Page 4 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Owen, wasn’t it?” Malik asked.

The man stood a little straighter, and he knew he’d remembered correctly.

“How can I help you?” he continued.

“Their Majesties have requested your presence, Your Highness,” he replied. “I believe it’s almost time for the toast.”

Thank the Goddess for that.Malik all but sprang from his chair, much to the dismay of the woman vying for his attention, who let out a very unladylike groan of displeasure.

“Excellent timing. Take me to them.” Malik passed right by Owen in his effort to get away from his company. The guard followed after him, hurrying to catch up.

“There is one other matter, Your Highness.”

“Oh?” Malik glanced over his shoulder. “Perhaps that my drink is empty?” He passed Owen his glass and winced when the poor fellow nearly dropped it. What a mess that would be.

“Y-Yes, of course,” Owen replied. “But also, I was instructed to fetch Miss Kinsley as well.”

Malik skidded to a stop. The guard nearly bumped into him at the abrupt change and took a healthy step backward.

“And?” Malik asked when Owen did not immediately continue.

“And she ignored the summons, as it were.” He wrang his gloved hands around the stem of glass. “I’d prefer not to tell Their Majesties that she rejected their request.”

“Ah, I see.” Couldn’t blame him for not wanting to relay such news, especially during the royal wedding festivities. Odd, too, that Bronwyn would deny a request made on behalf of her sister. After all, she’d risked her safety, her reputation, and her very life to aid Ceridwen in the past, and he had no doubt she would do so again if necessary. “And where is Miss Kinsley now?”

A nearby burst of laughter drowned out Owen’s response.

Malik scowled in the offending party’s direction, not that they noticed.

“That is to say,” the guard continued, gaze darting with nervousness, “I believe she headed toward the balcony.”

Of course she’d head outside. Hopefully, she hadn’t gone too far. “Thank you,” Malik replied crisply. “Tell Their Majesties we will both be along shortly.”

Malik could almost see Owen’s sigh of relief. His gratitude still hung in the air as Malik turned and wove through the crowd toward the balcony. Multiple times, people tried to snare his attention, a few so bold as to touch him, but each time he diverted their requests with a quick word or grin. Smiles had such power. One twitch of his lips and he could make someone’s evening, acknowledge, and dismiss them all at once.

Blessedly, the crowds thinned near the balcony doors. No one tried to snare his attention as he crossed the threshold to stand in the puddle of light streaming from inside. He stopped short at the sight beyond. Two figures lingered by the parapet with only a narrow distance between them. They gave the impression of lovers, or close friends, seeking each other’s confidence away from the maddening crowds.

The sight wrenched his heart in a tight fist. It wasn’t just any woman standing there but Bronwyn. His—

No, she was never his. The bitter truth of it soured his tongue as the most beautiful sound spilled from her into the night.

She laughed.

He hadn’t seen her do that in … too long.

Malik blinked slowly, convinced she was an illusion. But no, that was Bronwyn, standing with Lord Griffith, a fledgling lord of little consequence. He received the smiles Malik longed for, the easy words.

The man was nice enough, the social, pleasant sort. Malik had attended several of his parties in an effort to get to know him better, especially given that his father, the late Lord Griffith, had been a supporter of Malik’s father at one time. The late Griffith had disappointed the corrupt king and was summarily executed, though rumors said he died from a quick and mysterious illness. For a time, Malik had wondered if the newly raised lordling followed in his father’s footsteps and supported the dark ways, but the bright young man showed little inclination toward much other than a good time.

Too bad Malik was about to ruin this one.

“I’ve heard you are quite fond of art.” Lord Griffith leaned closer to Bronwyn on the parapet.

She didn’t seem to notice how near the other man got as she replied, “Indeed, I—”

“Bronwyn?”

She startled and stepped back, turning to look at him. Damned if it didn’t please him that she did not reach for her companion or shelter toward him.

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