Page 85 of The Artist and the Dragon

“We’ll need to clean the wound first, won’t we?” Bronwyn said, seemingly talking to herself as she hurried about the main room. “Ah, a pitcher.”

Malik leaned back against the cushions, holding his wounded arm over the side. It was nice to sit on something that didn’t jostle him around. And hewastired now that his body had had time to realize it.

“We need some cloth,” Bronwyn mused.

“The shelf over there.”

She found it with ease. “Very good. Now where is the salve?”

“My bedroom. Desk cabinet. Little jar with—” He sat up with a jolt, suddenly remembering why it would be a terrible idea for her to go into his room. “Wait! I’ll get it.”

She didn’t even flinch. “Nonsense, you’re hurt. Just tell me what I’m looking for.” She moved down the short hall.

Malik leapt from the couch and rushed across the room, head spinning.

Bronwyn grabbed the door handle. Turned it. Pushed.

He wrapped his hand around hers on the knob and jerked it shut again, nearly smacking her in the face.

“Malik!” She startled, looking up at him. “What in the world?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and leaned against the doorframe for support. “Let me get it. Please.”

Her brow furrowed. “What don’t you want me to see?”

“Bronwyn…” he pleaded.

Her hand loosened from the doorknob. He withdrew his own with a sigh. And then, quicker than he could anticipate, she grabbed the handle again and threw her weight against the door as she turned it.

The door swung open, and she stumbled in, nearly tumbling to the floor in a heap of pink silk.

The room was dark, only a little light filtering in from the main room, but it was enough to damn him.

Bronwyn blinked at the sight before her. Ever so slowly, her head turned one direction, then the other. Malik’s heart dropped into his stomach as he watched her. She turned in a circle, taking in the entirety of the room, all of the damning evidence. Why, oh, why had he brought her to the apartment, again?

Finally, she looked at him, eyes wide. “Malik … is this…”

“Yes.” He took a deep, steadying breath as he met her gaze. “It is.”

Chapter 36

Bronwyn

EveryinchofBronwyn’sskin tingled as she turned in a slow circle once more, taking in the room. She wasn’t imagining things. Hanging in frames, leaning against the wall, propped on tables … her art was everywhere.

His room. His bedchamber. He’d covered it in her work.

“Why?”

“You know I favor the arts.” It wasn’t an answer. Not really. It might make sense for one piece in the room to be hers, but all of them?

Part of an old set leaned against the wall by the door, and she stepped over to it, her fingers trailing across the painted edge. It was a simple piece, a field of flowers. Any number of artists could have done it, but Wynni had asked her to give it a try. It was the first piece she’d done for her. A test of sorts, most likely, but Bronwyn had just been happy for the excuse to paint and escape the busyness of the castle.

“I thought this would have been discarded after the play. Or painted over.”

She felt him before he spoke, a warm presence at her back that had her standing a little straighter. “It may have been. But I asked Wynnifred for it, and she acquiesced.”

Thereasonhe wanted it burned in her chest, hot, furious, and pressing against her ribs.

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