Page 62 of Arise the Queen
He fell silent, still watching her, and Gwendolyn glimpsed herself in the pond, watching the play of emotions on her face—sadness, anger… regret… love…
The time for prideful retorts was over. Gwendolyn was long past her childhood tempers, and whatever happened from here forth, she would not enter the unknown without speaking what was in her heart.
Nor would she have Málik soften the truth.
Rising at last, Gwendolyn turned to face him, only to discover his own expression had softened, his gaze searching hers.
“I love you, Gwendolyn,” he said plainly. “And yes, I would have taken your head. But know this… it would have destroyed me to do so. You must believe me when I tell you that those actions were not a reflection of my love for you.”
Gwendolyn’s lips trembled, conflicted. She longed to take refuge in her anger, but his sincerity disarmed her. But this was what she wanted, right?
Honesty?
Declarations of love?
Why couldn’t she say it back?
Had she ever?
No.
She had not.
Say it, she begged herself.
Say it!
And still she could not.
Gods.
Where now this damnable courage?
Her eyes locked with his, held him captive. “And yet… you once swore fealty to me, did you not?”
“I did,” he whispered.
“Did your word mean so little? Would you truly have ended my life if that meant betraying a vow to me?”
She longed to beg him to say no, but she knew he would not. But his expression softened, a hint of regret flashing through hiswinterbourneeyes as he took a step closer. “I swear on all that is sacred to my Faekind, I’d not willingly harm you. But…”
“I know,” she said brokenly.
“Gwendolyn,” he begged, and her heart ached at the truth evident in the single word. Too many conflicting emotionswarred within her, and Gwendolyn longed to trust in their bond despite circumstances designed to tear them apart. After everything, Aengus would, indeed, have his way.
Wouldn’t he?
Wasn’t that what he’d wanted?
For them to be parted?
Not all her memories of Aengus Óg were entirely unpleasant. Once upon a time, he’d been a beloved prince, content to be heir of nothing—until his envy had festered like Rot. Gwendolyn turned away, concealing a new prick of tears, and she knelt again, feigning at scooping up a palmful of water to splash upon her burning cheeks, and said softly, “How can we fight the Fates when they seek to part us? I know that… you know… I know… everything.”
“Amergin’s tongue is too loose,” he said.
“Do you prefer I remain in the dark?” she asked. “Would you leave me ignorant despite the task I face?”
“No,” he whispered. “I’d have you know… everything—all that I could not say on my own. Why do you think I brought Amergin?”
