Page 25 of The Queen's Huntsman
Come to a place where no adversity may seek you.
Gwendolyn had laughed—she’d laughed!—and now she sensed he regretted not only his part in that kiss but the heartfelt plea as well.
Suddenly recalling the way he’d released her from his enchantment, casting her away so fiercely that she’d tumbled to her knees, it made her feel as though he couldn’t wait to be free of her.
Was he angry she did not choose him over duty?
He didn’t sound angry—and that was, perhaps, the point. He didn’t sound the least bit emotional, unlike her, and Gwendolyn didn’t want him to be indifferent.
She wanted him as he was before he went away.
More than anything, she longed for him to take her into his arms and hold her and kiss her, tell her how desperately he’d missed her, and yet… how could she expect such things of him? She was the one who’d refused him.
Unbidden, a memory assailed her… that night during the New Moon… only days before her wedding, when he’d cuddled with her on the clifftop… wet from the rain, teeth chattering… the taste of his lips like summer rain…
Don’t think of that, she scolded herself.
Don’t!
Think.
Of that.
Because if she did, she would entirely cease to breathe—give up. Here. Lie down. In the muck. Curl up and die.
More tears brimmed as she trudged onward, the ground beneath her boots so soggy and damp she left puddles beneath her feet. And yet, mercifully, as unrelenting as the hounds had been, only silence pursued them and with every step she made, she felt the burden of her regret grow heavier and heavier, even as muck crept into her boots, pushing silt between wrinkled toes.
It was a good thing it was summer, because in winter, she would lose her toes as swiftly as she had lost her heart to this damnableFae. And truly, she had. That much was clear. Though the most upsetting thing of all was that, even as her heart longed for words that were never forthcoming, all Gwendolyn really needed to know was that he was as pleased to see her as she was to see him.
Instead, he offered dry wit and pity.
He knew, he knew, he knew…
And this is how her brain worked and worked and worked as she marched into the wee hours until exhaustion claimed her. Without forewarning, Gwendolyn found a tree and slid down beside it… only to rest. Somehow, she’d been able to ignore the gnawing in her belly—a pang unlike any she’d ever experienced. She was spent, and she hadn’t even the energy to keep her eyes open. Outrage alone had given her the strength to go on—that far more than fear. But now she was well and truly exhausted.
Loc would pay,she thought.
Someday.
Her fingers itched to return to the hilt of Borlewen’s blade, but she’d missed her opportunity and now she needed rest. Blinking against the inexorable weariness, she knew only vaguely that Málik came and sat down beside her. He drew her into his arms, guiding her down to cradle her head in his lap… as he did so long ago.
But, nay, that only felt like a long time ago. In reality, mere months.
So much had transpired since then, and Gwendolyn was no longer the same. Málik was no longer the same. Nothing would ever be the same.
And even so… in that moment, as he folded Gwendolyn into his arms, she felt as though the world itself sighed, and she dared to curl up and forget…
Forget she was running for her life.
Forget, too, that herhusbandwas a murderer and thief.
Forget that the land was suffering. Her people, too…
Forget that Málik seemed too distant.
Right now, she didn’t care where he had gone, only that he had returned. He sat combing his long fingers through her curls, teasing her scalp with sharp nails, until her lids grew heavy and closed. Tomorrow would be soon enough to demand answers.
Tonight… she must… sleep.
