Page 109 of The Artist and the Dragon

Malik ripped himself away from Drystan’s touch. “I’m not going to simply wait around while she might be in danger.”

“It would be unwise for you to roam about until your name is cleared.” Drystan’s voice was calm, controlled. The exact opposite of how Malik felt. It grated against his every sensibility. “The constable should be doing that now, and the palace guards are helping, but it will take time to reach everyone. You did send a lot of letters…”

“Had to be thorough.” Malik reached for a glass of whiskey, considered hurling it across the room the moment his fingers closed around it, and set it right back down again. “I should have told her our plan beforehand. This is all my fault.”

Drystan huffed and shook his head. “She never would have let you go through with it. We’d have had to tie her up or lock her in her room.”

“Preferable to this,” Malik grumbled. He stared at Queen Ceridwen still sleeping in her bed. They had done so much trying to save her and still it hadn’t been enough.

Now Bronwyn was in danger. He knew it in his bones. Felt it in his soul.

“Lord Griffith has a house outside the capital,” Malik said. “I’ll go there. There may be some clue as to where he’s taken her.” He made a beeline for the secret passage.

Drystan moved to block his path. “Send members of the royal guard. They can check and report back. After all, didn’t you say the painting Bronwyn gifted Lord Griffith wasn’t triggered when he opened it? Maybe it’s not him.”

Malik bared his teeth. “I can’t just wait!” The painting might not have changed until later, but they knew enough now to know the spell was imperfect.

Stone groaned as the passage slid open. A harried Jackoby emerged, panting for breath as if he’d run through the tunnels to get there. “A letter.” He held it out. “To His Highness.”

Quick as a snake, Malik grabbed it and ripped it open.

It was brief. Damning.

It took everything in him not to rip the letter into tiny little pieces the moment he’d finished scanning the words.

Malik met Drystan’s questioning gaze. “He has her.”

If you wish to see Miss Kinsley alive, surrender yourself to me at Thorngrove Hall.

Come alone. I will know if you do not, and all you’ll find will be her corpse.

A poorly rendered dragon was sketched at the bottom, and through his fury and terror, Malik had the strangest thought that Bronwyn would laugh at the pitiful art.

“Lord Griffith?” asked Drystan.

Malik’s teeth ground together. “Bloody fucking Lord Griffith.”

“That’s who has my daughter?” Mr. Kinsley leaned against the entrance to the passage. His chest heaved with quick breaths. Though Malik couldn’t blame the man for his concern, the last thing they needed was him falling on the steep stone stairs or having a heart attack.

“I’ll get her back. I swear it on my life,” he promised Mr. Kinsley.

Drystan stepped up and clutched his shoulder once more. “I’m coming with you.”

Malik stared at his cousin, aghast. “The letter says to come alone. We cannot risk it. Nor you.” Drystan was the Dragon’s real target. For whatever reason, Lord Griffith seemed to think he could claim the throne if Drystan and Malik were out of his way. Or perhaps he yearned for the chaos that would follow without a clear heir. Either way, Drystan coming along was a terrible idea, to say nothing of the threat to Bronwyn.

Deep sorrow filled the king’s gaze as it slid to his wife’s still form. “It’s not just Bronwyn’s life on the line.”

A knot stuck in Malik’s throat, and he forced it down. Her timewasalmost out. If Lord Griffith somehow had magic and was responsible for the curse, ending him would save the queen.

“Would you really stay behind,” Drystan asked, “if the roles were reversed?”

No. Damn it. He wouldn’t.

“Let me go in first. Stay back and hidden. I’ll try to take care of him myself. If I fail…”

Drystan’s jaw stiffened. Malik could already hear the refusal forming on his tongue. The letter could be a lie. A hollow threat. But he’d underestimated Lord Griffith before, had written him off for his common heritage. He would not again.

“Please. I love her. I can’t risk her.”

---