Page 69 of The Forgotten Prince

“I know, I know.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “You do not sleep as we do, but you do sleep. And now that I am awake, perhaps you should go rest?”

“That is not what I need,” he said, and for the first time since Gwendolyn presented herself this morning, his gaze dared to stray… to the long, flowing gown she’d worn to bed—another present from Esme, Gwendolyn presumed, when she’d discovered the garment on her bed. Gauzy and delicate, the fabric felt as though she were wearing a cloud. Gwendolyn followed his gaze and blinked.

Was he looking at…?

Even as she wondered, his eyes glinted hungrily.

Never in her life had she experienced such a look of hunger, and she felt suddenly… nervous? Like a vole facing a cat. She had never once found herself the subject of a man’s lustful glances. But she recognized that look when she saw it, because she’d seen enough such glances directed at Ely.

Málik smiled, showing the barest hint of a long, white fang, and Gwendolyn couldn’t help but remember his warning… There are few occasions when the goddess’ creatures are made without regard to need…

Her heart beat a little faster.

As a matter of self-preservation, she hugged herself, covering the pebbled peaks of her breasts. He blinked, his long lashes lifting against silvery brows, and his winterbourne eyes blazed. “You won’t tell me what you were discussing?” she said nervously, hoping to rediscover some inkling of her composure.

It wasn’t a question; she knew he wouldn’t answer, but for the moment, all she could think about was his lips… his kiss… his hands… the way it once felt to be held in his embrace. It had been too long, and she craved this as desperately as she did the Hob cake… perhaps more. Only duty held sway over the desire she felt for his love.

A silver light shimmered in the storm of his eyes. “Perhaps you already know what Esme wishes to speak to you about?”

Gwendolyn hugged herself tighter. “If I do, it is not your concern.”

And yet, it was.

Guilt forced her to avert her gaze.

Fear stilled her tongue.

Hope for her mother strengthened her resolve.

More than anything, Gwendolyn longed to confess… but for the sake of too many, she couldn’t betray Esme’s trust.

Wouldn’t.

Not if there was the smallest chance to help her mother and save Málik as well. Regardless that he had lied to her, she didn’t believe he wished her harm. And despite Esme’s demeanor over these past weeks, Gwendolyn cared for her as well. Nobody was without fault here, and just as Bryn once thought it prudent to advise her… nobody was without secrets, not even Gwendolyn.

Most especially not Gwendolyn.

Dearest betrothed, Esme had said.

Gwendolyn’s feelings were confused…

She lifted her gaze to Málik’s beautiful, iridescent face.

Gods knew she would give everything if only she could return to the way it was… so her greatest worry was the uncertainty of giving her heart to a fellow.

Even if that fellow was not human.

“I do not wish to quarrel with you, Málik. Esme and I have business, but it does not concern you.” Speaking with as much authority as she dared, she spun on her heels to go back into her room. “If she returns, please let her pass.”

Málik caught her by the arm… his long fingers gripping hard, holding her fast.

Gwendolyn meant to shrug away, but twisted her arm and caught him by the forearm instead, locking her fingers about his as well, her fingernails digging into his flesh. And there they stood.

But two could play at this game.

For the longest moment, neither spoke, and for Gwendolyn’s part, words refused to form. His steely eyes bore into her own… testing her resolve. But the hunger in his gaze had not abated, and instead, seemed to fortify as his fingers kneaded her flesh.

Gwendolyn swallowed convulsively as she softened her grip on his arm. “Really,” she said, much of the steel leaving her voice. “You should… go… rest.”

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