Page 12 of The Cornish Princess
“You, of all people, would be impressed,” Bryn taunted.
Once again, Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. “Gods forbid thatSidheshould win himself another disciple. He has more than enough admiration for himself to last him a hundred thousand lifetimes. And therefore I must sadly decline to allow you to regale me with such heroic tales—if indeed there are any to share.”
“There are.”
“Good. I don’t care.”
Bryn sighed, and said nothing more, no doubt loath to argue.
But Gwendolyn didn’t like it at all that he seemed so worshipful of Málik—particularly when he was the one who’d maligned him when he’d first arrived, and it was Gwendolyn who’d defended the ungratefulSidhe—not thathewould ever know it.
“Anyway…” She flicked her reins harder than she’d intended. “I detest the way he looks at me.”
“How so?”
Gwendolyn’s frown only deepened. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
“I see,” said Bryn, far too amiably, and then he changed the subject altogether. “Have you considered what would happen ifyourPrince should arrive early and your mother cannot locate you for his greeting?”
“She’ll make do without me,” assured Gwendolyn.
A small, ratty badger rushed across the path before them.
“Alas, I doubt my mother would have me as part of the welcoming party, anyway. I suspect that if she could have me wed Prince Locrinus without him ever having to glimpse my face, that is precisely what she would do.”
“You mistake her, Gwendolyn.”
“Nay, Bryn. And you must know how I adore you—as I do Ely—quite desperately for thinking me so utterly perfect. But we both know the truth. My mother doesn’t think me… worthy.”
Not for thedawnsio,not to carry the weight of the sovereignty, and certainly not to marry the likes of Prince Locrinus, despite that Gwendolyn was the only one who could.
By the by, Gwendolyn also suspected that if her mother could have masterminded some changelingmagikof her own, she would have switched Gwendolyn and Ely at birth, and perhaps raised Ely as her own. No doubt she rued the day that someone like Gwendolyn ever came from her loins. Not only was Gwendolyn not a boy, but she was cursed, as well.
And despite this, Queen Eseld would never admit how she felt. She would go to her grave before speaking ill of her only daughter, no matter that her disappointment was there in the depths of her lovely Prydein eyes for all to see. Indeed, if the Prophecy held true, then it would seem her mother’s heart must not be virtuous enough to see beauty in her child, so she might never dare confess her true feelings, lest everyone else realize this as well.
“I am certain she loves you,” Bryn offered. “As we all do,” he added quietly.
“No doubt she loves thethoughtof me,” Gwendolyn countered.
“You say you wish to hunt?” asked Bryn suddenly, changing the subject once more, and pointing to a mass of grey-brown fur visible between the trees—a strapping, eight-point buck that sat watching from behind a dead bough. Like a stone effigy, the majestic beast stood still, only tipping its great head to keep a wary eye on the woodland’s trespassers.
“Too small,” Gwendolyn said dismissively, dismounting, and making enough noise to frighten the entire forest. Of course, the buck bolted, and a murmuration of starlings erupted from the treetops, speckled wings aflutter.
Gwendolyn was not here to hunt today. She was here to inspect the glen, nor did she wish to talk about Málik or her mother any longer.
Both topics distressed her—but neither so much as the health of the glen because it was the King who commanded this land, and the land that sustained him. Remnants of an age when the gods still dwelt here, the pool was filled with curative waters that could heal so many ills—if only it could heal a king. And yet, in so many ways, the haleness of the glen was a measure of her father’s health, and the reverse was true. It was his sickness that diminished the glen, and the sicker it became, the sicker he became as well. It was a vicious cycle that could lead to his death, and Cornwall’s, as well. This was why her marriage to Prince Locrinus was so crucial. The peace their union would foster was critical to Cornwall’s survival. Without the alliance, Cornwall wouldn’t last long enough to worry about the prophesied Red Tide.
As for Queen Eseld, though she was a conundrum, she was someone Gwendolyn deeply admired. Having come from Prydein as a young woman, she’d not only learned the Cornish language, but the language of thedawnsioas well. She’d embraced every role ever given her, always careful never to gainsay her husband, nor to give anyone the impression she acted against his will. In all things, her mother was a dutiful wife, and yes, perhaps mother, as well.
Gwendolyn knew her mother considered her interests above her own. But it was her attention she sought—a loving look here and there, the way she did with her husband.
And yes, of course, Gwendolyn knew that was different. A mother’s love for a daughter was not the same as her love for a mate—much as Gwendolyn’s love for Ely and Bryn was not the same as the love she someday hoped to have for her husband.
And yet… Gwendolyn often saw the way Lady Ruan regarded her children.
And sometimes she noticed a certain way Bryn looked at her… with a sparkle in his eyes that said he would welcome her embrace. But this wasn’t what Gwendolyn sought from him, and she didn’t feel the same, though how sorely she craved her mother’s arms.
“I am not in the mood to hunt,” she said, tilting a glance at Bryn, who was still mounted, watching her curiously.
