Page 31 of The Queen's Huntsman
“Perhaps even drunk?”
Gwendolyn crossed her arms, tilting her head. “I wouldn’t say… drunk… not precisely.”
“It’s the hob cake,” he told her. “And once it wears off, you’ll close your eyes without warning. If you push yourself too far, you’ll not wake for days. Here, we stay,” he said once more, and with a flourish, produced another of his Faerie flames, tossing it into the air—decision made whether or not Gwendolyn liked it.
He was right, of course—he was always right, maddening as that was. Still, she didn’t have to like it, nor did she have to obey. And nevertheless, when Gwendolyn opened her mouth to protest, he said the only thing that could have moved her.
“Ineed to rest, Gwendolyn.”
“You?”
No matter what they had endured, Málik was never worse for the effort, and even when she herself looked like a rumpled mess—as no doubt she did now—his appearance was unspoiled and his mood annoyingly well disposed. As her Shadow, he’d never once employed the use of her antechamber. The entire time they’d remained in Chysauster, she’d never even learned where he’d made his bed, nor whether he’d slept at all. And later, down in thefogous, he’d held her all night long, but she couldn’t remember him sleeping a wink. It was only on the cliff side, on the way home, on the night he’d kissed her, that he’d dared to rest awhile, sharing her blanket. But even then, he was gone by first light, risen to tend the horses before Gwendolyn ever opened her eyes.
“I don’t believe you,” she said, certain he was exaggerating for her sake.
Gwendolyn didn’t need to be cosseted. She was tired of everyone brushing her aside, locking her away, ignoring her requests as though she were still only a child, instead of the rightful queen of these isles.
“Have you known me to lie?” he asked, and Gwendolyn responded with arms akimbo, lifting her chin.
“In fact,” she said. “You told me you’d never leave me, and yet you abandoned me!” The complaint burst from her lips before she could think to stop it, but now, at least he should understand the reason for her ill temper.
Her feelings were hurt, and she wanted him to know it—especially since she sensed in her deepest of hearts that his presence in Trevena during the Feast of Blades could well have changed the course of fate. He’d failed her when she needed him most.
“Believe what you will,” he returned. “I cannot lie.” His lip curled at one corner—like a snarl—giving her a glimpse of one sharp fang. “’Tis a weakness of my people,” he lamented, and then added, “Take care what you ask if you don’t wish to know the answer.” His Faerie flame whizzed by, growing frantic with his mood. “Trust me, Gwendolyn. If you heed me, you will thank me later.” His chin lifted as he added, “Having said that, I did not abandon you. Never once did I tell you I’d be every moment by your side. But I am here now, and if I’ve returned, you cannot claim to be abandoned.”
That was true. He was here. But he was not the same. She wanted him back the way he was—not this cold replica of the Fae she grew to love.
Still, blaming him for what happened in Trevena might seem unfair… unless he somehow knew what would transpire, and somehow, Gwendolyn feared he might. Considering the Faeries’ gift of prophecy for her, it really made her wonder.
Hisicebourneeyes glinted hard as he shrugged off of his cloak. “I’ll be back,” he said. “Please stay.” And then, daring Gwendolyn to refuse by the dark look on his face, he handed her his cloak.
Arms crossed, Gwendolyn didn’t at once accept it, defying him for reasons she didn’t altogether comprehend. She was truly grateful to have him again by her side, so why couldn’t she stop being angry?
“No fire,” he added. “It’s too risky.”
For the longest moment, they locked gazes, and Gwendolyn wished so desperately to tell him no, she didn’t want his cloak. She wanted to go where he went, and despite this, there was a warning in his manner that dissuaded her, and she seized the cloak, even as it vexed her.
“Yes, of course!” she said, and she wondered inanely if the offer of the cloak was a purposeful decision made so he could keep his distance from her—Gods forbid they should share it. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be back,” he said again, without further explanation, and then he marched into the woods, leaving Gwendolyn to stare after him, vanishing so swiftly that she was forced to blink, mistrusting her vision. It must be the hob cake, she decided. Playing tricks on her mind.
ChapterThirteen
One bell. Two bells. Three bells.
If there were bells to ring, that’s how many Gwendolyn believed must have passed all the while she paced. Without thinking, she lifted Málik’s cloak to her face, inhaling deeply of his scent—a musky woodland spice unique only to him. But then, catching herself in the act, she tossed the cloak away, beside an old ash tree.
What was wrong with her?
Why did his presence in her life always turn to matters of the heart when there were more important matters to consider?
Where had he gone? Having spent more than enough time alone with him to know his habits, Gwendolyn didn’t believe he’d slipped away for privacy, especially for so long.
Down in thosefogous,it was always Gwendolyn rushing off to tend to her needs. Again, today, all day, it was her, and Málik had stood waiting for her with no sign that he’d ever wandered away.
Indeed, for all that he was a living, breathing creature, he sometimes appeared to be altogether devoid of needs—no sleep, no food, no love, no affection. In all the time she’d known him there had been so few occasions when he’d appeared to covet anything at all, and… well… let us merely say it was difficult to understand his motives.
Clearly, that kiss had meant less to him than it had to her.
