Page 79 of The Musician and the Monster

The main door creaked open in a rush of wood, sending Malik and Ceridwen leaning away from each other, the table safely between them.

“There you are,” Kent said, brushing away a lock of dark-brown hair that liked to fall free from the binding at his neck. He straightened as he took in the other man in the room, one he clearly did not expect. His gaze flitted nervously between them before he continued, directing his words to Ceridwen. “Lord Winterbourne has come downstairs and is asking for you.”

Thank the Goddess!“One moment. I’ll be right there.”

Kent looked between them again but said nothing before giving a short bow and leaving as quickly as he’d come.

“You don’t want to run into Drystan’s arms?” Malik asked with a smirk as the door shut.

Ceridwen ignored the jab and steeled her will. “What do you want?”

“We’re to be confidants now?”

She pinned him with her gaze, refusing to give in. “Well?”

Finally, he sighed. “Freedom.”

The word sat heavily between them.

“You’re not free?” If a prince wasn’t, then who was?

“No one is more watched than me, and no one has more to lose.”

It was her turn to be surprised. “You’re the one watching Drystan.”

“And he watches me. If he reports what I am, or what I’m not, I’m done.”

Because his father led the darkness, a path Malik refused to follow. Ceridwen jerked back, seeing him in a new light. The king must not know. His own son turned his back on him, and he had no idea. Most ironically, Drystan felt the same way about him. Both watched each other, neither trusting the other.

But that fact solidified her decision. “Come to my room just before luncheon.”

His smile grew blinding. “Now that’s an invitation I did not expect.”

Ceridwen groaned and rolled her eyes.

Malik laughed in return.

“Just do it. Please.” She snatched the composition off the table, whirled around, and left the room with the precious pages clutched to her chest.

Chapter 37

Drystan

Drystan could not have been more apologetic if he repented before the Goddess herself. His monster hadn’t hurt anyone. There was no blood on him when he finally returned to himself around dawn in the snow-ridden courtyard. But he hadn’t been able to contain his beast either. Ceridwen had been there. She’d seen the change and been in harm’s way, even if she dodged it this time.

“We won’t try that again. It’s too risky,” he insisted.

“But we’re running out of time,” Ceridwen replied.

How could she not understand the danger he put her in? If she hadn’t left when she did, he could have fully transformed in front of her. He could have harmed her. He’d wrestled with the beast long after she left, trying everything to contain it despite the agony it caused, but it won. It always won.

Yes, it was less than two weeks until midwinter. The sand in his hourglass was nearing its end, but he’d rather fail than harm her.

Drystan paced in front of the crackling fire in Ceridwen’s room. She’d led him there, a safe place where they could talk. He usually preferred his study, but he was grateful for the change today. With light flowing through the windows and her scent teasing him, it soothed some of the aftershocks of his transformation.

Still, exhaustion pulled at him, begging him to sink into a chair, or even better, a bed, but not before he spoke to her and told her what he realized as he crawled through the snow and back inside the manor in the dim, predawn light.

Drystan pulled Ceridwen into his arms, savoring the way she came to him despite all he was and all he’d done. Warmth built in his chest, burning away the pain still clinging to his limbs. He ran his fingers through her hair, relishing the way it tickled his chin as he held her close. “I’ll go it alone. I’ll find a way.”

---