Page 43 of Arise the Queen
The hand at her side clenched of its own accord. “Yes. But I told you that last night. I would be in Caledonia before the winter.”
“One day will make no difference,” he argued, and the intensity in hiswinterbournegaze burned brighter than any flame, a clear sign of the temper he, too, held in reserve. But his fury was no more potent than that which raged within Gwendolyn. No doubt, he had inherited a burden along with his new crown, but the reality of this truth was yet another barrier between them.
And no matter, despite the wall of anger she’d erected between them, she was weak in his presence… It galled her.No, she told herself.
No.
No.
No.
She could not afford to let down her guard. She had a duty to her people, and Málik’s betrayal was not something she could easily overlook.
Straightening her spine, Gwendolyn met his gaze, a glint of defiance in her storm-blue eyes. She had already given the order and she would not rescind it, no matter what he said.
His second mistake was to give her that too-familiar look of concern—a look she had seen too oft before discovering his true nature. And her temper rose.
“Art certain we should not rest?—”
“No,” Gwendolyn interrupted, her tone firm.
Even now, he had nothing to say for himself? Her nostrils flared and her chest heaved with suppressed anger. She spun away, starting down the path again, leaving Málik to follow, though she did not invite him to join. She did not need or wish to be coddled by him. He should never concern himself with her welfare again!
“Gwendolyn,” he beseeched.
She whirled on him when the sound of his footfalls persisted behind her. “Doyourtroops need rest?”
“Nay,” he allowed.
“Nor do mine,” Gwendolyn returned, very much aware of the absurdity of this declaration.Hertroops comprised two people, perhaps three,ifshe counted Lir. Her cheeks flushed, but she turned about and kept walking, quickening her pace.Blood and bones—she had to keep walking, because if she stood still one moment longer, she feared what she might do. It was a dangerous game they played, sparring with words as they would with weapons—a dance between a wolf and a lamb, but this lamb now had a sword that burned with the fire of righteousness, and she would not be cowed, or subdued. No doubt, she was grateful to Málik for lending his warriors, but at the moment, she could not rise above her outrage.
“You’ve only recently returned,” he argued. “It is no small thing to pass from one realm to another, especially if expelled.”
Once again, Gwendolyn turned to face him, aghast. “Expelled?” She had not considered such a thing, or that he would possess such a power.
“Yes,” he said. “The power to expel a soul from the Fae realms belongs to the King alone. Upon his demise, it passed to me, and I did not know how Aengus’ death would be received. I did it for your own good.”
Gwendolyn did not know what to say. “I am well enough to ride,” she insisted, and turned about again, calling over her shoulder, “Do you believe that merely because I am a woman I must have some need to lie abed for days only to mend my broken heart?” Only belatedly, she realized what she had said, and she winced over her poor choice of words. Her chest tightened at his tone filled with concern.
“Does your heart need mending, Gwendolyn?”
“Nay,” she lied. “It does not!”
One last time, she turned to face him, tempering her anger as best she could. This was neither the time nor the place for a battle of wills. “Truly, Málik,” she said, with more restraint. “Do not fret. I am well enough to travel, and there will be time enough to rest when I am dead.”
Far sooner thanhe, because she now had a painful new awareness of the differences between them. He shouldered his feelings with too little concern—and why not? He was immortal! He had more than enough time to heal from heart wounds, and she—well… she did not know what she was, but Gwendolyn knew she bled as any mortal bled, and she indubitably would suffer this mortal coil.
Gods’ blood. If she didn’t need him and his army so desperately, she would send him to fly from the nearest parapet.
“I am well enough. To ride,” she said once more, straightening her spine. She had no choice but to be strong. Anything less would leave her too weak, and with or without that sword, strength was the only position she could afford to promote. Despite this, she softened a bit, because with anger as a constant companion, this would prove to be a lengthyjourney. “Already we’ve lost too much time,” she reasoned. He stood a moment as her eyes burned into his—not with anger this time, but with loathsome tears. Before she could betray herself, she turned away, resuming her march down the path without another word.
For his part, Málik watched her go, then he turned to make his way back up the ramp. Gwendolyn knew, not because she peered over her shoulder—she didn’t dare—but because she was excruciatingly aware of every sound he made.
Once in the stables, she discovered three of the four mares already saddled, each with satchels full. Only Daithi was absent, and she determined Málik must have claimed her, but she couldn’t know for certain because, of course, she’d yet to visit his Fae camp. And neither did he invite her.
It didn’t matter. She had more important matters to consider.
Fortunately, this time, they should not have to hold back their pace for Lir. Their young healer could resume his fellowship with Sheahan, whilst Esme’s mare, Lorcan, would suit Bryn well. Because Bryn had been absent from their company when Esme originally gifted the mares, he’d never received one of his own. But since Esme was nowhere to be found, she could find herself another. Gwendolyn was still peeved by her absence, although Bryn should well appreciate the appointment of his lover’s horse—or at least Gwendolyn believed he and Esme were lovers. As yet, she had had no opportunity to question him about it, though if her memory of the night Málik shoved her through the portal were accurate, it stood to reason her memory of Esme and Bryn cavorting in his bower must be true as well.
