Page 36 of The Artist and the Dragon

No such luck. None other than Mr. Yarwood stood just past the railing that separated the boxes. His pale suit stood in sharp contrast to his darker skin and hair.

“Pardon?” Bronwyn replied, unsure how to respond to his comment.

The square crystal glass he held contained a dark liquid, possibly whiskey, which he sipped at before responding. All the while, he watched her over the rim with a steady gaze. “I said the races are bringing out all the royals today.” He tipped his head back toward the gallery behind them.

Bronwyn tucked the fan into her lap before turning in her seat to scan the crowd. Her heart skipped a beat as it locked on a tall figure currently engaged in a lively discussion with a group of women.Malik.Not even the wide-brimmed hats worn by many of the ladies could completely conceal him from view. In fact, now that she saw him, it felt like his laughter parted the other sounds and zipped straight for her ears like an arrow.

“You seem surprised,” Mr. Yarwood observed.

She shifted in her seat. “I shouldn’t be. If there’s an event to be had in society, Ma—Prince Alistair is there.”

“Mmm,” he replied, settling in the seat at the very edge of his box, as near to her as he could get. Too bad the damnable railing was low, far too low to block her view of him. Rather, the way he sat, facing her instead of the racecourse with one elbow propped on his thigh, only brought him closer. “And my sister on his arm once again.”

Those words struck something in her chest that almost made her wince. She had no business feeling that way, of course. She and Malik were nothing to each other but reluctant allies in the quest to see the dragons ended. Even if they had been more, he’d said much of his time in society was a ruse, but she had a hard time believing that.

“You don’t seem fond of their companionship,” she said at last.

“My sister’s intentions are true enough. Though I wonder at his.” Mr. Yarwood leaned in further, voice dropping so low she could barely make out the next words. “I wonder at his intentions in all things.”

She blinked, taken aback. Could he have realized Malik’s intentions may not be aimed toward marriage? It was possible, though Bronwyn wasn’t about to ruin his ruse if so. But it was the last part—his intentions in all things—that gave her pause. Even on this sweltering day, those words made her a bit chill. “Whatever could you mean, Mr. Yarwood?”

“An heir to the throne who spends more time at parties than at the castle. One who doesn’t seem that connected to others attached to the royal family.” He raised his brows at her for emphasis.

The barb stung more than it should, and she shifted once more, suddenly deeply uncomfortable. “That’s nothing unusual,” she replied, though her comment lacked strength.

“No? Not to mention that he’s the son of the late king, one revealed to be quite … monstrous. Yet here he is, walking free and supposedly supporting his cousin instead of claiming the crown himself?”

Bronwyn’s hands clenched around her fan. She found herself wringing the delicate thing so tight it might snap. “He is also his mother’s son. A mother, that, may I remind you, comes fromyourextended family. Are you saying your line is tainted with darkness, Mr. Yarwood?”

His lips wrinkled in distaste. “I would never speak ill of his mother. She was known for her kindness, Goddess rest her soul.” He made the sign of the Goddess with his free hand. “But do you not think it strange? As you said, he is everywhere in society. Everywhere the accidents happen. And who has the most to gain should the current king fall?”

“Heplaced the crown on King Tristram’s head. I saw it myself. If he were ever to have taken it, it would have been then.”

A dark chuckle slipped from Yarwood’s lips. Bronwyn glanced around in a panic. Where was Lord Griffith when she needed him? Or anyone else, for that matter.

“The best games are long ones, Miss Kinsley,” Mr. Yarwood said, demanding her attention once more. “You’re new to this life and far too honest for court. I would hate to see anything unfortunate happen to you.”

She leaned back, blinking furiously. “Is that a threat?” Goddess above, perhaps she should have allowed her guards to come into the stands rather than ordering them to stay on the grounds.

“No.” He shook his head. Some of the tension in his shoulders loosened. “Merely a warning. You know as well as I that there are those out there—dragons, they’d call themselves—who have an eye for dramatic change. I wouldn’t want to see you caught up in it.”

The moment he began to take another sip of his drink, Bronwyn shoved to her feet and stared down her nose at him. “I’m starting to think you one of them,sir,” she sneered.

With a huff, she turned to flee the box. But he caught her wrist, the hold of his fingers like an iron band.

“I assure you, I am not.” His voice was hard, cold, any softness or humor gone from his features. He released her as quickly as he’d grabbed her. “Beware the prince, Miss Kinsley.” And then he turned away from her, walking deeper into his box and sipping at his drink as if their conversation had never happened.

Bronwyn’s heart pounded against her chest. Sweat trickled between her breasts, and no amount of fanning herself made her breath come easier. She searched the crowd in earnest for a familiar face, but there was still no Lord Griffith, no Charlotte, and, to her surprise, no Malik. Her head swam at the last bit, emotion sloshing so dangerously she swayed on her feet.

She couldn’t stay in the box. Not another minute. Desperate for air, for time to think, she fled the box and made for the stairs.

Chapter 16

Malik

Malikattemptedtojointhe line at the nearest betting booth, but his mere presence drew a cluster of people to him like gnats to rotted fruit, buzzing about and asking countless questions that went in one ear and out the other.

He smiled to hide his gritted teeth and greeted them one after the other. He’d left the stands for a moment of peace, damn it, not more nonsense. He barely registered who he spoke with or what they asked him, hardly able to give more than non-committal responses. All becauseshewas there, because he couldn’t get her out of his head.

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