Page 68 of The Forgotten Prince

Whom should she trust?

The more she heard, the more muddled her mind, and this morn, she couldn’t blame it on the mist.

“So be it,” Málik said.

“Málik,” Esme said, begging now. “Please, allow me to tell her.”

“No.”

“Even if you cannot, I am not bound.”

“No,” he said once more, and Gwendolyn recognized the finality of his tone. She had been the recipient of it a few times.

It didn’t matter; she’d heard enough.

“Tell me what?” she asked, pushing her way through the curtain and presenting herself.

For the first time in their acquaintance, Esme appeared to blush—a burst of pink appearing on her otherwise pale cheeks. “I came to speak to you, but this sour-faced lout will not let me pass!” She waved a hand with an angry flourish at Málik, whose arms remained crossed.

His narrowed gaze remained fixed upon Esme. “I asked what business you had. You refused to say.”

“A prince of Tír na nÓg, and you will lower yourself to be a huntsman!”

Málik’s arms did not unlock, and Gwendolyn noted the tick at his jaw.

For a long, awkward moment, Esme stood firm, fury clear in her own unwavering stance. Her green eyes flashed with unmistakable ire, and yet behind the fury, Gwendolyn also recognized desperation. “You need not guard me from Esme,” she said. “If she has aught she wishes to say to me, I will hear it.”

“If she has aught to say to you, she may speak it in my presence.”

“What if I prefer to speak to her alone?” Gwendolyn was beginning to feel like a rag doll being tugged between two rival children.

“Have you secrets to keep?” Málik challenged.

“No,” Gwendolyn said, feeling guilty for the lie, because she did—and not a small one. She and Esme had made plans that could change the outcome for all. “I should ask the same of you,” she countered, crossing her arms. “I heard you two speaking behind my back. What is it you refuse to tell me?”

“Never mind!” Esme announced, turning with an angry huff. “I will return when your Shadow has flown! In the meantime, enjoy yourselves, because this day might be your last!”

Before Gwendolyn could stop her, or say aught more, Esme was gone.

“What was that about?”

Málik didn’t blink. “What was what about?”

“I told you, I heard everything you said.”

“If you did, you needn’t ask.” His lips curved slightly, perhaps even viciously.

“Why were you loitering outside my room whilst I slept? Really, Málik, did you stand here all night, guarding my room?”

“In fact, I did,” he confessed.

“Why?”

“Because your Shadow is drunk on Hob cake and I did not believe it prudent to leave you alone.” He cast his gaze in the direction Esme had gone. “Nor do I trust her.” Gwendolyn’s anger dimmed, if only a bit, replaced by a prick of guilt—for Bryn’s sake as well as Málik’s. She didn’t like keeping secrets, nor did she like the fact that, because she had been so preoccupied with her own dealings, she’d left Bryn vulnerable. Neither was Málik her enemy. There was no mistaking the possessive gleam in his eyes.

“Did you not sleep?”

“Nay,” he said. “But—”

---