!”

He lifted both brows.

“I speak to you oft—”

“About your thoughts, your fears, your concerns,” Bryn said, interrupting her. “I do not recall a single time when asked for mine.”

“Truly?” Gwendolyn asked, appalled. “Did I never?”

Certainly, she’d worried enough about her dear friends. Had she never once confessed as much? Indeed, so oft, she had championed both, and Ely in particular, especially when she’d longed to quit the dawnsio. Gwendolyn only ever wanted the best for them. “You must know I value you?”

Bryn shrugged. “You mistake me, Gwen. I do not complain,” he said. “You are… like your father—so certain of your way. I knew it from the moment you and I returned from our adventures at the Giant’s House, when your father took me aside to apprise me that I would become your Shadow… you were the one who mattered most.”

Gwendolyn twisted her fingers about Aisling’s reins, listening.

“Indeed, I took it so much to heart I gave you, not only my fealty, but my heart as well… regardless that you did not ask for it.”

“Oh, Bryn,” she said with heartfelt sorrow.

“Don’t,” he said, lifting a hand. “This is my lot, and I do not bare my soul for pity’s sake,” he said. “You have never been aught but kind to me, Gwendolyn. Your friendship I’ve held true. I love you, truly, but I was born to love you, and I cannot find regret for that love.”

Gwendolyn met his sad blue eyes, feeling horrid that she could not return his affection—not the way he’d wanted her to. Still, she loved him... simply not the way he deserved to be loved.

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