Page 73 of Arise the Queen

Page List

Font Size:

Not Baugh.

Not Málik.

Gwendolyn.

Smiling, because there were those who said this could not be done, she sat taller in the saddle, shoulders back, chin up, head high, filling her lungs with the indomitable scent of hope—purple moor-grass, cocksfoot and wood-sedge—pure and sweet, all untainted by the scent of decay.

35

No longer willing to waste a precious moment, Málik rode beside Gwendolyn, greedy for every word that came from her beautiful lips… every glance… every soul-cleansing sigh. He measured the moments by her smiles…

By every cocksure lift of her brow.

Every scrunch of her freckled nose.

Every twinkle in her storm-blue eyes.

Gwendolynwas his one true love.

And once more, he was fated to lose her.

This time by choice.

In the end, he could not stay.

She would not go.

Twice he’d asked her to come with him, twice she’d refused, and he would not ask her again, knowing this was her life’s purpose.

And he had never been more proud to know and love her.

Like a goddess, she rode at the helm of her new army, her golden locks flying at her back like a banner unfurled, sunlight catching the brilliant strands, spinning them into ribbons of gold. With quick work, she had accomplished the impossible—defeating the Fae king and then uniting these northern thanes under one banner.

She’d also won his heart, when he’d feared he had no heart left to win. With a sigh, he remembered the first moment he ever saw her… as Niamh of the Golden Hair.Defiant. Proud.Furious with her father for presenting her as a ward to the new Fae king. She’d called Aengus a tyrant, and her father as well, foreswearing both.

It was also she who’d begun the rebellion against Aengus, and she who’d won Esme to her cause. It was also she who’d convinced Málik to seek the truth about Aengus, as well as his father.

How much he had admired her, even when he was too blind to see the truth. And how dearly he grew to love her. How utterly furious he had been when Aengus stole her away.

How long he had searched…

And now, here they were, and he would do anything for her—anything, except… stay. To honor this dream of hers, he would lead his Faekind into a kinder, gentler future. Because, if her memory should ever return, and he’d dared abandon his seat, even if it was to remain by her side, she would despise him for his weakness—for wasting an opportunity to make a difference when she and her rebellion worked so hard to unseat the “Usurper.”

And no matter that the Fae did not recognize her in her mortal form, she was doing the same… again… fighting another Usurper.

It could be no coincidence she was chosen to lead by those wiser than he. For Gwendolyn, he had assumed the crown of horns… and, for the same reason, he had declined to wear his crown in this mortal realm… to give the Queen of Cornwall her due. He watched her now—the arch of her back as she leanedbackward in the saddle to stare up into the cloudless heavens… her beautiful face… her golden skin, perfectly kissed by the sun.

In a heartbeat, he would bow at her feet. These mortals were fortunate to have her and still… not a one of them understood how precious she was… how unmatched… How rare a soul, who did not waver from her destiny, no matter what face she wore.

Now and again, he studied her face, trying so hard to see the image of Manannán’s daughter, Curcog, but this visage was lost to him now. She was, as she claimed, Gwendolyn of Cornwall to the marrow of her bones… and he loved her still.

A mortal queen with a Faerie soul.

Suddenly, she peered back at him, catching him staring, though she mistook the reason for the glint in his eyes—it was not lust, but love.

She grinned. “Not long now,” she said, winking, and for the briefest instant, he saw her face as it once was… that seductive curl to those beautiful lips, the fangs that peeked beneath… promising anew a melding of their lifeblood—and the vision gave him hope. It stirred his blood until it simmered like fire through his veins.

And then she peered back at the army that followed, tilting her head in a rare moment of unsuppressed exultation, and the image of Curcog was gone.