Page 54 of The Forgotten Prince

In the beginning, she had sensed Málik’s ill will toward her… and now she understood why. Her impression of the Fae had changed after he’d arrived, and despite her awe of him when she’d first laid eyes upon him riding through their gates… she promptly changed her mind. She had sensed a darkness in him… and soon decided he was a demon incarnate. She grew to loathe him despite… everything—despite that she never wished to.

I was sent.

By whom?

My father.

Esme was still watching her, and there was no joy in her expression. If indeed she considered Gwendolyn a rival, this was not the emotion she spied in the Elf’s eyes.

It was more like… sorrow?

Pity?

Regret?

“Yes,” she said. “That was my father’s plan.”

“Why?”

Esme shrugged. “It is foretold; your reign will bring war to our realms and will end my father’s reign. But Málik did not agree to this task of his own accord. Gwendolyn…” She reached out, settling a hand atop Gwendolyn’s. It was then Gwendolyn realized she was trembling. “Our true names compel us; thus we do not share them. He was compelled.”

“If this is true, why am I not dead already?” Gwendolyn freed her hand from beneath Esme’s, clutching at her towel.

Esme shrugged, and Gwendolyn peered down at her bare feet, staring again, unwilling to believe it, despite that she sensed the truth in Esme’s words—Faeries did not lie, but there was no need for lies when their mastery of words enabled them to twist them into traps. “So then, you would have me believe you—you, who has not spared me one kind word of late—came to defend me? And Málik—”

Came to kill her?

Blood and bloody bones.

For some reason, though Gwendolyn thought about it, she couldn’t complete the thought aloud.

Esme blew a sigh. “I perceive what you leave unsaid. But simply because you do not speak a thing aloud does not make it untrue. I will not lie to you,” she said. “Yet nothing is as it seems. Believe me, I have little doubt of Málik’s affection for you, Gwendolyn, and regardless of whether he has completed this task my father has assigned him, someday, he will be compelled to finish what he started.”

She gave Gwendolyn a moment to process that information, and then continued. “Meanwhile, although I was sent to spy, and I have done so, it is not my true purpose, nor have I been entirely candid with anyone… not even Málik… until now. I bare my heart to you in order to save his life… and yours.”

Málik’s life, as well?

She meant to save Gwendolyn?

It was too much to conceive.

Gwendolyn’s heart twisted over Esme’s brutal revelations, and still… she could not believe Málik intended to harm her. He loved her. Hadn’t he said so? Faeries did not lie.

Esme must have sensed her ambivalence because her tone took on a sharper edge. “You may have conveniently forgotten that no matter whether there is love between us, Málik is still my betrothed. He is our Dragon Prince, Gwendolyn—forgotten though he might be. How can you expect he should give up so much for you? My people need him, but if he is dead—”

Gwendolyn blinked, swallowing past the knot in her throat. “I have not asked him to give up anything,” she argued.

Esme’s delicate brows collided, her eyes narrowing to slits. “To this, I respectfully disagree. By your own enchantment, you compel him to give up everything, including his life, Gwendolyn. You must listen to me; what do you believe my father will do once you face him with your demands, and Málik stands by your side, demanding the sword?”

“My sword,” Gwendolyn reminded her.

“No matter,” said Esme, and once more, a telltale gleam appeared in her eyes. “My father will call him a traitor, and he will deny you and destroy you.”

She whispered brokenly, and her expression softened. “You will be the end of him. And no matter what Málik may feel for me, I love him and I have loved him longer than he has loved you.”

Gwendolyn’s shoulders fell. She felt numb. “What are you asking of me, precisely?”

“Demand he wait for you in this Druid village. Do not allow him to journey with you below.”

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