Page 25 of The Cornish Princess
Alone, her people had established a well-visited port. They’d learned to mine what the land offered. And they’d learned the disciplines ofmetallonourgia, creating alloys previously unknown. Nay, they did not have such advanced disciplines as did the Trojans, but they certainly had more than the rest of Pretania.
Gods.He mustn’t realize what he was saying, and considering his demeanor else wise, Gwendolyn forgave him. Indubitably, his was the perspective of a newcomer to this land. He couldn’t possibly understand how much they’d endured, nor how far they had come.
Prince Locrinus leaned close to confide in her. “I’m unsure whether you’ve heard, but Plowonida recently burned at the hands of the Iceni. It stands unclaimed. As my future queen, I will tell you that, as soon as we can gather an army, my father intends to drive them east to establish a new capital for Loegria. We will call it Troia Nova,” he said, grinning broadly. “It is from there you and I will rule.”
“Troia Nova,” Gwendolyn repeated, though her brows rose of their own accord. She had heard no such thing about Plowonida, but the ramifications of such a campaign would be far-reaching. It was more the custom to abandon a stronghold after a fight, withdrawing to well-defended battlements. According to her father, most often what drove men to battle was not so much the coveting of another’s land, but the need to protect what was theirs.
Indeed, Cornwall had thrived so well in part because they did not weaken their defenses by spreading themselves far and wide. However, if Plowonida had been abandoned by the Catuvellauni… if the Loegrians dared to move into Eastwalas… if they truly had the means and numbers to take and keep that city…
What would the Iceni do? Would they attack again after waging and winning a fight with the Catuvellauni? How would they fare against Loegrian weapons?
Troia Nova.
King Brutus had been awarded the land he now occupied by a joint Konsel of Pretania’s tribes—a Konsel for which her father was headmester.
Gwendolyn understood the Iceni had a longstanding feud with the Catuvellauni, mostly because the High King of Plowonida had once seduced their beloved queen, but that was a matter of retribution. Not since the Tuatha Dé Danann were defeated so long ago had men seized municipalities that were not theirs to take—not since the sons of Míl agreed to honor one another’s borders. As the Prydein used to do, men might snatch a harvest under cover of night, but they would never, ever bring tillers to plow another man’s fields.
And really, not once in living memory had an enemy dared to take a city after a battle was fought, much less lands that were not properly got. What the Loegrians were proposing was opportunistic, and yet Gwendolyn couldn’t think it precisely wrong… not precisely.
Simply because something had not been done before did not mean it was not to be done. If the Catuvellauni did not want Plowonida, and the Loegrians did, and if, in fact, it could be sustained, then it might be considered a strong military tack, though Gwendolyn wondered if her father knew Loegria intended to expand beyond their current borders so deep into Pretania—well beyond the Eastwalas Temple. Gwendolyn longed to ask more about it, but the revelation had completely befuddled her.
“You are quite learned, and it pleases me,” said Prince Locrinus, smiling with unreserved approval. “I prayed to have an equal as my partner, as I never intended to rule at all, much less to rule alone.”
Gwendolyn’s heart warmed to him again, hearing the pain of his brother’s loss in his voice. “At heart, I am but a simple man, whose greatest desire it is to discover the mysteries of this world.” Reaching for Gwendolyn’s hand, he squeezed it gently.
“Now, despite the grief I feel for my brother’s plight, I find myself well pleased with our match, and someday, if it pleases you, I will take you on a sojourn to Cnoc Fírinne, and we shall visit the Eastwalas Temple as well.”
Gwendolyn’s heartbeat quickened. It was the sweetest thing he might have ever said to her. The thought was like a love philter. “That would be a most welcome gift,” she said, her heart filling with joy. Thereafter, the evening was a delight—so much so that Gwendolyn putallthe day’s troubles behind her—all her doubts, too.
Even Queen Eseld smiled with undisguised approval, and Gwendolyn felt… lovely and brilliant, and… oh, yes… golden… and so full of hope.
All night long, they talked, and talked, and talked.
Only now and again, Prince Locrinus would appraise Gwendolyn with a private smile that seemed so full of promise and possession that it set loose a dole of doves in her breast.
Later, when they said goodnight, leaving their fathers to discuss the final details of their betrothal, Prince Locrinus walked Gwendolyn to her bower door, leaving her with a burgeoning sense of hope… and a tiny seedling of…love?
Was this love?
Certainly, it wassomething—something beauteous and satisfying.
Already she admired the man she’d been promised to wed, and now she couldn’t wait to share her life with him.
“Until the morrow,” he said, before taking his leave, and Gwendolyn sighed contentedly, basking in the evening’s joy. Even once he was gone, she lingered outside her chamber door.
But at long last, she turned, with a final, wistful glance down the hall in the direction her sweet prince had gone, only to spy Málik coming around the corner.
The sight of him surprised her as much as it displeased her, even though she should have expected him. Sucking in a breath, she rushed through the antechamber, straight into her room, slamming her door, and thrusting her back against the iron-riveted wood as though she feared he would come bursting through.
Of course, he did not.
He would not.
She heard him enter the antechamber a moment later and settle himself… until nothing but darkness and silence crept beneath her door.
Only then did she make for the bed.
ChapterEight
