Page 26 of The Forgotten Prince

His gaze found Málik as he added, “Not even after you gave your heart to him did I begrudge this, and even now, as you pine for him, and I cannot find any joy seeing your pain.”

“I do not pine for him!” Gwendolyn argued. Though even as she said it, her gaze returned to Málik, her heart squeezing as Esme leaned close.

Bryn’s gaze returned to her, daring her to deny it to his face. “Do you not?”

“Gods’ blood. Am I so easily read?”

“To me, you are. I know you better than I know myself. You’ve not smiled since we left, and ’tis no mystery why—not to anyone. My only concern is that he has yet to notice—and not that I believe he has feeling for Esme. But…”

“But what?”

He frowned. “I’ve a feeling in my bones, Gwendolyn.”

“What feeling?”

He shrugged, but then had no further explanation.

No matter, he needn’t define what he was feeling. Gwendolyn felt it, as well—stronger now after encountering Loc’s lands. And still she could not name her fear, nor point a finger to any specific reason for the affliction—aside from the obvious. Ever since leaving Trevena, a shadow had pursued them like a brume, not so much a temper of the sky, so much as a temper of the soul.

Doubtless, she was enraged over Loc, but until a few weeks before their departure, she had still felt hope. But right about the same time they’d begun to argue over those who should serve the konsel this persistent shadow had cast itself over her heart.

“You must have noted… I rode a while with Esme this morn, trying to determine what she and Málik are discussing.”

“I did,” Gwendolyn said. “I thought you were protecting Lir?”

“That too,” Bryn confessed. “But truly, though she pretends to revile that poor lad, she does not. In fact, if I did not know better—know what a ruthless fiend she can be—” He said this last with a bit of a grin. “I would say she is only trying to protect him the only way Esme knows how.”

It was Gwendolyn’s turn to lift both brows. “How? By hounding him so mercilessly he remains in his Druid village?”

He lifted a shoulder and said, “Something like that.” And despite that, he maintained the crook of his lips, and Gwendolyn thought about that a moment…

She had once harbored a suspicion that Esme was sweet on Lir—in much the same way a rude little boy might tug the pigtails of a little girl he was smitten with. However, her teasing of late had taken a darker turn, and Gwendolyn had discarded the notion. Ever since the Cods Wold, Esme was not the same, but Gwendolyn didn’t believe she was working at cross purposes. After all, it was she who’d pressed Málik into taking the blade to snip Gwendolyn’s hair, and it was that effort that had revealed Málik’s true heart. Without realizing it, Gwendolyn’s hand lifted to her growing tresses—still too short and shaggy. It was also Esme who’d fashioned her crown, and then placed it atop Gwendolyn’s head, and then, bending her knee, she was the first to shout, “The King must die. Long live the Queen!”

Why, then, was she behaving so oddly?

“As for this land,” Bryn said, thrusting a hand into his shining black mane. “I loathe to disparage the things you believe, though perhaps ’tis as Morgelyn says—merely a natural occurrence, and there is nothing you or I, or even Locrinus, can do to cause or prevent it.”

Gwendolyn blinked, shocked to hear him say so.

In her grandfather’s day, even voicing such a fanatical view could find one’s head on a pike. But during her father’s reign, a few of his aldermen had dared propose this blasphemous notion. While her father did not sanction their views, neither had he discouraged them. And nevertheless… to suggest the natural world could operate free from the will of the gods, that the King was not their appointed… this was a heresy, and even the Gwyddons, whose beliefs were all based upon natural observations, would never deny the gods their due.

“Do you believe that?”

Bryn shrugged. “I sometimes do not know.” He pointed to the woodland. “Betimes, up seems down and down seems up. Only think about it, Gwen. If it is as you believe—that the King is so connected to the land—these lands should not be so vibrant. Whatever issue I might ever have taken with… our friendship, I have always, always held you in the highest regard. Your heart is good and kind.”

It warmed Gwendolyn to hear him say so. “Perhaps,” she allowed. “And yet in my heart of hearts, I feel I must have failed in some way, and I mean to ask Esme about it.” She gave the Elves another glance. “If they ever cease with the bickering.”

Bryn laughed. “Good luck with that!”

A devious smile turned Gwendolyn’s lips. “Perhaps you should toss a frog on her head.”

Bryn grinned so wide Gwendolyn wondered if it hurt his face. “She would skewer me,” he declared, with little fear of it.

“Or turn your frog into a prince and kiss it?”

There was a certain look in his eyes Gwendolyn couldn’t quite decipher, but he said, laughing, “Or eat it! She has the gob for that.”

At that, both laughed, although Gwendolyn could see Esme doing the last of these things. Hadn’t she once claimed to eat babies? And, surely, in her present mood, anyone could easily believe it.

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