Page 65 of The Forgotten Prince

“Nay. I’ve no additional information to provide. And yet,” he said, continuing, watching Gwendolyn with unbridled interest. “If one of our medicaments, or even some harmless victual has been provided to these Druids, it could well render him just so. That is why it is forbidden to trade with mortals.”

Gwendolyn cast a glance at the salver. “What about Hob cake?”

“That is different,” Málik said. “It is the only Fae substance approved for this realm. Essentially, there is only the slightest deviation from your pookies—a component that accounts for the illusory taste. Howbeit, the rest of the ingredients are already available and growing in the mortal realm—pookies, as I said, but also Hul Gil, which I believe you sometimes use medicinally?”

“Only when it can be procured,” Gwendolyn allowed. “It turns up most oft on Sumerian vessels, though some years ago my father requested the drogue not be traded in our markets, because… well…” She gave him a rueful smile, one without mirth. “A certain someone thought he could fly and broke his arm and three ribs after jumping from the ramparts.”

Málik lifted a brow. “Anyone I know?”

“Perhaps,” Gwendolyn said, though she didn’t intend to say. It was Alderman Crwys, and he’d nearly paid for that reckless stunt with the loss of his position, but as it was, there was plenty Málik was keeping from her and it might be silly, considering the circumstances, but Gwendolyn didn’t wish to share. “It wasn’t me,” she said.

Málik smiled thinly, and Gwendolyn endeavored to change the subject, her hand returning to the ring beneath the table, and, unintentionally, her thoughts were revealed. “Do you remember your mother?”

“I do not,” Málik said. “I only know she was Fèinne.”

“Fèinne?”

“A freeborn guard to the High King.”

His ready answer piqued Gwendolyn’s curiosity. She had never known him to be so forthcoming about his private affairs. “Do you know her name?”

Málik’s pale blue eyes glinted like Loegrian steel. “Has no one ever told you there is power in a Fae’s true name?”

Gwendolyn’s heart beat faster.

He smiled. “Her name is not mine to share.”

Gwendolyn hitched her chin. “Because you do not trust me?”

“Should I trust you, Gwendolyn?”

Gwendolyn’s face burned hot. “I might ask this of you,” she countered, if only to divert the question, and he laughed darkly.

“Well played, Banríon. You will do well in conversation with my father. But that only proves my point.”

Gwendolyn’s heartbeat tripped. “What point?”

“We dance about the question, but we both know the answer.” His gaze skewered Gwendolyn as surely as his sword might have done. Beneath his scrutiny, Gwendolyn felt wholly exposed, all her secrets laid bare. But, thankfully, not all her secrets. As far as she knew—by his own assurances—he could not read minds. Yet now it begged the question. “Must I presume Málik is not your true name?”

He lifted both brows. “Must you?”

“Málik, I beg, for once, you would answer my question without deflection.”

“And give you the power to compel me?”

Gwendolyn’s heart twisted. “You would have no qualms if you trusted me,” she returned, and so quickly, her ire had returned.

“As you trust me?” he replied. Once more he lifted his goblet and made a show of taking a sip. He then tipped it slightly so Gwendolyn could glimpse within the cup. The liquid was blue. “It is not simply our elements that can affect a mortal aversely. The same holds true for those found in the mortal realm. For example, there is a flower called the butterfly pea, which grows in your realm. It is known to be a truth serum. For that reason, whilst they do not proscribe it from our realm, they prohibit it from being served to any Fae without the accompaniment of this yellow fruit they call a lemon.” He lifted the small wedge and turned it to show it to her, pinched between two fingers, then he lifted it over his cup to squeeze a drop into his drink, setting the lemon down after. “It reveals the elixir for what it is. A single drop deposited into the drink will turn the serum red.” He tilted his glass again to show her. The liquid was red. “For us, the butterfly pea is quite compelling, and the smallest of sips may render us unable to prevaricate.”

Gwendolyn felt the burn of tears return to her eyes. “You mean lie?”

“Well, you may call it that, and perhaps it is true, as you once pointed out, that a lie of omission is still a lie, but I am certain you’ve also been told there is no cunning, like Fae cunning?”

“Indeed,” Gwendolyn said, her neck and throat burning with ire. “So I have been warned—by you, no less. Isn’t that why you suggested Lir should accompany us?”

“So, if you must know,” he continued, ignoring the subtle accusation in Gwendolyn’s tone. “All these things I have told you about my mother and my father, these are forbidden for me to speak of, and still I have been able to share them tonight, aided by this tea.” His winterbourne eyes shone. “Mind you, I do not know how it works, only that it does, and despite that the effects are more compelling to my ilk, it seems to work on mortals as well.” He placed the glass down and pushed it toward Gwendolyn, then said, “Won’t you try some?”

Gwendolyn stared at the goblet, blinking.

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