Page 37 of The Forgotten Prince

The Catuvellauni were now Gwendolyn’s allies, and she admired their fortitude. Unfortunately, between the battles they’d fought against the Iceni, forced starvation, swamp sickness, and whatever else they’d endured before she’d discovered them, they were not the force they once were. But if Gwendolyn had aught to do about it, they would return stronger than ever.

The men carried on, turning the conversation to Gwendolyn and she grit her teeth as they made jokes about her face. “I got she was born with the face of a horse,” said one. “Bloody hag!”

“No wonder her husband kicked her out of bed!” laughed another, and then he made horse noises, whinnying and snorting in turn.

“Shut up and listen to my song!” scolded another man.

“Elf lover!” said another man with lime-washed hair. “If you ask me, the bitch got what she deserved,” he groused.

“No one asked you! Shut yer filthy gob!”

And then the man next to him crooned…

E’ came t’ slay the Rot King!

For the prize of a gold bride!

Snipped her dirty yellow mop, n’ cried.

To see the changeling he was poking!

All together, they laughed, and Gwendolyn’s heart rent to hear the inglorious song and the reference to her countenance—a rudeness she’d not suffered since her days with Loc. But as unflattering as the ballad was, it was the first and last lines that infuriated her most—an ugly reference to her father as the Rot King and the lie about her wedding night.

Her hand flew to Kingslayer’s hilt as she made to rise, intending to shove her poker down the fool’s filthy gob.

Faster than she could blink, Málik was behind her, squeezing her shoulder firmly, pushing her down. “No,” he said. “They aren’t worth it.”

Gwendolyn disagreed.

More than anything, she longed to silence their song for all time—cut out their tongues and feed them to the wolves.

Who were these stupid fools who would crow over the fall of Lundinium and, in the next breath, the death of their king?

The only thing that kept her still was the reminder that, while her Elven companions would give Loc’s soldiers a fight to remember, she knew immortality did not make them invincible. The one Lir had pointed out only yesterday had little to do with the other. If Esme or Málik should take a mortal blow, and succumbed without intervention, they would die as surely as Gwendolyn would die.

Gods help her. That was the one thing she feared most of all—more so than the possibility of returning to Loc’s prison or facing him blade to blade. To her view, those would be acceptable risks for this quest… losing Málik was not.

Nor could she live with herself if she risked Bryn or Lir.

They were seven against five. And, though, in her fury, she would take them all, she was unwilling to accept the slightest disadvantage for her companions—not unnecessarily. As it was, she would endanger them soon enough. But there was too much at risk to throw it all away for the sake of pride.

Grating her teeth, Gwendolyn settled back down, sinking to her knees in the muck, taking comfort in the hand that rested atop her shoulder.

Málik’s.

She heard his sigh of relief as the men disappeared around the bend, and it was only then, as Esme, Lir, and Bryn moved away as well, that she felt the warmth of his breath at her ear… and a whisper so low only Gwendolyn could hear it.

“You are a rare flower,” he said, pressing his cheek against hers, as he swore, “I will make certain they choke on their words.” And then he planted a chaste kiss upon the curve of her neck, and said, “Art beautiful, Gwendolyn.”

For a moment, Gwendolyn’s heart ceased to beat.

When it resumed, it tripped most painfully, its cadence now as erratic as her thoughts. She swallowed convulsively.

This was the first time in so long Málik had placed his fiery lips against her wanting flesh, and it was all she could do not to turn and face him, rise, wrap her greedy arms about his neck, draw him close, and kiss him.

More than anything, she longed to know him, as Ely did Kelan.

But, alas, despite that, Gwendolyn could remain here for the rest of eternity, basking in his warmth… if she kissed him now, she would forget herself forever.

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