Page 42 of A Crown So Cursed
He nodded again. “Gwendolyn?—”
Esme interrupted. “Yes, I know. This is why I am here. I have a plan.”
“Youhave a plan?” Gwendolyn asked.
“Really, don’t look so surprised!” Esme protested.
“What plan?” Málik demanded, and Esme cast him a narrow-eyed glance.
“You must learn to trust me, Brother!”
“Once again, not your brother,” Málik said, staring at her.
“For once, Málik, trust me. I vow to protect your bride with my life.”
“And if I refuse?”
Esme’s laughter rang with genuine delight. “But you won’t,” she said. “Because so much as you would like me to believe else wise, you trust me—face it. You know, all I have ever done—regardless of how it ever looked—I have done forher.”
She turned briefly to Gwendolyn and smiled warmly, and Málik growled again, but he didn’t disagree. “Now, what I really need you to do is—” She fluttered her hand, gesturing to the room at large. “Dress yourself and go. Leave us! Return to your Shadow Court. Convince them to alter the date of Gwendolyn’s trial.”
“Why?”
“To give us time, of course.”
“They won’t,” he said.
“No, of course they won’t. But in the meantime, you will interject a word here and there about how upset your bride is, and that she’ll not eat, drink…or leave this chamber.”
“She won’t leave this chamber,” Málik said firmly.
“Well… and Iamupset,” Gwendolyn allowed.
Only not quitethatupset.
In truth, Gwendolyn was suddenly famished, because she now had the taste of hope in her mouth—like honey and nutmeg layered atop old sorrow, and it shocked her how easily those flavors mingled on her tongue.
“Again, I ask: Why?”
“I canonlytell Gwendolyn,” Esme maintained. “But don’t worry, Málik, when you return,shewill tell youeverything!”
“And what will you two do in my absence?”
Esme batted her lashes. “Finish devising my plan, of course.”
Málik frowned. “Will you enlighten me before I go?”
“No,” returned Esme with a smile.
“She speaks true,” declared another voice emanating from the center of the room. The Púca suddenly materialized in the center of the bed in his cat form. His fur shimmered between shades of shadow and light, adding a surreal edge to the already charged atmosphere. Málik’s expression shifted from suspicion to reluctant acceptance as he regarded the creature.
“What is this? A fayre?”
“Well, it could be,” said Esme lightly.
“So you agree with her?” he asked the Púca, his voice heavily laced with incredulity.
The Púca shrugged—as well as cats could shrug, and Málik turned on Esme. “Very well, but if any harm befalls her...”
