Page 104 of The Artist and the Dragon

Foolish girl.She chided herself. Of course the Dragon would know his own code.

But he hadn’t really known, had he? His confusion had been genuine, or it had seemed that way.

So much seemed different. Do you really know him at all?

But Drystan thought he was on his side, too, and—

Suddenly, she remembered something else from the letter. “Give me that.” She snatched it out of Mr. Yarwood’s hand.

He barked in outrage, but she swatted him away, scanning until she found the part she was looking for. “‘Before the king returns from his wedding moon,’” she read aloud.

Those words were a light illuminating a dark cave, mortar to her crumbling heart.

“But he never left!” She stared at Mr. Yarwood, breathing heavily. “Malik knew that!”

He looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “What?”

Mr. Yarwood didn’t know. Couldn’t. But that didn’t matter. She knew, and that knowledge was everything. “Malik couldn’t have written this. Or didn’t mean it. Or”—she shook her head—“I don’t know, but this isn’t what it seems!”

There was something else at play, something going on.

“It’s about a meeting. Where?” She scanned again. “The Briar Rose.”

“Doesn’t exist,” Mr. Yarwood said at once. “It’s a code. A cover.”

There were a few places Malik had thought it might be. What had he said? Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember. “Passelton’s? Or maybe Perrault’s? I have to go there at once. I’ll set this straight.”

Mr. Yarwood grabbed her arm. “Or you’re trying to protect him to throw me off.”

Bronwyn jerked free. “It’s not what you think.”

A carriage rocked to a halt in her periphery. “Miss Kinsley? Mr. Yarwood?”

Goddess above, she’d nearly forgotten they were out on the city street. Even more surprising was the man staring at her through the carriage window with a pinched brow.

“What’s going on here?” Lord Griffith was already opening the door and stepping out.

“Phillip!” Hope surged through her. Exactly who she needed. Someone who might help. And he had a carriage, too. She was in front of him the moment he stepped on to the cobblestones. “I need your help.”

“Of course, but what is—”

“Take her to the castle,” Mr. Yarwood called over her head. “Before she gets herself into trouble.”

She whirled on him. “Don’t go to the constable. Please. Just give me time.” She turned back to the carriage, grabbing Lord Griffith by the arm and all but hauling him back into the cab. “Hurry, we must go.”

To his credit, Lord Griffith did just that, ignoring the other man and climbing in across from her. Before he even had time to close the door, she took to filling him in. “There was a letter saying Malik is the Dragon, but that can’t be right. It’s some ploy. A con. I don’t know what he’s gotten himself into, but it can’t be true. I have to stop him. Perhaps if we go to his apartment straight away, there will be time.”

Phillip shouted to the driver, “Three-thirty-one Highgrove Street. At once!”

“Thank you.” Oh, she could have kissed him for that. Finally, someone who listened. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there has to be some mistake.”

“I heard about this letter.” Lord Griffith crossed his legs and leaned in. “You don’t think he could be the Dragon? He is the heir. Maybe he wants the crown?”

Bronwyn shook her head. “He doesn’t.” She knew it in her bones. “He only wants to help Drystan, er, King Tristram. He wouldn’t turn on him, on me.”

“Ah.” He sat back, nodding. “So, you’re rushing to the prince because you love him?”

The brutal straightforwardness of the question struck her straight in the chest so hard she winced. Guilt was stifling. “Phillip … I—” Shit. She should have told him. Long ago. It was cruel to have led him on so long, and now she was breaking his heart in the worst way.

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