Page 15 of The Cornish Princess
Behind Málik came two of her mother’s Shadows.
And then, for the ultimate insult… Queen Eseld herself.
Evidently,King Brutus had sent a messenger ahead to announce their early arrival. Gwendolyn and Bryn missed him by two blinks of an eye. Any instant, the Loegrian party was due to arrive, and despite this, her father had called everyone of consequence into his hall to witness Gwendolyn’s censure—the first such reprimand she’d ever received in her life.
Outside, in the corridor, she could hear servants rushing about, shouting for last-minute preparations. But despite Queen Eseld’s need to oversee such arrangements, the commotion didn’t faze her at all. Her darkened eyes remained fixed upon Gwendolyn, narrowed and wrathful.
“I know not what to say,” said the King, and the look on his face was one of bitter disappointment.
Yet Gwendolyn didn’t understand why he should be so angry.
Was it the simple fact that she’d gone swimming with Bryn when so much needed to be done? Or was he enraged because her mother was? Or were they both simply furious because she had allowed Bryn to skirt his duties? And with Bryn for allowing her to avoid hers?
Mayhap all these things, but it still made so little sense, considering that the only thing that had changed since yesterday afternoon was the simple fact that her betrothed was en route to the city. She understood that both she and Bryn had other, more important duties to tend to, but the diversion had been harmless, and how many times had she done precisely the same as she’d done today—each time no one ever said a word.
“You’re a woman, grown,” said the Queen. “Betrothed!”
Soon.
Not… yet.
She wanted to say it aloud, but the words simply wouldn’t emerge through the constriction in Gwendolyn’s throat.
Blood and bones.
She had never seen such a look of fury on her father’s face.
She wanted to speak in her own defense, but words simply would not come—particularly when she saw her father’s face had turned so florid, and his trembling hand clutched at his chest, as though in pain. For a terrifying instant, Gwendolyn worried—for the witnesses he’d welcomed into his hall. Would they now discover the illness that was slowly claiming him? All because of her!
The circular window above his throne filtered in the sunlight, bright enough to cast her father’s face in shadow to those who were not so near, but she was, and she could see how pallid his skin had turned.
Gods, if he died, here and now, she would blame herself evermore.
Gwendolyn swallowed convulsively, fear clutching at her heart. Behind her, she was acutely aware of both Málik and Bryn—the latter anxious, the former filled with loathing.
Everyone present within the King’s hall now waited as King Corineus calmed himself, and with her mother seated at his side, gave Gwendolyn a scolding unlike any she’d had in all her days. “The time for disobedience is done,” he said, when he could. “Very soon you’ll be consigned to a wife’s duties.”
“Nay,” interjected her mother. She placed a hand upon her husband’s arm, perhaps to settle him, despite her own ire. “A queen’s duties,” she reminded gently.
“Do you know what this means, child?”
“Please, Corineus,” begged her mother. “Do not call her that any longer. I warrant ’tis the reason she behaves like one—because we do not expect better. She has lived no less than seventeen winters, and I was the same age when I came to be your bride.”
“Truly,” he said.
And then, with a heavy sigh, her father pressed two fingers to his forehead, as though he didn’t know what more to say or do—or perhaps he was already taxed by the ordeal.
For the good of the realm, the two must remain in accord, always of a single mind—lately, most often her mother’s, Gwendolyn thought bitterly. She would not leave here today without discipline. King Corineus spoke now, only covering his eyes. Like a veil, his hand slid down to cover his face. “So it seems… the time has come for me to take sober measures.”
And then, after a moment, he withdrew his hand from his face to reveal eyes that were dark and swirling with disappointment. He flicked a glance at Bryn. “As of today, Bryn Durotriges will no longer serve you,” he declared.
Gwen’s heart leapt in protest. She found her voice at last. “Nay! Why?”
“Silence!” her father barked. “Your mother speaks true, Gwendolyn. He cannot be trusted to perform his duties like a man—very much like you, he remains only a child, subject to a child’s whims. Proof of this is plain to see.”
He then turned to Bryn. And it was in that instant that Gwendolyn understood what true peril she’d placed her friend in, because the man who regarded him now was not at all familiar to Gwendolyn. He was not her father, but the King.
He sat straighter, his eyes smoldering like coals. In them, Gwendolyn saw the fury and determination with which he’d once lifted and disposed of the giant Gogmagog, even suffering from broken ribs, tossing his broken body into the sea.
