Page 23 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Yes,” Drystan said with a sigh, finally raising his head.

“All this time, we’ve showed strength in the face of the dragons,” Adair added. “If we falter now, they’ll know they’ve hurt us, and they’ll move in for the kill.”

A grim, if astute, conclusion.

“You don’t think the people might show sympathy?” Jaina offered. The normally bubbly and talkative woman had been near silent since she first saw Ceridwen lying in bed.

“They may,” Malik replied. “But it will worry them, too. If their queen can be harmed in her bedchamber, what’s to protect them?”

Murmured assent filled the room.

“But how do we keep such a thing quiet?” Kent asked. He’d already ruined his slick ponytail by shoving his hands through his hair. It was strange to see him so disheveled. “In the castle, the smallest things travel faster than water downriver.”

Adair stood. “The only ones who know are in this room.” He turned to the two guards lingering in the corner of the room and pinned them with a glare. “And they won’t speak a word of it, or we’ll know exactly who to blame.”

Both young men shook their heads.

A strange bit of pride swelled in Bronwyn’s chest as she watched her brother, the emotion just tangible over the strangling pain of loss. He really had blossomed in his new role as the head of the castle guard, almost like the title had finally made him shape up. Or perhaps it was his burning desire to impress a certain young woman. Lydia still remained in town with her family, probably in hopes of an engagement. Not that such a thing was likely now, at least not soon, but they wouldn’t know that.

“That’s all well and good,” Gwen said, “but what do we do when Her Majesty’s maids arrive in the morning? Or the next shift of the guard? They’re bound to be suspicious if they don’t discover things outright.”

It was a miracle they hadn’t already. Bronwyn pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought.

“What if we said Ceridwen was ill?”

Bronwyn startled a little at the sound of her father’s voice. He’d been eerily quiet since Adair had gone to fetch him, the same kind of silence he’d sunk into for weeks after Mother’s death.

“We could say we’re limiting who attends her because of that,” Gwen added.

“And Drystan with her?” Malik asked. “If anyone were to see him like this, they’d know something is gravely wrong.”

Bronwyn begrudgingly had to admit that was true. And if they didn’t find a solution soon, Drystan would only worsen. If he were to truly slip and transform into a monster in front of the people, it would be disastrous, and likely exactly what the dragons wanted.

It struck her then—a way to keep him out of sight but in a manner that wouldn’t alarm the people. “What if,” she started, pausing to make sure she had everyone’s attention, especially Drystan’s, “you took your wedding moon? Or, rather, we said you did?”

The pause as everyone absorbed her idea gave her the push she needed to run with it. “You put it off after the wedding, but you’re so in love you can wait no longer to properly celebrate your marriage. It would give a reason for you and Ceridwen to both be out of sight for at least a month, and in that time, surely, we can find a solution.” The ache in her chest flared anew, but she had to be positive, had to inspire hope, for her father if no one else. Another loss might just end him.

“No,” Drystan said quickly. “I can’t leave. If there’s any hope of finding a counter curse, it’ll be in the books here in the castle.”

“You wouldn’t,” Bronwyn hurried to explain. “We’d fake it. Say that you left, but really, you’d be here, out of sight.”

“It could work,” Adair mused.

“Though people may expect some grand farewell,” Jackoby said.

“Unless they slipped off during the night?” Kent suggested.

Malik raised one dark brow. “A king and his queen sneaking off on their own?”

Of course he’d be the one to poke holes in her idea. Bronwyn scowled at him almost on instinct.

He raised one hand. “It’s a good idea, but we must be smart about it. The little details are the most important when crafting a convincing lie.”

Wouldn’t he know. He’d lied for years, pretending to be the hapless prince to escape his father’s notice. Or he lied now pretending to support Drystan. She so wanted to believe former, but some small part of her still wasn’t convinced. He played his parts so convincingly, just as he had when he’d led her to believe he felt something for her all those months ago.

But, oh, how he’d shattered that dream, flirting with every woman in the kingdom except her.

Adair rubbed his chin. “It would be expected for some guards to accompany them. I can think of two that will certainly do”—he glanced toward the corner—“but we need more.”

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