Page 17 of The Cornish Princess
Irksome.
Elf.
Gods, she loathed the appellation and the spirit in which it was given just as much as theSidhemust loathe it as well, because it was never used with any good intention, and still she couldn’t think of him as anything else.
It was kinder than the names she’d like to shout at him right now, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Already he was smirking behind his hand—and not even behind his hand, for she wouldn’t soon forget the smile he gave her as she quit the hall.
Gwendolyn had once loved the notion offaekind, and she felt connected to them through her gifts—so why, for the love of Danu, did he have to be even part-blood?
To Gwendolyn’s dismay, if she quickened her pace, so too did he.
If she slowed, so did he—until Gwendolyn was livid and ready to pull out every strand of hair on his too-comely head.
Why was it that the most beautiful creatures were also the deadliest?
And by the by, she loathed the way he called her Princess, as though it were a blasphemy all its own.
Unable to bear his presence, she spun to face him once she reached her door, prepared to leave him in the antechamber. “You willnotbe welcomed within,” she said furiously. “Ever!”
It was despicable enough that he must take up residence in her antechamber, sleeping only a few yards from her bed. She glanced at the meager cot that had once belonged to sweet Bryn and noted that her antechamber was already stripped free of Bryn’s belongings.
Had this already been decided, even before Málik led Queen Eseld to the glen?
Cold and unaffected, his hands swung to his back, his face devoid of expression, his eyes silvery and bored.Gods, he was made of stone.
“Naturally,Princess. Indeed, from here forth, the only male who’ll be welcomed within your bower will be your lord husband—afteryour vows are spoken.” He smiled thinly, betraying some trace of emotion, but none that was remotely benevolent. “On pain of my life,” he added.
Was that a threat?
Worse! Was he implying she would dare entertain men in the privacy of her bower? Not even Bryn had ever attended her within. He’d slept in her antechamber, and she in her bower, always behind closed doors. At most, he had stood upon her threshold, only when the door was open and someone else was in attendance.
“I have windows,” she longed to say, but she held her tongue because she would never intentionally disrespect her betrothed. Thus, there was nothing she could say regarding his declaration, because no man had ever entered her chamber, including her father, and none would be welcomed still—most especially not him!
And neither would she crawl out some window, sneaking away like a thief.
She couldn’t prove his irksome smile was anything but courteous, but she felt the cut of his sarcasm down to the marrow of her bones. Somehow he’d reduced her to growling like a dumb beast. “See you donotdisturb me,” she said, and then she opened her door, giving him one last warning glance before entering her chamber and slamming the door.
Hard.
Very hard.
The sound of it shook the rafters.
Gods,she would like to say she’d slammed it in his face, but dutiful as he was, he had already turned his back to the wall, resigning himself to waiting until she re-emerged—a thing that might never have happened so swiftly except for the knock on her door.
Still furious over the turn of events and realizing it wouldn’t be Ely—not this soon after her brother’s demotion—she marched back to the door and tugged it open, eager to flay Málik with her words. But it wasn’t Málik’s face that greeted her.
It was Demelza, directing a procession of servants into her chamber to fill a bath. But though Gwendolyn couldn’t see Málik, she sensed his presence acutely, and she knew he was privy to every word she uttered. Therefore, she resolved to say nothing, determined to share as little of her life with him as possible.
She might be forced to deal with him as her Shadow—for the time being, so long as she remained under her father’s roof—but someday, she would be Queen, and as Queen she would choose her own Shadow, and she would restore Bryn to his rightful position.
If he would have it.
Gwendolyn felt dreadful over her part in his demotion—worse than words could convey. And even though she longed to weep on Ely’s shoulder, she knew her dear friend wouldn’t be visiting her again this day. Likely their entire family had convened to mourn the loss of their eldest son’s status, and despite that none of them would dare speak a cross word to or against Gwendolyn, she also knew they were likely as disappointed in her as were her own parents.
As disappointed as Gwendolyn was with herself.
Indeed, were she them, she might be furious.
