Page 18 of The Cornish Princess
Gods, she’d like to believe her father wouldn’t carry out his threat to detach Bryn’s head from his body, but she couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t. Illness or nay, her father wasn’t a milksop, and he wasn’t in the habit of saying things he didn’t mean.
How stupid she had been.
How selfish.
How thoughtless.
At the instant, Gwendolyn desperately longed to punish herself with swordplay or something equally physical, but she daren’t leave her room, or she’d be forced to sufferhiscompany as well. And then it occurred to her—she had also lost her sparring partner and mentor, only to gain a new one—Málik Danann, whose presence even now was as keenly felt as the steam from her tub, scarcely visible, but seeping into every pore of her flesh.
Thankfully, Demelza said nothing whilst there were servants in attendance. Already Gwendolyn was too close to sobbing. But finally when they left, and the bath was full, Demelza spoke. “In the tub,” she said. And that was all. No I-told-you-so. No endless lecture about Gwendolyn’s solicitation of these unfortunate events. But neither did she offer sympathy.
Sadly, Demelza needn’t say or do anything for Gwendolyn to comprehend her own culpability. She was well and truly in the wrong.
She had taken advantage of Bryn’s friendship. She had led him astray. Swallowing hard, she recalled that he’d tried to dissuade her from leaving the palace without consulting her mother, and then again from pursuing a swim.
He was far too kind to gainsay her, all to his own detriment. As his Princess, not his charge, she had a responsibility to look after his wellbeing, even as he should endeavor to shelter her from harm. And yet, she had not. Instead, she’d nearly cost him his beautiful head.
Gwendolyn sighed, a sound not unlike her father’s dispirited one.
“Enough self-recrimination,” snapped Demelza. “Get in that tub before the water cools. Would you put these servants through another conveyance?”
Nay.She would not.
Gwendolyn didn’t argue.
For perhaps the hundredth time this day, after trying on so many gowns, she disrobed, discarding her leathers and hosen, and climbed into the tub.
However, unlike thepiskiepool, the bathwater was already growing cold after having made the trek in so many buckets all the way from the cook’s house.
“I am told the Prince will be in attendance for tonight’s supper,” said Demelza. “Naturally, you will be paired with him for the evening meal.”
Directly to his left, beside her mother, whose place was at her father’s right hand. Once their vows were heard by theAwenyddpriestess, Gwendolyn, too, would be seated at her husband’s right hand, though with one significant difference…
Should King Corineus die, it wouldnotbe her mother to rule in his place, it would be Gwendolyn. Her mother was neither a natural-born citizen of Cornwall, nor could she be recognized as a queen in her own right. She was only Queen Consort, and despite that her father had elevated her so high, the aldermen would never approve of a Prydein princess for succession.
According to the aldermen, Prydein chiefs were as common as magpies and equally thievish. Thus, without her husband, Queen Eseld would have no say.
However, should Prince Locrinus fall in battle and with Gwendolyn’s father already gone, she would rule both nations.
In all things, in all ways, she would be her husband’s equal, but this was small comfort to her right now whilst she was subject to the will of so many.
And regardless, the one person she wouldneverlie down for was Málik Danann. Her thoughts returned to the guard outside her door.
She had swum nude with Bryn a thousand times, and never once had she felt, even for an instant, the way she did right now, only breathing withinhisproximity.
To be sure, a heavy oaken door between them wasn’t enough.
She’d prefer an ocean—would that he’d return to Ériu, or wheresoever he was from. Certainly, the thought of swimming withhimwas unthinkable—and Gwendolyn didn’t have to ask herself why. She suspected the answer to this question—if she could be honest with herself—hadn’t so much to do with her dislike of the man as she would like to confess.
It was somethingelse…
And that somethingelsewas the same somethingelseshe’d felt as she’d emerged from the hot spring with Málik present.
No matter that he’d politely turned his back—and so far as she knew,faekinddidn’t have eyes in the back of their heads—somewhere deep down, she’d sensed he was just as aware of her as she was of him… and no doubt equally reproving.
Perhaps this was the crux of it all—the simple fact that she must be judged daily, not only by her mother, but by the likes of Málik Danann.
“Did you hear me, child?”
