Page 107 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Where is she now?”

He had to get to her. Find her. Make this right. She had to know the truth.

“Looking for you, I presume.” Rees glanced away. “She was in quite a state when Lord Griffith arrived and offered his assistance.”

Malik stiffened. “Lord Griffith?”

“I advised him to take Miss Kinsley back to the castle, but she was adamant about finding you, and I daresay he wasn’t inclined to listen to me.”

His racing heart ratcheted up. If this revelation pushed her away, into the other man’s arms— He shut that thought down. No. She would never. But something about the situation hung over him like a specter of doom.

Title he was given.

Lord Griffith was one of few on that list. One closely connected to the dragons Malik had killed.

“Bronwyn is in trouble.”

Chapter 45

Bronwyn

Wakingupwasusuallyslow and sweet, like a sigh or a cloud, before she opened her eyes and took in the world. At least, that’s how it had felt waking up next to Malik.

Now, she struggled. Consciousness was a glimmering light in the distance, one she fought to reach, kicking and clawing through something thick as honey. Every inch was a battle. It would be so easy to give up. Part of her yearned to do just that. To let herself slide into the sweet embrace of oblivion.

But someone waited for her in the light.Hewas there. And she had to get back to him. She had to fight.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. The area around her was blurred and dim, though a small light flickered somewhere off to the side. Her limbs tingled, but she found that she could move them. A little, anyway—a twitch of her fingers, a curl of her toes. The rest of her just felt so heavy…

As more of the room came into focus, she made out a dark canopy above her, wooden poles holding it up. A bed. That was the softness beneath her. But it was not a bed she knew. A strange, musty smell filled her nose, a scent that made her think of dried flowers, moths, and death.

“Awake already. Most impressive.”

She gasped and managed to turn her head to the side.

Lord Griffith reclined in a chair nearby, legs crossed, hands steepled in front of him.

“What have you done to me?” Bronwyn rasped, her voice thick and cracking.

“A little sleeping powder. Nothing serious.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“Not like what you did to my sister?” she snarled. Goddess, if only she could move. Never in her life had she wanted to hit someone more.

His eyes widened a fraction, and he sat a little straighter. “It worked?”

Damn it!He didn’t know?

“Most interesting.” He drummed his fingers together. “What a clever little trick you played. Perhaps you should be acting on the stage rather than killing my men behind it.”

“I’ll killyoufor what you’ve done!”

“Ack.” He held a hand to his chest. “You wound me. And here I thought maybe you cared about me despite your little ruse. Not as much as your princeling, of course.” He shrugged.

She did—she had, in a way. Not in the way he wanted, but the betrayal, the knowledge that he’d been the villain all along, cut her deeper than he knew.

“Pretending to be me.” He tsked. “I’m afraid he’ll snare a few of my dragons with his trick, but not all of them.” He grabbed a glass off the side table and took a sip. When he lowered it, a hint of crimson lingered on his lips.

Her stomach rolled. Not wine. She could almost smell the metallic tang.

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