Page 85 of The Forgotten Prince

“For now,” he said. “But that is the problem with Esme, Gwendolyn. I could never construe her true motives. She stands to win the entire Fae kingdom as her father’s only remaining heir, and I assure you, it is not me she has ever coveted to wed.”

Knowing what Gwendolyn knew now, she could imagine that to be true. But she couldn’t find it in her to tell him what she’d learned about Bryn and Esme. It might be better to let Málik continue without interruption.

“With me by her side, her father has promised her the moon. Our union would effectively quell the rebellion. There is little to be gained by Esme in championing the rebellion without some promise from me.”

“What promise?”

“Without me—without my birthright—there is no one to oppose him.”

“The Fae king?” Gwendolyn surmised.

“Yes,” he said.

“I would see him deposed, but I’d not take the seat unless I know for certain my father cannot. My father is the rightful heir.”

“The Dark One,” Gwendolyn said, repeating what he’d told her on the ramparts in Trevena the night they took the city. The Banished Wyrm, the true-blood heir to the Tuatha’an throne.

“Yes.”

“But if your father cannot be found, you are his heir?”

“Yes.”

“So, Esme has championed a rebellion that will unseat her father and her as well?”

“Unless I wed her, which…” He peered back at Gwendolyn, his silver eyes glinting peculiarly. “For discernible reasons, I will not.”

“None of this explains why you bear Esme such animosity,” Gwendolyn pressed. “Mayhap she cares nothing for the throne. I certainly did not until Loc. Has she done something more?”

“She has,” he said, without turning to meet her gaze. “Many ages ago, when she realized she would not get her way with me, she used my true name to sway me.”

“What did she ask you to do?”

He ignored her question. “As yet,” he said. “I cannot determine her true purpose for you.”

A quiver rushed down Gwendolyn’s spine. “For me?”

“Make no mistake, Gwendolyn, she has one.”

Gwendolyn’s breath grew short now. The higher they climbed, the less visibility there seemed to be, and she clung tighter to Málik’s hand.

“We’re almost there,” he advised, casting another glance over his shoulder. “Just a little farther.” The intensity of his gaze startled Gwendolyn, and the sudden appearance of his horns unsettled her. She blinked, pausing, if only to catch her breath. But really, she was growing confused.

Málik was rarely so forthcoming, and while his appearance discomfited her—more than what he looked like, she longed to know why—why did he look that way, why now, and why was he dragging her to this place without Esme and Bryn?

“A little farther,” he prompted, tugging her hand, and only because she trusted his love for her, Gwendolyn allowed herself to be led, until, at long last, they emerged into… She blinked, bewildered.

Some type of observation tower?

Nay, this was no tower. It was too expansive, and neither did there appear to be any boundaries. It was the most peculiarly beautiful place she had ever beheld. She was standing atop a dais, but like a cloud, and if she peered up, there were… trees upside down? So far away it would appear she was looking up at them from the heavens, but upside down. Turning her neck to see what she could see, she asked, “What is this place?”

“The portal,” said Málik. “You wished to see it, and here we are.”

Breathtaking.

Indescribably beautiful.

Terrifying.

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