Page 120 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Little glimpses.” That was all he’d had through the beast’s eyes. The feeling of losing control was the greatest terror he’d ever experienced, like being lost in a deep lake, struggling for breath and barely catching a blurred vision beyond the water’s surface. How Drystan had endured it so many times—how any of them did—was beyond him. Such a thing would surely drive a man mad if he wasn’t already.

“You brought me back,” he said. It was her voice that had cut through the shadowy haze. It had been so quiet at first, a whisper, a hope. But each time she’d spoken to him, it had grown louder. The monster inside him seemed to calm for her, settling down instead of raging. As it did, he reached for that sound, grabbed hold of it and wouldn’t let go. Then he’d felt her, seen her, and suddenly, he’d been himself once more.

She wiped at her eyes. “I would never abandon you.”

“I know.” Even if he wished she would run and save herself, she’d saved him in the end, it seemed.

A minute later, Drystan pulled his bloody hands away. “I think I’ve fixed the worst of it.”

He had. Malik was weak. Tired. But he no longer felt his life force slipping away. “Thank you,” he said, though the words felt insufficient. “For everything.”

“Of course.” The king turned to Bronwyn. “You truly think Ceridwen is awake?”

Bronwyn nodded once, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips. “I do.”

Drystan rose with urgency. “I must go to her.” He turned away, took a step, and looked back. “Do you—”

“We’re fine,” she said quickly. “Go.”

With that, he turned and fled, calling to one of the guards for a horse. Off to see his wife—awake and safe for the first time in weeks. Malik’s chest swelled as he watched his cousin disappear into the night. He could only imagine the flurry of emotions rushing through him as he hurried to her side.

Malik’s gaze snapped to Bronwyn, who also watched him leave. The king wasn’t the only one eager to see the queen. “Go with him,” Malik said. “Go to Ceridwen. The guards will have horses. They can take you.” She was healed now, thanks to his touch. The moment he was himself again and realized that she was hurt, it had been his first priority.

She turned back to him, her lips upturned in a soft and dreamy sort of way. “Didn’t I just tell you I would never abandon you?”

“But your sister—”

“Will still be there when we get back. Plus”—she glanced back at the area where Drystan had disappeared—“I have a feeling they’re going to need a little time alone once he returns.”

*****

The royal guard showed their skills that evening. Even with very limited time to prepare, they’d considered a number of possible outcomes and planned accordingly. That included bringing along carriages and wagons to help transport any wounded and whatever else they might discover. More importantly, they’d brought food and water, which Bronwyn accepted like it was blessed by the Goddess herself.

The bastard hadn’t even given her water. Malik’s fist tightened. He had to remind himself once again that Griffith was dead and would harm her no more.

They were settled in a carriage, Malik haphazardly dressed in bits of a spare guard uniform, when the head of the company of guards approached with news. “Your Highness. My lady.”

“Yes?” Malik said.

“We’ve finished our sweep of the house. We found no one save”—his gaze flicked to Bronwyn, then back to Malik—“an old corpse on the top floor.”

“His mother, the late Lady Griffith,” Bronwyn answered.

Malik’s eyes widened.Goddess above…

“He said she died by her own hand some years ago,” she added.

“What should we do about it, Your Highness?” the guard asked, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “We could take her to—”

“Burn it,” Bronwyn interjected.

The guard straightened, mouth parted in surprise.

“Burn it all. The bodies. The house. All of it.”

He looked to Malik, but the prince simply shrugged. “You heard her.”

The guard blinked away his surprise and bowed. “Right away, sir.”

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