Page 31 of A Crown So Cursed
Once everyone had drunk, Gwendolyn stole a sip of the sweet, heady wine, and was wholly unprepared for the taste of it. Like stars exploding, a burst of flavor ignited upon her tongue—rich and complex, unlike any wine she had ever tasted. Its warmth spread swiftly through her, and she felt a strange mix of exhilaration and calm. Hadn’t someone once warned her—Lir, perhaps—that mortals should never eat or drink Fae fare? But this was pleasant, not unlike Hob cake. Another sip sent more heat creeping through her veins, along with an abiding tranquility that softened the edges of her anxiety.
And now, despite that the court’s attention remained fixed upon her—all those thinly veiled smiles—she met them with a steady gaze. “To me!” she dared say aloud, and hiccupped.
Beside her, Málik chuckled as, one by one, more toasts were followed by the clinking of goblets and eventually, the hall returned to its normal ambience and the harp resumed as well.
Feeling less stressed, Gwendolyn took her seat, wondering why he had not sent her a pint of that wine while leaving her to dress.
All was well.
She was well.
But why shouldn’t she be with Málik at her side?
As the feast unfolded, Gwendolyn allowed herself to relax into the evening. Peering about the room, she took in the lavish decorations and the bountiful feast laid out, and hiccupped again.
“I believe you’ve had enough…for now,” Málik said with a gleam in his eyes. Reaching out, he slid the goblet from her fingers, setting it down.
Gwendolyn’s cheeks burned, but nothing could diminish her smile—not even the sight of Lirael Silvershade seated beside her bird-beaked mother.
“I would ask what’s in that,” she said, laughing. “But I expect you to reply with the same maddening ambiguity as you did over Hob cake!”
She hiccupped again, and Málik chortled again, his laughter like music to Gwendolyn’s ears.
“That,” he explained, “is one of the finest vintages from the Eternal Vigne—the vineyard of Zeus himself. Fit only for such an occasion.” He whispered low now, “It graceseverytable this eve. But take care. Its magic is subtle but potent.”
“Too potent for mortals?” Gwendolyn dared to ask, a tinge of melancholy tainting her mirth. Still, her smile returned when Málik reached out to brush a stray curl from her face, then kissed her cheek.
“All you need ever remember,” he said softly, “is that you are as much of this world as you are of Cornwall.” His tone was light, but his eyes were sober.
“My arrival has unsettled so many. Emrys showed me what they did to him.”
He lifted a brow. “Showed you?”
Gwendolyn lifted her shoulder, nodding. “He also said they have not left Tech Duinn for years. Until the guards arrived, I feared this might also be my fate.”
“Theywilllearn to embrace you,” Málik reassured, and Gwendolyn sighed.
Despite the return of her memory, she could hardly expect anyone to accept her so readily, and neither could she tell them all she knew—not even Málik realized as yet.
This moment didn’t feel like the proper time to speak of such a revelation—not with a thousand eyes trained upon them. So, with a breath drawn deep, she steadied herself against the inevitable trials of the evening and attempted to enjoy the feast. It wasn’t difficult, especially with the help of the wine.
Forsooth. It was difficult not to findsomejoy when her senses were assaulted by a cavalcade of tastes and scents. Every dish that passed beneath her nose was more enticing than the last, and despite her earlier reservations, she sampled a few bites. The flavors were exquisite.
Throughout the evening, Málik remained attentive, his hand finding hers beneath the table—a far different partner at this table than she had known before.
Indeed, during their previous time together, she could only recall one occasion they had shared plates, or even dined at the same table—in her uncle’s house. There, for the very first time, Gwendolyn had wondered what sort of partner he would be…and even dared wonder how the Fae made love—a titillating lesson she’d learned for herself whilst in the Druid village.
The Fae weremagnificentlovers—very well-endowed and deliciously corporeal, but there was a fusion of body and spirit that heightened every sensation. Even now, Gwendolyn found herself eager for another…reunion, and a blush warmed her cheeks.
Catching her gaze, Málik gave her a knowing smile.
Meanwhile, beneath the table, he squeezed her hand.
That’s how they spent the evening…with playful exchanges.
As the feasting dwindled, the music softened, turning the “night sky” above into a velvet darkness, pin-pricked with starlight so that the entire Hall shimmered. Every so often, Málik leaned in, his words meant for her ears alone—a private jest, or some sly observation.
“That one,” he murmured, tilting his chin toward a willowy Fae with hair like spun gold, “is Lady Síofra. She once challenged me to a duel to the death over a slight to her nose.”
