Page 89 of Arise the Queen
He whispered into her mouth. “They’ll think it a patch of fog…”
Gwendolyn’s lips lifted at the corners. “On a clear night?”
His wicked smile unfurled, revealing the gleaming white of his fangs, and he pulled Gwendolyn into his arms, pressing their bodies close.
Gwendolyn responded with a soft moan, entangling her fingers into his hair as his lips unerringly found hers, and she trembled beneath the onslaught of his lips, wanting more, and more, and more…
Without apology, she tugged him away from the tree, and in one swift movement, shoved him back onto the soft ground, following him down. They landed together in a tangle of limbs and cloth, but there was no time to squander. His hands found and climbed her thighs, fumbling with her leathers until his fingers found her laces. Tomorrow might bring blood and battle, death and despair, but tonight was for love.
Tonight was theirs.
42
Gwendolyn wasn’t certain what woke her.
It wasn’t a sound.
The world lay still beneath a blanket of night, with only a glimmer of stars peeking through a velvety night. The mist that had concealed was gone. Still, she didn’t stir… only listening, blinking herself free from her veil of slumber.
Somehow, she had slept peacefully—a dreamless, restful sleep, despite yesterday’s horrors—and she wondered if that, too, was a gift from Málik, ensuring that she would be ready to face this day.
It didn’t hurt matters one bit that he had loved her so thoroughly, leaving her languid and sated, but she was still a little muddled from that as well.
A twig snapped in the distance, and she held her breath, though an eerie stillness persisted thereafter. Even the birds slept, and she lay still, until the silence grew deafening, as though the forest itself held its breath…
Beside her, Málik stirred, and only then did she feel it… a rumble of thunder… But nay,notthunder.
The ground shook.
No sooner had she realized what it was, Málik bolted upright, his blue eyes wide and alert, scanning their surroundings, quickly understanding. Intuitively, his hand reached for the sword lying beside him, and for a moment, he barely moved or made a sound as his gaze met Gwendolyn’s.
And now, footfalls—heavy and hurried—could be heard from the camp. The rustling of leaves, crunching beneath boots, grew louder as others felt it too, and understood.
“Riders,” said Málik, his voice a low growl, roughened by sleep.
Judging by the reverberations, they were still miles away, but not that far. Gwendolyn nodded, then pounced into motion, gathering weapons, preparing as quickly as possible.
Blood and bones!
Clearly, she had not been careful enough—too complacent after months of travel with no sign of Locrinus or his troops.
How stupid, she told herself. How witless!
How could she not have expected the worst?
Caradoc had been so certain, but all it took was one scout to spy them.
The sound of hooves grew louder, and louder, until it became a ceaseless rumble. She gave Málik one last glance before they parted ways—Málik to lead his Fae, and she to find her men. A moment of silent understanding passed between them—full of love but uncertainty. And then she turned to go.
“Ambushed!” she shouted, as she ran through the camp to warn her sleeping troops, rousing all she could, with no time to spare.
In the distance, a legion of silhouettes emerged against a brightening sky—soldiers on horseback with an army afoot behind them.
“Prepare to fight!” Gwendolyn commanded, her voice laced with iron.
Sleeping forms pounced from their pallets, gathering weapons.
Archers readied their bows. Taryn hurried amongst them, inserting arrowheads into a pail of yew poison.
