Page 46 of The Forgotten Prince

“You’re defending her?”

It vexed her even if he spoke true. “We could have released him,” Gwendolyn persisted. “They could not have located this Druid village without us, and there is no way that fool would have dared pursue us without his companions. I must presume he would have returned to Loc.”

“And that would have been good?” Málik asked.

Gwendolyn frowned. “At least he would know—”

“What, Gwendolyn? The direction we were traveling? To what end? The Druid village is not impossible to locate, merely difficult. The last thing we—or they—need is for Loc to send his armies north to search for you. Better one man should die than to risk your mission.”

Gwendolyn huffed with frustration. “Perhaps,” she relented, though none of it suited her. Nor could she bear it that Málik would argue in Esme’s favor, nor how he could watch that execution so impassively.

No one ever told that man where they were going. He’d had no cause to follow them without his cronies to support him. It would have been a suicide mission and Gwendolyn didn’t believe he would dare. She might be young yet, but she was no longer naïve. She might lack experience, but she’d watched her father rule long enough to understand there was more to governing a kingdom than to rule by might. If her father had failed at his conservatorship, it wasn’t because he didn’t care about his people, nor was he a stranger to mercy.

Gwendolyn longed to be better than Loc—better than her father, as well.

Executing unarmed men, regardless of what they said, was not the way to do it. If that man was guilty of murder, they should have taken pains to prove it. All they had proof of was the attack on Gwendolyn and her party, not the village itself.

The fate of this kingdom lay in Gwendolyn’s hands, and she would not fail her people, nor would she shed blood without justice. Fear had a purpose, but she would not become the thing she opposed, nor would she settle for being queen only because her people feared her. Her people mattered most of all, and she was determined to earn their trust, or step aside and allow them to choose a new leader as the First Men had once chosen her forebear. If they gave her the chance to prove herself a worthy champion, those men might have changed their minds. But they could not win dead men to anybody’s cause.

This quest was not over, and they had many moons to go before she returned from the Fae realm. In the meantime, how many men would Loc win to his side? Should everyone now die because they’d dared to raise the wrong flag?

No. The answer was no.

As they ascended into the village, with Esme so far in the lead, they could no longer spy her, Gwendolyn dared to broach the subject with Málik once more. “You must know what is bothering her.”

He lifted a brow. “Must I?”

Gwendolyn frowned. “I know you do, Málik. Why will you not answer me without riddles or questions?”

He cast her a sharp-eyed glance, his irises the soft gray of a summer cloud, with the barest hint of blue sky. He sighed. “All I have leave to say is that they have tasked her with something she does not wish to do.”

“They? Who?” Gwendolyn pressed. “What task?”

He shook his head. “This I cannot say.”

Of course, he could not!

Why should this answer be any different from the hundreds of responses to the hundreds of questions asked before?

“If she does not wish to do it, why do it?”

“She hasn’t a choice,” he said gently, perhaps to deflect Gwendolyn’s ire, but, once again, this was the end of their discourse.

He turned away as they entered the Druid village and found Esme huddled with one of the Druid brothers, speaking in whispers. And, seeing Lir, the man extricated himself from their conversation and approached Lir. “I have dreadful news,” he said. “It is Máistir Emrys.”

“My brother?”

The Druid nodded. “He has… he… is… unwell,” the man finished, casting Gwendolyn a wary glance, even as Esme’s burning gaze met Gwendolyn’s.

Before Gwendolyn could say a word, Esme spun on her heel and marched away, disappearing into the mist. His Druid brother nodded toward the place she passed, and Lir followed at once.

A frisson of fear rushed down Gwendolyn’s spine and she grasped the Druid’s arm before he could leave. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Go,” said the Druid heavily. “See for yourself.”

Gwendolyn bolted after Esme and Lir.

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