Page 27 of The Artist and the Dragon

But she’d pulled away—all but leapt off the sofa, mumbling something about rest, and bolted for the guest room, slamming the door behind her.

She wanted him. He knew it. Yet something held her back.

And then after…

The moment had not come again. Threats of danger resumed. Drystan begged his help in tracking down the remaining dragons, and to do that, he had to be his old self, the carefree, solitary prince that people knew and might still associate with his father’s reign. The mask that they mistook for his true self.

A good ruse only worked when people believed it, and if he had Bronwyn on his arm? No one would. They’d finally see him for who he truly was, perhaps, but that would ensure he could never earn the trust of the remaining dragons.

The way Bronwyn looked at him now made him want to weep. It was his chance come again.

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, savoring the soft intake of her breath. His palm lingered against her cheek. “Bronwyn.”

Rich brown eyes blinked up at him.

The shift in her gaze was almost instantaneous. The shield she so often hid behind fell into place like the curtain at the close of an opera, and he was helpless to avoid a crushing disappointment. The weight of that change knocked him backward and had him snatching his hands away.

“Thank you, but I’m fine.” She said it so perfectly, so evenly, that he almost believed it. “We’ll discuss the dragons tomorrow.”

Before he could manage a response, she turned on her heel and fled through the door to her bedroom.

But she didn’t slam it. It stood open. Taunting. Teasing. Begging.

Run through it. Go to her, damn it.

His hands clenched into fists at his side.

He’d taken two steps toward her when she appeared in the threshold. He stopped, heart in his throat.

Bronwyn leveled him with a flat stare, grabbed the door, and flung it shut.

Fuck.

This could not happen twice, damn it.

He marched the rest of the way to the door and halted, listening.Give me a whimper, the hint of a sob. Anything.The smallest sound of distress and he’d bang down the door if he had to.

He waited. But nothing came.

With a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to failure and returned to the royal suite.

Chapter 12

Malik

WhenMalikenteredthequeen’s bedchamber, Drystan had already returned. He knelt beside the bed, Ceridwen’s hand clasped in his. Her father and Jaina remained nearby, apparently refusing to leave their dear girl.

Despite the prince’s intrusion into the heavy silence, Drystan paid him no mind. Eventually, Malik cleared his throat.

Drystan looked up, teeth bared, blinking the sheen of red from his eyes. Malik reached for the small dagger he kept hidden at his side. But the king shook his head and shoved to his feet with a sigh. His hair stood on end where he’d raked his hand through it likely countless times, and he did it once more before addressing his cousin.

“You’re back. Good.” He spoke as if each word took great effort. “Come with me.”

Drystan led him across the room, where he pushed back a tapestry. The wall behind it appeared to be the same wood paneling as the rest of the room, but the moment his cousin slid an unassuming piece of wood to the side, something clicked, and a section of the wall swung slightly inward.

The doorway to the secret passage was small. Both men had to crouch to enter, but thankfully, the passage itself was tall enough to allow them to walk upright. A small oil lamp flickered on the wall, illuminating the barren passage inundated with cobwebs. Broken bits of web hung from the ceiling here and there. The only sound was the chitter of a rat scuttling somewhere up ahead.

“Would you believe I’ve never been in here?” Malik said, trying to lighten the stifling mood. “I knew they existed, of course, but my father always threatened to punish me if he ever heard of me seeking them out.” Rhion had never been one to shy away from punishment. The opposite, actually. Malik still had the scars to prove it.

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