Page 62 of The Artist and the Dragon

A quick glance outside showed a familiar street, one far too near the castle for his liking. He pounded a fist on the wall behind him, causing Bronwyn to jump, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, holding her close. “Make a loop through the city,” he shouted to the driver.

There came a muffled response over the clomp of horse hooves and the crack of the wheels along the cobbled streets. A moment later, they were turning. Good. The man understood.

Bronwyn shifted, looking up at him with her cheek still pressed into the arm of his coat. “Thank you.”

He nodded once. Thank goodness he wasn’t the only one unprepared to step back into the world, a world so changed from when the sun had still been in the sky. And he sensed she needed care. Bronwyn was never weak, not that. It took strength to be vulnerable, and he was honored that she shared that side with him. It said even more than the kiss they’d shared, a kiss he longed to repeat.

Malik wasn’t accustomed to providing comfort, but damn it, he’d try. Anything for her.

Chapter 25

Bronwyn

Inallherimaginings,Bronwyn could not have pictured her current predicament—pouring her heart out to the one man who’d touched it, broken it, and now, impossibly, seemed determined to put it back together again.

But there’d been a scathing truth in his kiss earlier that night. An honesty in his words since. And his arm around her as they rode through the streets of the capital simply felt … right.

Maybe it should have been awkward. Father might deem it inappropriate, especially since they were alone. But she couldn’t care less about any of that. All she wanted to do was linger in Malik’s embrace and let him hold together all the fragile parts of her that she no longer seemed able to keep in place. Her sister still lay cursed and dying. Her new friend might be, at least partly, to blame. Enemies lingered close as friends. The fate of the whole kingdom teetered on a knife’s edge.

Yet with Malik’s warmth around her, she could weather the storm. At least, as long as he didn’t shatter her utterly. Comfort, she could handle. A kiss? Oh, how she wanted it, but she feared it in equal measure. And more? She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Letting him in, letting anyone that close, could be more dangerous and damning than confronting a room full of dragons, man or mythical.

“You know, after my mother died, I lost myself,” Malik said into the gloom, not quite looking at her. “For a long time, I wasn’t sure what I was living for. Revenge? Yes. But I had little clue how to go about it other than a dagger to the back, and I wasn’t quite ready to sign my own death decree.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “Ironic that a dagger in the back is exactly what worked in the end.

“For so long, my life was hollow. I denied what had happened to my mother … then I tried to cope. I even tried to earn my father’s love, despite knowing what he was and what he’d likely done to my mother, either by his own hand or through another. I still don’t know who administered the poison that slowly took her life, but in my heart, I know its source.”

His arm flexed around Bronwyn, and she leaned in closer, sharing her warmth—not that he needed it on such a warm evening. How her heart ached for him. Losing her own mother had been horror enough. If that death had come at the hands of her father? It was too terrible to fathom.

“One day,” he continued, “I stumbled into an opera house. Yes, that opera house.” He glanced at her, and her breath caught. Their faces were inches away. With a wry smile, he glanced away again, lost in his tale. “I was only there to fulfill my role as a member of the royal family—to be seen and pretend like everything was right in the world when it was anything but. But watching that performance,The Merry Menit was called, brought light into my life. It woke me up, I suppose you could say. Sad as it is to admit, the thought of watching stories unfold on the stage gave me something to live for. It made me realize something, too.” He paused, staring down at her.

“What?” she prompted, hanging on his every word, waiting for the next like a woman starved. She inhaled softly as he caressed her cheek with his fingertips.

“Loss is the worst kind of pain. But a life with nothing to lose? That’s no life at all.”

A feeling of emptiness sprouted in her chest and pressed outward. No life at all… That was how it had felt after Mother died. Like they were all dead, merely walking through the world of the living rather than being taken to the Goddess’s hallowed plane.

“I think you may have missed a few things in your story.” Malik tapped her gently on the nose with one finger. “Isn’t your sister happier with Drystan than she was before?”

Bronwyn’s brows knotted together. “Well, yes…”

He nodded. “I know my cousin is happier with her, too. Love healed him. It saved him when nothing else possibly could. And don’t you think their love has helped others, too? Before the last few weeks, hasn’t your father been healthier and more cheerful than in years? Didn’t you even say as much once?”

She didn’t know Malik had paid any attention to her father, or any of her comments about him, but apparently, she’d been wrong. He was, in fact, quite accurate in his assessment. “But if my sister dies—” Her voice hitched. “It will break Father. Probably for good.” And her right along with him.

“We won’t let that happen.”

So much confidence when, already, their time grew painfully short.

“I bet, though, if you asked your father, he would say the joy of the years together—with your motheroryour sister—is worth the pain of loss should it come.”

“That’s different.” She tried to pull free from his embrace, but his strong arm held her tight. The corners of her eyes burned with unshed tears. “She’s his child. He has no choice but to…”

Malik’s jaw stiffened as her words trailed into nothingness.Oh … oh, Goddess above.

“Not all parents love their children so well as your father,” he said. “Love is a choice. Whether we love those connected to us by blood, fate, or luck, it’s always a choice. We take risks letting people in, letting anything touch us so intimately.” He cupped her cheek again, drawing closer until his forehead nearly rested against hers and they shared the same breath. “But it’s a risk worth taking, I think.”

The feel of his thundering heart under her palm—when had she placed her hand over his chest?—and the warmth of his breath against her lips sent her emotions careening wildly.

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