Page 24 of The Queen's Huntsman
He turned to inspect the tree in question, lifting his brows. “I believe you would call that an oak,” he replied, and Gwendolyn bristled.
“I know what it is, Málik!”
His lazy smile was infuriating. “If you already knew, then why ask?”
“Blood and bones! You know what I mean!” she returned. “What did you do to me?”
“That,” he said. “I will explain in due time. For now, we mustn’t tarry. Come along, Princess,” he said, reaching for her hand.
Gods.He was right. Loc’s men hadn’t been gone long. The hounds could still be heard in the distance. Moreover, Gwendolyn was suddenly and unusually famished—more so than she’d been in living memory, and the sooner they found shelter, the sooner she could fill her belly. “You have much explaining to do!” she said, taking his hand, tears of relief flooding her eyes.
But her relief soon turned to fury, only belatedly realizing that he’d called her princess—a thing she’d not been in months, a thing she sorely lamented, a thing Estrildis persistently taunted her with, and the one thing Málik had once called her both snidely and endearingly.
“In case you’ve not heard,” she said. “I am no longer a princess.”
She hoped he would take her meaning, and all it conveyed! He did not stay and fight for her, and now she was wed to another, though her heart would forever belong to him.
“I know,” he said darkly.
He knew?
He knew!
His answer settled very poorly because Gwendolyn wanted him to feel as sick over it as she did. It galled her so much that he’d taken her father’s sword, and then walked straight out of that vault, and out of her life, without so much as a backward glance…
ChapterTen
“What else do you know?” she asked petulantly. “Did you also know they murdered my father and mother?” Not to mention, stole her city, killed her people, then cut her hair.
Perhaps disapproving of her tone, his Faerie flame whizzed between them, dancing frenetically, leaving a sparkling blue tail in its wake.
“I did,” he said far too calmly for Gwendolyn’s liking.
“Well, if you knew,” she said. “Why did you not come?” Tears spilled into the back of her throat, making her question sound too much like a whine—she loathed the way it sounded.
“Gwendolyn…”
She also hated that note of pity she heard in his voice.
What was she supposed to do now? She’d begged with all her heart for him to return before her wedding—he did not. Neither had he cared to stay and see her wed. Though perhaps if he had, she mightn’t have gone through with that bloody farce.
And then she would have fought by her father’s side, with Málik at hers, and Trevena may have had a better chance.
Yet even as she considered this scenario, she knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. She had considered her marriage to Loc a sworn duty, and in the end, her father had been too weak to lead.
As for herself—no matter what she might wish to believe, she was too inexperienced to have known what to do. And Málik was only one male, not an army.
Poor Beryan! He’d given his life to defend her. Now she had no means of repaying him. The poor man was as dead as her father, and Gwendolyn never even had the chance to bury either.
And worse, she had perhaps hurried Beryan to his grave by leaving that scarf to draw Loc away from Bryn and Ely. Now, guilt gnawed like termites at her guts.
Alas, they had no horses, and she was stuck with Málik, who seemed to have nothing to say to her though he should beg her forgiveness—for what, Gwendolyn didn’t know, though it made her feel better to blame him when she had no one else to blame.
Except herself.
Her emotions were in upheaval, as though his arrival had set them free. For the moment, she didn’t have to be strong, nor did she have to be a queen. She was simply Gwendolyn, and Málik was the one person who knew her best. Grief formed itself like a ball in her throat as she remembered his plea…Come away with me,he’d said.
Forswear the crown…
