Page 73 of The Queen's Huntsman
Buthewas still uncertain.
“When I face the Catuvellauni king,” she reasoned. “I will not have him look at me as so many have—like a child, a slip of a girl, a shade of his own son. I would have him see at me as his equal.”
“He may never look at you that way,” Málik said, but not unkindly. “It is a failing of men to admire their own likeness.”
“Nevertheless,” Gwendolyn told him. “It must be done…” She flicked a quick glance at Bryn. “If my closest friend, my Shadow, will not do me the honor, I beg you then, as my… friend… as my—”
Unwilling to hear what else she would call him, he stepped forward quickly, his smoke-filled eyes glinting as sharply as Borlewen’s blade. But before the snip, they shared one final glance.
At that moment,it was just the two of them… Gwendolyn and Málik. All others faded away. Including Bryn and Esme.
Gwendolyn dared to speak with her eyes.
My love,she thought. “’Tis only fitting you should do it,” she whispered, and though she didn’t confess why, she knew… he knew. She could tell by the look in his eyes.
He knew.
It didn’t matter if he couldn’t love her in return. She loved him truly. And regardless of what came next, she would have no regrets.
From the day of Gwendolyn’s birth, she was told that her hair was her crowning glory. It was the means by which her true love would someday prove his love for her. The snipping of her hair would heal her. It would remove any doubt anyone had that she was only waiting for a man to save her. And even if Málik loved her, he was already promised to another. Neither was he a king nor a prince, only a lowly huntsman. She could not rule with a commoner by her side, not even be he Fae. Therefore, when he snicked her hair, he would not do so for confirmation of his right to wed Cornwall’s queen… he would do it… because she’d asked it of him. No more.
At long last, he nodded, and for a moment, he seemed uncharacteristically shy, unhurried, even hesitant to touch her. Gwendolyn dug her fingers into her thighs, preparing herself as the last ray of sunlight dipped under the distant trees, turning the entire hillside a rosy gold.
The breeze shifted, then seemed to hold…
They shared one final look, and Gwendolyn sensed the question in his gaze. “Do it,” she whispered. “You must.”
He nodded, then reached out to tangle his fingers into her hair, and Gwendolyn’s head fell back with a gasp at the feel of his hands in her curls.
Blood and bones.
She felt his touch even in the tips of her breast as he tugged on a curl… pulling it straight… preparing to snip… but first, ever so slowly… caressing between his long fingers… admiring it.
Unshed tears burned her eyes, and she closed them against the indignity of it—not because he was about to cut her hair, but because she couldn’t bear the feel of his hands or the look in his eyes as he cut it.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded softly. “I would have you look at me whilst I do it, Gwendolyn. I must be certain you’ll not regret this, nor loathe me for complying.”
Then, uncaring of the audience, he added, “I’ve always thought your hair so beautiful. I would cut outhisheart only for this… and now you will ask me to do the same.”
Traitorous tears gathered in Gwendolyn’s eyes, caught by her thick lashes. But she prayed they would not fall, lest he mistake them.
He thought her hair beautiful?
Never once had he said so.
Nor did she remember him ever speaking to her with such tenderness.
There was a sadness in his eyes that she wanted so badly to allay… but not here… not now.
She lifted her gaze to his, careful not to blink.
Gods.He, too, had unshed tears glistening in his ice-blue eyes, glittering like diamonds—fierce as the blade in his hand.
“You must,” she persisted, and with a final nod, he swept the blade forward to snick.
One lock fell… and then… solidified upon her knee… one unmistakable coil of pure gold.
In the distant woodlands, a murder of crows erupted from trees, screaming into the heavens.
