Page 39 of Arise the Queen
He was king of the Fae even as she was Queen of Pretania, and their destinies must eventually part them—Málik to his shadowy realms, and Gwendolyn to the only life she had known these past nineteen years.How could it be different?
Gwendolyn had never truly considered that, but no doubt Málik knew it. And the reality of this, too, he’d kept from her no less than he’d kept a hundred other secrets. It soured her mood all the more. Lies were not simply things one spoke untrue. How many times must she say so? They were also the things one held back, when speaking them might change too much. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest he should include the Fae in his assessment, because no matter how they might avow to hold truth, it eluded them still.
The sting of tears pricked at her eyes.
Eager for something to hold in her trembling hand, Gwendolyn retrieved her goblet again, lifting it to her lips, knowing he would bristle over her question, and perhaps, in truth, she meant to nettle him. “Still no word from your betrothed?”
His gaze snapped to her, his icy-blue eyes glinting sharply.
Clearly, he didn’t appreciate that she would ask after Esme—or how—but he should endeavor to see it her way. It had been a full year since the Feast of Blades. Gwendolynneededto know whether Esme had spoken true and her mother still lived. If her questions persisted, there was a reason for it. Whilst everyone else here was busy celebrating, Gwendolyn felt like a half-starved dog with the promise of a bone, and the very thing that might have bolstered her spirits was the hope of reuniting with her mother. It did not set well with her that Esme could so easily abandon her promises, nor that Málik could so easily discard her.
“I am not her keeper,” he snarled.
Gwendolyn took a long, slow sip, giving the mead time to coat her tongue before swallowing. It left a warm, sweet trail down the back of her throat, imbuing her with courage. “But youareher betrothed,” she persisted behind the rim of her cup, and her heart squeezed painfully when he did not deny the charge. She had not truly meant to say that again, but neither could she eradicate the image of those two together, hand in hand behind Esme’s father—with Málik preparing to take her head. And nay, she did not mistake those actions. She’d fought beside Málik too many times. One word from Aengus and she would not be here now… swirling this mead in her cup. No doubt, she had been overjoyed to see him this morning—relieved, as well—but that didn’t change the fact that she had come but a blade’s edgefrom finding her life’s blood spilt upon the Fae king’s dais, and it would have been Málik who’d shed it.
“She’ll return when it suits her,” he said with an affectation of boredom, shifting his weight in his chair to create more space between them, but Gwendolyn sensed his ire, and she bristled, longing so much to say his answer didn’t suit her.
And more, she had questions, such as, knowing what she knew now—that the Fae heldnolove formortal kind—how had Málik raised this army to fight on her behalf? What price had he paid for their swords?
And why, if she and Málik were lovers in her past life, would she ever allow herself to be hidden from him?
Why would Esme have known her whereabouts, but not Málik?
And why in the name of the Ancients would Gwendolyn ever agree to such a bargain, presumably sacrificing her immortality in the process?
There must be a reason for everything, and it galled her that Málik seemed so averse to speaking the truth. In fact, the only creature she trusted to tell her the truth—the entire truth, unvarnished—was the only one who’d remained absent from this celebration.
Whatever else Esme might be, she was theonlyone who’d ever dared speak only truth, not merely what Gwendolyn was meant to hear.
Inconceivable to imagine she trusted a troublesome, disagreeable Fae more than she did the one she loved.
“Gwendolyn?” Málik’s eyes flickered with a strange light, and Gwendolyn frowned, loathing the way he spoke her name… because…yegods… it left her weak and wanting. “Can you not rest easy… enjoy the celebration?”
“Nay,” Gwendolyn said, because she could not.
She could not pretend all was well and good when the one she loved sat so distantly beside her. She straightened in her chair as Málik reached for the plate before her, snapping off a bite of Hob cake. She watched him toy with that wafer, her body remembering the way his fingers had teased her nipples so intimately, and her cheeks bloomed with remembered heat.
Gods knew this was her first meal since her return from the Fae realm, and still she couldn’t rouse an appetite, although perhaps she feared to eat. Forbidden though it might be, these Druids had a penchant for Fae foods.
“May we not cry peace?”
“Peace?” Gwendolyn replied, pretending a coyness she didn’t feel. “Areweat war, my—” She leaned closer to ask, “What are you now, anyway? My huntsman, Shadow… lover…myking?”
He did not answer, and she couldn’t help but remember every time he’d so blithely knelt before her, declaring himself her servant. She had never truly asked him to do so, but now it seemed a cruel jest that he had.
“Shall I bend the knee to you now?”
His voice held an unmistakable note of flirtation. “I would not refuse it,” he said, his lips curling, showing her the very tip of one fang. “Although this act would not require obeisance…”
Gwendolyn’s cheeks burned.
Alas, innocence was no longer her refuge.
He lifted his shoulder, then sighed. “We seem at war, when, in truth, I amnotyour enemy,” he reassured, and there was something about the way he said it that promised to settle her heart. “I would not have lent you my warriors, if that be the case. Don’t you think?”
“Why did you?” she asked, not daring to look at him.
“Why do you believe?”
