Page 32 of A Crown So Cursed
Gwendolyn’s lips twitched. “Did you?”
“Slight her nose?” His mouth curved, dark with mischief. “I may have,” he confessed, eyes alight. “I think I suggested it preceded her into rooms by a full breath.”
Laughter bubbled up from Gwendolyn’s belly—a sound she had not made in far too long. It startled her how easily it came.
“She is someone you should know. I warrant she’ll be your dearest friend,” he said, and then he looked her over, then again at Lady Síofra, who lifted her glass in greeting, her smile genuine and bright.
Málik watched her. “A divination?” she asked, but he only shrugged.
“I simply wondered if you had any memory of her,” he said, and Gwendolyn glanced again at the noble Fae, who smiled once more, as though she already knew something Gwendolyn did not.
Gwendolyn shook her head.
Clearly, notallher memories had returned, and a veil of disappointment shrouded the evening. Thereafter, she studied the courtiers—every one—trying to discern who would be friend, and who would be foe. Repeatedly, her gaze returned to Lirael Silvershade, whose bright eyes were colder than a winter storm as she sat watching the dais.
Foe, she thought.
Decidedly foe.
In truth, Gwendolyn did not doubt for an instant that if she crossed paths with Lirael in some unlit corridor, the woman would not hesitate to run her through. There was a certain coldness about her—something that sent a shiver down Gwendolyn’s spine, and brought to mind Loc’s mistress, Estrildis. Estrildis, who had once delighted in Gwendolyn’s pain, and tortured her for endless months in Loegria.
Even now, as Gwendolyn recalled that time, the memory of it clung to her skin like a bruise that would never fade.
But this time, it was Gwendolyn in a position of honor, and she would not cow to Lirael’s disdain. Every line on the girl’s beautiful face, every scoff concealed poorly behind a sip of wine, and each whisper she shared with her mother and father was perhaps a broadcast of hostility meant for Gwendolyn to perceive. But the new queen of this Fae Court wouldn’t succumb to intimidation.
Not tonight.
She endeavored to ignore the girl as more servers appeared, bearing even more trays laden with delicacies the likes of which Gwendolyn had never seen—bright-colored fruits and pastries that puffed steam like miniature volcanos. Her curiosity piqued, she selected a small bite of fruit from the passing tray as an elder Fae leaned about to speak around her partner, presenting a question to Gwendolyn.
“Tell me…Gwendolyn…how do you find Tír na nÓg?”
Startled at first to be addressed so openly, Gwendolyn blinked, peering up at Málik to find his eyes mercurial—saying nothing, only observing.
A test?
“Quite lovely!” Gwendolyn replied.
The Fae woman’s eyes glinted with amusement—at Gwendolyn’s expense?
Indeed.
Her lips curled into a sneer. “Of course,” she agreed. “Yourhome must seem quite dull in comparison.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it intended to be polite. Her meaning was lost to none, but Gwendolyn knew better than to speak in defense of her mortal lands—not here, not now.
She also knew that angering these creatures would never serve her in the end, so she searched for precisely the right response. Lifting her chin, she allowed, “I would argue each realm possesses its own splendor,” she said diplomatically. “Butthisis now my home.”
The woman said nothing, and Gwendolyn glanced up at Málik to find amusement dancing in hisicebourneeyes. “Well played,” he said low.
A tenuous smile played at the corners of Gwendolyn’s mouth. “I learned to spar from the best,” she allowed, then whispered, “Esme” lest he assume the compliment for himself.
He laughed, and Gwendolyn reached for his thigh beneath the table, squeezing gently—but, oh, the feel, so…hard…sent her pulse skittering. It was not quite what she intended or expected, but again, the familiarity between them was lost to none.
“Careful,” he teased. “You will tempt a beast…”
The air between them sizzled with promise, and Gwendolyn’s breath caught.
“Perhaps that is my intent,” she whispered, and gave him a playful wink.
No longer was she the same innocent who’d once trembled over the thought of placing her virgin lips to the same goblet his lips had touched—nay, indeed.
