Page 17 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Miss Kinsley, a moment.”

She gasped as Lord Griffith took her hand in his. Much to her surprise, the guards didn’t stop him.

“I’m sorry our evening was cut short in such a terrible fashion. May I call on you again?”

Bronwyn blinked at him, still half in a state of shock from what she’d witnessed—and certainly not herself, because she the words that came to her tongue were, “Yes, you may.”

He smiled as if the evening had not come literally crashing down before them. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

He placed a kiss on the back of her hand. The warmth that swelled through her chest and flashed across her cheeks was as surprising as the smoke dragon that had appeared from behind the painting.

Bronwyn found Ceridwen in the private sitting room just off her bedchamber. Presents were piled high on a long table in front of her. She jotted something down on paper before setting down her quill and glancing up.

“You’re back much earlier than I expected.” Ceridwen pushed a lock of blond hair behind one ear. She’d already changed into a pale nightdress and a matching silk robe that draped from her arms. “Was the gallery not enjoyable? Or was it the company?”

News of what had transpired that evening hadn’t reached the castle yet, or rather its queen. Bronwyn would bet her life that someone had rushed to Drystan with the news immediately. He’d probably just received it or was receiving it now from her guards, who’d managed to procure a carriage and get her back far more quickly than she anticipated.

Ceridwen’s face fell. “Bronwyn?” She stood up, her chair sliding backward. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Bronwyn finally managed. “There’s no need to worry about me.”

Ceridwen met her halfway, looking her up and down for injuries. Satisfied, she said, “Tell me.”

“You may as well sit back down.” Bronwyn gestured to her sister’s abandoned project. She did, sitting on the edge of her seat and watching Bronwyn like a hawk as she pulled another chair closer and sat in it herself. “A large painting fell.”

“Fell or…”

“Was pushed,” she clarified. “By a smoke dragon like the one from the wedding party.”

Instant regret filled her as she watched her sister hunch and shrink in on herself. If only she’d done a better job hiding her emotions or, better yet, hadn’t sought her sister out at all this evening. Though, knowing Ceridwen, the moment she learned what had happened, she’d have come to find Bronwyn instead, even if it were the middle of the night.

And truthfully, Bronwyn wanted the company. She could have gone to Father or Jaina or Gerard in the apartments they all shared within the castle. They were family and she loved them, and them her, but there was no one in the world Bronwyn held closer than her sister. Ceridwen knew her heart and thoughts better than anyone; her mere presence gave a sense of comfort Bronwyn desperately needed. Father and the others would worry, as parents tend to do. Ceridwen would be Bronwyn’s ally more than her protector, someone strong at her side, ready to face the world with her rather than hide her from it. Bronwyn felt the same way. It was why she’d insisted on travelling with Ceridwen from Teneboure all those months ago, to help her find her lost love and defy the monsters of the capital.

Love was facing trials together. They’d faced those demons, and they’d face these dragons, too.

“Was anyone…” Ceridwen swallowed.

“A few injuries. I’m not sure about the extent. The guards rushed me away too quickly to learn more.” Though the sinking feeling in her stomach said those injuries might be worse than she let on. The sobbing she’d heard … it was the kind that leaked from wounds in a person’s soul.

“As they should,” Ceridwen replied, barely a whisper.

Bronwyn’s lips pressed into a hard line. Because she was a woman? Too frail and delicate to endure such tragedies? She forced the thoughts away. With anyone else, she’d have probably spoken them aloud, and with more than a little bite, but she knew her sister meant well. Still, it irked her that the guards didn’t seem to order Malik around in the same way. Why was a man given more freedom than her? He was Drystan’s heir, for now. In many ways, he was more important than her, yet she was the one coddled like a child.

“On to happier topics…” Bronwyn forced a smile for her sister’s benefit and gestured to the table. “Wedding presents?”

The change of topic instantly brightened the room. “Oh, yes, I figured it was time to get about opening them and writing thank-you notes.”

Bronwyn ran her finger along the edge of one small box. “You know, most noble ladies would have their maids open and catalog the gifts. Or a relative.”

A small laugh slipped from Ceridwen. “Are you volunteering?”

Bronwyn shrugged. “I could help, if you like.” It was a better option than discussing the evening or retreating to her room alone.

“Please,” Ceridwen replied. “It’s going to take me ages as it is.”

The two set about opening the gifts and remarking on the ostentation displays of wealth many contained. “What am I to do with something like this?” Ceridwen asked, turning the jewel-crusted egg in her hand.

“Display it? Sell it?”

---