Page 62 of The Queen's Huntsman
Both answers danced on the tip of her tongue, with the overwhelming desire to be spoken, and without truly intending to she opened her mouth to speak. It was only the prick of Málik’s blade that stopped her.
That sword.Remembering Esme’s disclosure—that no lies could be told with the sword at her throat, she prayed he’d not ask her again, because if he did, she might not hold back the words.
Even now, they longed to be spoken…
“It is true, Gwendolyn,” Málik whispered. “I am a predator. So is Esme, but if she has taunted you with such an ill-favored truth, it is only so you’ll remember: nothing is as it seems.”
Gwendolyn could smell him so near, his scent too intoxicating.
Never mind the sting of his blade, he pressed those hot lips against her flushed, sweat-dampened cheek, lingering an instant too long before dipping his head and parting his lips to nip one cold, sharp fang against the tender part of her throat. And then she couldn’t focus, her thoughts blurring, even as his blade continued to kiss her so coldly. She longed to turn around… fling herself into his arms.
And then he spoke again, lifting the fog in her brain.
“Esme lies, though she did not lie about this, Gwendolyn… I, too, smell desire,” he said, and her cheeks flushed. Blinking away all remaining confusion, she reared back, planting the heel of her boot over his knee. And then she wrested herself free, sliding away to glare at him.
Vexed, but not with Málik—feeling vulnerable, and not simply because he’d caught her unawares, and nearly forced her to confess her heart’s desires—she spun about, marching away.
His dark chuckle pursued her.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Málik quite bemused her.
She was undone by his teasing—if he didn’t want her, why did he seem so intent upon trifling with her? Or, perhaps it wasn’t flirtation, and it was all in her imagination, and she was doomed to mistake his every gesture, wishing it meant something more than it did.
That night, again, she had trouble sleeping. Was it any wonder?
She lay brooding over the day’s unpleasantness. Although for all the rudeness of Málik’s lesson, his words struck true to their mark—so much so that when she’d crawled atop her pallet, she went dragging her new sword. She kept it close thereafter, with the hilt cradled in her palm, ready to wield if she must.
War was not convenient. A surprise attack could happen at any moment. She had learned this in her training, and yet, it was one thing to know it and another to experience it.
Her people had too long been at peace, spoiled by the knowledge that, together with the Kingdom of Loegria, they were unmatched amidst the island’s tribes.
In the peak of their alliance, not even the Prydein had been a match for them, although, in truth, no one knew what strength lay in a united confederacy. Those northern tribes were only weaker because they were such a multitude of clans loosely governed by the Seven.
No doubt Locrinus meant to engage them, buthowwas the question… would he woo them as allies, or face them as foes?
And if he pursued an alliance, would her grandfather agree to it? There was no surety that the Prydein king would show loyalty to a granddaughter he’d never met.
Random thoughts hammered through her weary brain, all of them demanding answers, none of them producing any.
Peace was not Loc’s ultimate ambition, but he would say or do anything to move his game pieces across the board that was Pretania. He would ally himself with Prydein, lie to the Druids, promise the moon… but he would be satisfied with nothing less than annihilation.
She knew him well enough to know that by now.
And she was fairly certain she understood why he’d returned to Loegria, even after that city was taken, despite his contempt for his father’s achievements. He could endure nothing that reminded him of Gwendolyn’s worth. That’s why, even before he’d revealed his true self, he was already boasting about future conquests, setting his sights on the taking of Plowonida, instead of contenting himself knowing that someday he would rule both Loegria and Trevena, with a doting queen by his side—Gwendolyn before she’d understood what a villain he was.
And now, he would rape her beloved city, and leave it to ruin, and he would take his ill-earned rewards to his precious Troia Nova to start anew, with nothing to remind him of the people and places he’d destroyed to achieve his dreams.
Gwendolyn didn’t know yet what to do to stop him, but she knew it must be done.
Now, if Bryn and Ely revealed Loc’s intentions to the Iceni, would they take Plowonida for themselves? Defy the Brothers’ Pact? Had Gwendolyn done the Catuvellauni a disservice?
Gods.It was not so easy to lead and now she understood why her father was so often prickly about her studies and her training, even before he’d grown so ill.
Tomorrow, she would begin afresh by practicing with her sword, even in the saddle, become accustomed to its weight and feel, until it felt like an extension of her person.
The enemy would not care whether she was distracted, or whether she ate, or didn’t eat, nor whether she felt weak, or sick, or tired. Every decision she made henceforth must be wiser, more thoughtful, designed, not solely for the moment, or for the future, but with all things in mind.
