Page 13 of The Artist and the Dragon

Wearing a nice dress was her favorite part of any outing. Somehow, it made her feel stronger and prettier than she really was.

Ceridwen’s brow pinched. “I wonder if it’s too late to inquire about displaying some of your art there. I really should have considered that sooner.” She tapped a finger on her lips.

“There’s no need.”

“Why not? Your work is incredible. It should be shown and appreciated.”

Bronwyn stared at the tiered tray of pastries. She’d heard that one before. And recently. “Because Wynni already beat you to it. She gave them some of the set pieces I designed for her.”

“Wynni!” Ceridwen grinned. “I owe her. Again. Actually, I really do need to speak to her about scheduling the performance she requested…” Her attention drifted before snapping back to Bronwyn. “But that decides it. You have to go. How can you not when your artwork will be on display?”

“Because people may hate it.” And there it was—the fear she so diligently tried to avoid.

“Nonsense.” Ceridwen looked personally offended by the idea. But then, she was her sister, the one person who supported and encouraged her no matter what. Even when others scoffed or frowned at her art, Ceridwen never did. That was the exact reason her conclusion was unreliable. Of courseCeridwenwouldn’t think others would frown at her art, but compared to some of the masters who would have work displayed? How could they not find hers a disappointment?

“Besides, now might not be the best time.” Bronwyn gave her sister a hard look, willing her to understand everything that she wasn’t saying.

Ceridwen frowned. “Now you sound like Drystan. I actually think it’s the perfect time. The more we’re seen out in society acting like nothing is wrong, the more people will believe it. Lord Griffith is a respectable man, and you yourself already said you enjoyed speaking with him, right?”

“That evening, yes, but—”

“Go. For me?” Ceridwen blinked at her, waiting in silence.

Bronwyn cut her gaze toward a few birds pecking at the grass nearby. Shewouldenjoy seeing the gallery… “Fine.”

“Perfect.” Ceridwen beamed. “Don’t forgot to respond and let him know. Now”—she smoothed out the papers in front of her—“let’s talk about these designs.”

Bronwyn shook her head, already regretting the decision. But she could deny Ceridwen nothing. Besides, how bad could one night at the gallery truly be?

Chapter 7

Malik

Maliksteppedoutofthe carriage and onto the bustling street in front of the Talia Gallery. The last rays of sunset painted the marble pillars of the building’s façade in bold shades of orange and gold. Finely dressed people filed in from all directions, up the wide staircase and through the open double doors. The calls of street vendors mixed with joyful conversation and the crunch of carriage wheels over cobblestones.

The scene sparked a yearning in Malik’s heart, even if he wasn’t thrilled about his reasons for attending. He glanced back at the open carriage door and offered an arm to the woman who filled it. Lady Siân was stunning that evening, her navy-blue gown a perfect complement to her dark skin and her sable hair, which she wore pinned back and adorned with jeweled combs and feathers. Her brother, Mr. Rees Yarwood, followed, ever the debonair and stoic heir of the Yarwood family. The man travelled in several social circles of interest, though he was more known to listen and nod than to participate in conversation. Unfortunate given Malik’s need to source out their family’s allegiances, or lack thereof. It was why he had accepted the invitation to join them this evening, after all.

Their arrival caused quite the stir, with many parties stopping to gape and whispers chasing them up the stairs. Malik smiled and nodded acknowledgements to those he passed, actions so practiced and routine he hardly noticed he did them.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Rees said less than a minute after they entered the building. No doubt part of the siblings’ plot for him to have alone time with Lady Siân in a proper manner. And for others to see them together.

Malik bit back a sigh and glanced around. A little bird—or, rather, a certain opera house owner—had informed him of particular works to keep an eye out for. He found himself examining each painting in search of a certain young woman’s distinctive style.

“Where would you like to start, Your Highness?”

Breath caught in his lungs as he looked down—not at the woman he escorted that evening but Bronwyn. She gazed at him with her soft brown eyes, looking a touch forlorn, just as she had before the wedding feast had gone to shit.

But then he blinked, and she was gone, replaced instead by Lady Siân.

“Your Highness?” She tilted her head in question.

“Ah, yes,” he remarked, trying to clear his thoughts. “I was simply taking in the room. Actually, Lady Siân, I was hoping you might direct me. You see, I’d like to acquire a few paintings myself, and I could use your discerning eye.”

His companion brightened considerably, giving a breathy giggle and touching her gloved hand to her chest. “I’d be honored, Your Highness.”

Good.Nothing like some praise to brighten someone’s spirits.

Over the course of an hour, Malik learned two very important things: One, his companion’s taste in art was about as far from his as possible. Two, she talked significantly more after a drink than before it. Too bad she hadn’t divulged anything that could aid him. Yet.

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