Page 6 of The Artist and the Dragon

If only she could drag him into the shadows and berate him for leading her on only to go back to his spoiled, princely ways. Perhaps smack him across the face, let him feel a little bit of the hurt she did.

Not tonight, though. And probably not ever, if her lack of action these last few months was any indication. Better to simply forget him, as impossible as he made that. At least Lord Griffith had helped her forget, if only for a few minutes. She glanced around quickly but didn’t spot him anywhere nearby. Perhaps she could speak with him again later, though, if only to avoid the crowds. And Malik.

A minute later, they ascended the wide stairs to the slightly raised section of the ballroom where the royal couple awaited.

Ceridwen hurried toward Bronwyn, her smile as radiant as her attire. She was truly glorious today, beaming with an inner light that spilled from every pore and added shine to the tiny crystals sewn like glittering snowfall across her voluminous white gown. Her golden locks were pulled up, pinned, and woven with even more glittering stones.

Truth was, she could be wed in a burlap sack and still look magical. Funny how love brightened her sister where it only seemed to cause Bronwyn pain.

“Bronwyn!” Ceridwen beamed as she beheld her sister. Malik released Bronwyn in time for her sister to wrap her in a tender hug. “We’re just about to do the toast.” She took Bronwyn’s hand and led her toward the others who had gathered.

Tradition required family members to pour a drink for the new couple. Indeed, their small family already swarmed around them. Father, who finally walked without his cane thanks to his returning health. Her brother, Adair, with his likely soon-to-be-fiancée Lydia on his arm. Jaina and Gerard, who’d served their family since childhood and were practically surrogate parents. And lastly, Bronwyn. For Drystan, only Malik was present to represent his family—though several of his trusted staff from Teneboure were present to share their well wishes.

Bronwyn forced a smile for her sister’s benefit, making sure she showed it to the rest of her family as well. “Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.” Not the way she already missed her sister. They’d been inseparable all their lives until Drystan had requested Ceridwen’s services as a live-in musician at the manor in Teneboure. Ceridwen had fallen in love. Moved on. She didn’t need her older sister around anymore.

Ceridwen’s gloved hand slid into Bronwyn’s, giving it a squeeze. “I’m so glad.”

Bronwyn’s cheeks ached, but she wouldn’t let the smile drop.

Lydia and Adair went first, happy to be the center of attention for once this evening. They’d have gossip to tell their friends about for days. Lydia still lived with her parents in Teneboure, but she and her parents had rented a home in the capital to come and stay a while specifically for this event. Her mother, Lady Elspeth Ainsworth, had always been kind to Bronwyn and Ceridwen, inviting them to her teas and gatherings. Even so, her sideways glances and comments whispered just out of earshot made it clear that Bronwyn didn’t conform to her idea of a proper lady. Her words were too blunt, her actions not refined. Ceridwen, on the other hand, fit her ideal much better. In fact, Lydia, with her blond curls and frilly, pale pink dress, resembled a queen’s sister more than she did. Even now, Lydia poured a perfect toast, lifting the glass to exactly the right level and commanding the attention of the surrounding nobles, who followed suit.

Soon, Ceridwen would have a new sister, one all too happy to spend her time attending events and socializing with nobility—tasks Bronwyn hated.

“Would you like to go next?” Malik peered down at her. Bubbles floated up within the saucers of sparkling liquid he held in each hand. He offered one to her. “I could join you if you’d prefer not to toast alone.”

A hint of something comforting—his scent—tickled her nose. She’d envisioned that once, toasting at Ceridwen’s wedding with Malik at her side the way Adair was at Lydia’s. She’d thought they had a future, one together. But that happy illusion had lasted no more than a week after Drystan took the crown. Then Malik had returned to his old self, not the man she knew but the one she’d heard of, the flirty prince who spent all his time at parties. In fact, she rarely saw him in the castle these days.

Bronwyn should have known not to bet on love. If it didn’t lead a person to ruin as it had Father, it consumed them whole as it had Ceridwen.

Her attention flicked between the prince and the rest of the family a few paces away. “I believe I can give a fitting toast by myself, thank you.”

Bronwyn notched her chin higher as she walked to the center of the open circle. The room quieted, awaiting her words. She swallowed her apprehension as the memorized speech floated to the surface of her mind. Ceridwen and Drystan had eyes only for one another; they wouldn’t notice if she messed it up. But she would not mess up. Speaking before a room full of people was somehow easier than having a casual chat with one or two.

Bronwyn raised her glass high in the air. “To my dear sister and her charming husband. May you—”

A loud crack sounded overhead, pulling everyone’s attention. The grand chandelier, bearing multiple rings of sparkling crystal and lit oil lamps, swung. The elaborate glasswork clinked and chimed as gasps filled the room.

“It’s going to fall!”

Bronwyn’s body locked up as she stared in horror at the unfolding sight. People screamed. Some ran. Drystan pulled Ceridwen into his arms.

The chandelier swung her way. Groaning wood joined clinking glass as pieces of the ceiling rained down on the crowd. Her legs shook, but she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move. Time seemed to slow as the chandelier swung, gliding lower—

Someone bowled into her, knocking the air from her lungs and the glass from her hand as they careened toward the ground. Her eyes slammed shut as she braced for the jarring impact with the stone floor, but—

The warm, comforting scents of sweet musk and spice surrounded her. The hard smack of marble against her head never came. A deep groan rang in her ears as the man who’d grabbed her took the brunt of the fall, cradling her against his chest.

Ear-shattering screams and the crash of glass and wood echoed through her bones. Bronwyn burrowed into the solid body wrapped around hers. Blood rushed through her ears, drowning out the chaos with the rapid thump of her pulse—or his.

Sobs and groans mingled with the screams as the world returned.

“Bronwyn, are you hurt?” Malik’s urgent tone freed her from the prison of shock.

Aches made themselves known along her ribs and hip, but they were minor. A small cut along Malik’s cheek left a thin streak of blood. He’d taken the brunt of the fall … for her. “I’m all right.”

Malik helped her sit up as chaos reigned around them. Shattered glass littered the floor; some small fragments sparkled on Malik’s jacket. The injured cried out and bled upon the ground.

“Father. Ceridwen!” Bronwyn’s heart clenched as she scanned the room.

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