Page 12 of A Crown So Cursed
Two thoughts assault my brain at once—one of relief, and one of dread…for chaos is what she brings today, even if she comes in peace.
For a moment, the entire world holds its breath.
The whispers of my court fade away.
All I see is her—the one who haunts my dreams.
And the sight of her fills me with a wild, reckless hope.
ChapterFour
Resplendent in black, dressed in attire that hinted at the import of this occasion, Málik stood atop the King’s Dais, the Horned Crown perched upon his brow. And seeing him there, Gwendolyn was seized by a terrible sense of déjà vu with the courtiers crowding the hall, attired in the most lavish of finery, their silks and jewels glittering beneath the torchlight.
She could not look away from Málik.
There was a question in his eyes—his blink one of surprise. But then, just as swiftly, the shock in his gaze hardened into something altogether inscrutable, and her belly plunged.
It was as though the air itself thickened; the moment stretching taut between them, and Gwendolyn could not help but wonder what he saw when he looked at her now, clothed in her mother’s wedding gown and the battered cloak given to her by Arachne.
She braced herself, heart pounding, as she waited for whatever would come next.
Was he displeased at seeing her after so long?
Had she misjudged their bond?
Let her heart lead her into folly?
Gwendolyn stood unsure of herself.
Uncertain what to say next.
Uncertain what to do.
Between them stood his courtiers, caught mid-motion like terrible, beautiful statues, their faces a study in shock. But the moment they registered who had dared interrupt their revels, the change was swift and ugly: lips peeled back to show porbeagle teeth, anger drawing their mouths tight, eyes narrowing with naked loathing. For a heartbeat, the air thickened with their hatred, and not one of them bothered to hide it—not from him, nor from each other.
Clearly, she had interrupted some grand affair. The hush that fell was suffocating, but—she swallowed—she was here now, and she would not be moved until she had said what she came to say.
No matter how many eyes turned to her, no matter how the courtiers bristled at her intrusion, Gwendolyn set her jaw and stood her ground. The air was thick with expectation, and for a moment, she almost faltered, but she forced herself to breathe. It was not as though she could vanish, nor would she wish to. Let them glare. Let them whisper behind their jeweled hands. She would not be cowed by their disdain. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she would endure their scrutiny, their little barbs and jests, until her purpose was fulfilled. If she must stand, alone, before the assembled court, then so be it. She would not yield—not now, not ever. She lifted her chin, refusing to betray her nerves. Here, she would stay, and she would speak, even if it cost Gwendolyn her life.
Only then, when her message was delivered, would she allow herself to go.
Not before.
Already, she’d given up too much.
It was too late to turn back.
Her father made it known that he could not return before the turning of the season; and therefore, if Málik turned her away, Gwendolyn would have nowhere to go.
Gods.The thought of wandering those dark, endless passages gave her a chill, but she did not allow anyone to see her fear. Lifting her chin, she met Málik’s gaze, her fingers curling into fists as she took another steadying breath, her heart hammering painfully.
Gods knew she needed to say something—explain her presence—but her voice was lost.
And really, she hadn’t intended to speak her heart in front of so many witnesses…
Or with so many glares fixed upon her.
Twenty-two years…
