Page 74 of The Queen's Huntsman
“Gods! It’s true,” whispered Taryn, her voice filled with awe. “It’s all true!” she said as she knelt.
ChapterThirty-Five
Drawn by Taryn’s shout, an audience gathered as Málik sliced more hair, and more gold tumbled into Gwendolyn’s lap. A collective gasp rose as he cut more, and more and more gold fell.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Málik kept snipping, and snipping—if only to prove that his eyes did not deceive him.
But no.
A thousand years of emotion caught in the lump at his throat, like dry cake left unswallowed.
Gold.
The hair on her lap was…
Gold.
And he knew.
He knew by the look in her eyes. By her face laid bare. By the way her silent tears slid over the apple in her cheek, and those achingly familiar lips, quivering, but emitting no sound.
All at once he was transported to a field by the lake at the Dragon’s Mouth, with sunflowers blooming under a warming sun.
More than anything, he longed to close the distance between them, take her into his arms and kiss her, find some way to make her remember who she was, but there were forces beyond his bearing that would stop at nothing to keep them parted.
Accepting their love, embracing her now, mating with her, would not only put her prophecy at risk, but her life as well, and he could not bear it if he lost her again.
He turned to peer at Esme and saw the truth writ upon her face.
How long had she known?
What role in this had she played?
Suddenly, so much made sense.
What of his father? Did he know, too?
Did everyone but him?
Was this again why, no matter how much he’d longed to be free of Gwendolyn’s influence, he’d returned here again and again?
By Balor’s unholy breath, soon enough, he would be forced to serve her unto his father in order for her to fulfill her destiny—her Prophecy. But if he did so, with him by her side, as her lover, it would seal her fate… yet again.
Outraged, unable to finish the task, Málik handed the blade to Esme, his eyes darkening to the color of storm clouds, urging her to seize it from him—before he could be tempted to gut Esme with the infamous blade as well.
They locked gazes, Esme reveling in the moment, and he understood she had wanted this truth to come to light—that she could not tell him herself only meant that she was bound by promises.
Bound to whom? To the Moytura Konsel? To her father? To the Sisters?
After a moment, she took the blade, her smile all-too-knowing, uncowed by Málik’s fury, but knowing the task must be completed and she was the only one who could do it in such a fashion to soften Gwendolyn’s appearance. He trusted her to do that for his dragon queen—the lover his father stole from him, withholding her fate and her name.
And every time he came close to finding her again, she was slain again—martyred for his father’s amusement.
