Page 33 of The Cornish Princess
Conforming to his way, Málik said nothing, merely watched.
Once again, Gwendolyn gave him her back, continuing down to the beach, eager to be free of him. Only realizing she must have been a bore these past few hours, sulking over the Prince’s response to her Dancing Stones, she brightened her tone.
“There are peregrine nests to be found on these shoals,” she said. “If we find one, you may wish to carry one home?” She smiled widely. “As my betrothal gift.”
“Falcons?”
“Oh, yes! My father favors them for hunting.”
“Indeed,” he said, “I should like that.” And then he turned to peer over his shoulder, perhaps to assess the steep path whence they’d descended, because he said with a note of admiration, “You are quite able-bodied,Highness.”
Gwendolyn laughed. “As well I should be,Highness. I spent most of my youth climbing these bluffs.”
“Alone?” he asked, his voice lifting slightly.
“Oh, nay!” Gwendolyn felt better already without Málik to spy on them. “Always in the company of my Shadow.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “Your Shadow.”
Gwendolyn couldn’t tell by his tone whether that revelation displeased him, or whether it was her own guilty conscience that needled her—guilt for things she’d never until yesterday even questioned. After all, she was the princess of Cornwall, and she’d understood from the day of her birth what was expected of her. Never would she knowingly betray her duties, nor would she have imagined her parents wouldn’t trust her implicitly.
Really, it wasn’t as though she and Bryn had stood there ogling one another, nor did they swim in close proximity. It was all perfectly harmless, as it would have been with Ely.
And regardless, if anyone ever disrespected Gwendolyn, she wasn’t a hapless maid. Thanks to Bryn’s instruction, she was quite skilled with her blades—even without Málik’s interference. In all things, she was a woman of her own mind—as her father had taught her to be—and yet she was being punished for this now.
She could thank Málik for that.
Hewas the author of her misery, and though she realized the responsibility of charming her betrothed must fall to her alone, if she failed today, she would blame him, regardless.
Mercifully, though he must have senses keener than most, he couldn’t see around corners. The image of him standing atop the lay-by, eating his treat with a half-smile—as though he realized she’d meant to deprive him, and the treat was his recrimination—only filled her with more rancor. Hoping to salvage the day, she led Prince Locrinus down to the cove, and once there on the beach, she dared to entreat his hand, then led him to the Dragon’s Lair, a series of passages extending beneath their mountain, accessible only at low tide.
It was quite bold of her, she realized, and deep down, she heard Demelza’s note of whispered caution. But Prince Locrinus was now her betrothed—or he would be after tonight.
Still, she hesitated before going inside the cave, placing a hand to the cold stone, and turning to assess the bay, considering whether the tide was coming or going—something she normally knew as a matter of intuition. Today, however, her instincts felt…wrong.
“What’s this?” he asked, at last with some interest, and Gwendolyn’s sense of unease dissipated. Eager to tell him about the place where she used to play as a child, she explained the significance of the caves, and then told him about the Dragon’s Lair.
Like many of the rock formations found elsewhere, and the labyrinth carvings in the rock valley, the Dragon’s Lair had been here so long as men had memory.
It was only accessible by traversing the caves and emerging through to the other side. From there, it was possible to climb onto a stone alcove—a natural balcony of sorts. And there, nestled in the stone, by night and by sea, one could spy strange lights within the shallow cave—the fiery breath of the dragon, for which their standard was made.
But the alcove didn’t simply keep ships from smashing on their cliffs; it also gave them a great military advantage, because without it, Trevena was completely inaccessible by sea, protected on all sides by natural defenses, approachable only by the narrow land bridge, which during wartime would be heavily guarded. If ever they were attacked, all they had to do was draw down the heavy tarp to conceal the alcove and cast the sea into darkness.
Land and sea would enact their own defenses, leaving the ships to battle angry tides. And then, if anyone dared approach by land, her father’s archers would pick them off.
So really, unless one defied the Brothers’ Pact and betrayed them inside the gates, the city was impenetrable. And this was the one way Loegria could not compare. Cornish archers were among the best, their bows made from yew wood, blessed by the gods. That wood could last a thousand years without rotting, and the yew’s poison was so potent that her father’s army often used a tincture made from it on their arrows to poison enemies during battle.
It didn’t matter what the efficacy of a man’s steel was, nor the skill with which he wielded it, if he couldn’t wield it face-to-face. Their archers would ensure no enemy could come near. It wouldn’t matter how well-trained an army was or how well-armored—their archers were so accurate in aim that they could find and penetrate the smallest chink in their armor.
But of course, Gwendolyn didn’t tell Prince Locrinus any of these things. Like the news of the glen, she daren’t share these things just yet—not until they ruled this land together.
“Curious,” he said, when she explained about the Dragon’s Lair. And then, encouraged by his interest, Gwendolyn continued. “Sometimes,” she said, her voice animated, “it sounds like rolling thunder down here, particularly when my father’s troops are marching o’er the stone bridge.”
Prince Locrinus peered up, examining the cave’s interior. It wasn’t directly below the land bridge, but the positioning of the cave was just so that a disturbance anywhere along the mountain reverberated throughout the caverns. Even now, there was the faintest rumble, scarcely audible beneath the pummeling of waves—simply men walking along the bridge.
“I would have enjoyed such a place when I was a boy,” he said, offhandedly. “If for naught else, to sit and ponder the Fates.”
“Oh, yes. I confess, it was sometimes used for this. I did much just the same.” For another moment, they stood listening to the roar of the ocean’s waves, louder now. Regrettably, the tide was rising already. Even now, water was slipping beneath the soles of Gwendolyn’s boots, although she was loath to end the moment, for these were the moments whence love was born. “Quite oft I spent my childhood tears here,” she confessed, and smiled, though she spoke the truth. Those particular memories didn’t please her, and there were so many days she’d escaped here to weep over her mother’s endless trials. Only Bryn ever witnessed her torment, but she was grateful for his counsel and the perspective he gave her.
