Page 15 of A Crown So Cursed
Even now, uncertain of what the next moment would bring, she clutched at the fabric of his tunic, terrified he might vanish if she dared release him.
“I feared I would never see you again,” she whispered against his chest.
His arms tightened about her reassuringly. “And I you,” he confessed. But then he chuckled, squeezing again, this time more gently. “Oh, but what an entrance you made!”
Gwendolyn laughed.
“Not a moment too soon!”
Beyond the alcove, the court was a boiling pot of bellows. The din beyond their sanctuary rose, voices of dissent reverberating even into the alcove, and Gwendolyn grimaced.
“I see time has not softened their disdain for me?”
It wasn’t a question; the evidence was plain to see.
“We’ve faced insurmountable odds before,” he said, kissing her forehead.
Gwendolyn smiled wanly. “Now what? It appears…we’ve sparked a new rebellion.”
“Not I,” he said with a bit of that old mordacity coloring his tone. But then he peered down at her, a perfectly wicked smile tugging at the corners of his beautiful lips.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered.
He did not hesitate. “I am thinking we should give them what they demand. Tonight, you will emerge from this alcove—no longer a queen of men, but my bride.”
Gwendolyn’s heart thudded, a wild, unsteady rhythm. “Now?!”
He regarded her, his eyes softening, though his jaw remained set. “Do you think waiting will make a difference?”
She shook her head, and something in his expression shifted—tenderness mixed with resolve, as though some long-held burden had slipped from his shoulders at last. “Let us seize this moment,” he said, and squeezed her hand. “If you will have me?”
“I will!” The words left her lips before she could summon any protest. He caught her hand, swift and sure, and pulled her along behind him. Her pulse hammered against the cage of her ribs as they stepped out once more, into a sea of hostile faces.
Málik’s steady presence at her side was a balm, lending her strength she hadn’t realized she still possessed. But then, without warning, he lifted their joined hands. His voice rang out—clear, commanding, impossible to ignore.
“Behold! You asked for a queen! I present to you, Gwendolyn calon gadarn!”
Bold heart?She blinked at the sobriquet, then smiled, even as the court erupted into a storm of protest. In the tumult, she caught sight of the young Fae noblewoman—the one whose mother had barred her way to the dais. The girl’s eyes burned with venomous fury, her lips curling into a sneer. She glared at Gwendolyn for a long, simmering moment, then spun on her heel and bolted from the hall.
ChapterFive
Mortified, Lirael fled the King’s Hall.
She was so utterly furious tears would not come. But then, it was not her heart that had been summarily crushed—simply her pride.
She darted through the corridors, every step echoing her fury, her breath heavy with indignation as she wove her way through the labyrinthine palace.
All her years of careful planning reduced to this!
Her father’s voice, persistent but distant, called to her, but she dared ignore him, hurrying her pace. Her silken gown, made to dazzle, now tore about her legs as her heels clicked against the old stone floor. She muttered an oath over the indignity of it all, and pressed forward, unswerving, until at last, she reached her private quarters, bursting inside, and slamming the door. Only then did she turn, her blue eyes glinting like blades against the half-light of her chamber.
She was incandescent with unspent rage as she waited for her father. But she didn’t have to wait long. He opened the door without bothering to knock, his imposing figure silhouetted against the flickering light of the corridor. Knowing enough not to speak with the door open, she intended to wait for him to enter and close the door, but her blue eyes smoldered with rage, her ire equal to her confusion, and she couldn’t wait. “He chose heroverme?!”
For a moment, Lord Elric said nothing—no apologies, no reassurances—and her voice trembled with barely contained rage. “A mortal, father! She took what is mine!”
She knew Málik did not love her. But neither did she covet his love. She wanted the Horned Crown and the legacy it would bring. She wanted what her father wanted—to see their blood rule at last. She turned to pace; her torn skirts tangling about her legs. Her beautiful new dress was ruined—all the careful detailing lost in her hurried escape.
“How could you stand by and do nothing!” she whined, once again turning on her father.
