Page 48 of The Cornish Princess
“I am told she left him, Majesty,” offered Alderman Eirwyn.
“Left him?”
“Aye, Majesty.” The Alderman nodded soberly. “She took her children—so I am told—to visit family in Chysauster.” He gave the King a meaningful look. “Indefinitely.”
“And who told you this?”
The Mester Alderman shrugged, then peered about the room and said, “I believe it was Alderman Aelwin.”
“Aelwin?”
“Not I, Majesty.” Aelwin shook his head vehemently. “I did not know him well enough, I fear.”
For a moment, the Mester Alderman glowered, then he shrugged, and said, “Ah, well, I suppose it could have been anyone. He’s been quite despondent since she left.” He cleared his throat. “To be the wife of an alderman is not suitable for all.”
“In such a case, might we presume the hemlock was for his own consumption?” asked Mester Ciarán.
“Perhaps,” said Alderman Eirwyn with another shrug.
“I ask,” said the physician. “Because… were it not for the blow to his head, and the hammer, I might rule this a natural death, insomuch as it must be when a man falls prey to his own vices, and thereafter the perils of nature.”
Gwendolyn furrowed her brow. Did the poor fool truly mean to poison himself? Or was it someone else he meant the poison for?
There were easier ways to die than to suffer the effects of hemlock. He would have choked to death in the end, although not before foaming at his mouth and spewing his meal.
Gwendolyn found she had questions, and she longed to voice them aloud, but suddenly catching her father’s eye, he inclined his head toward the door, and ordered her out from the hall.
Sensing his mood, Gwendolyn obeyed at once. She found Ely outside, still waiting for her, twirling her thumbs. Gwendolyn took her aside and told her everything she’d heard.
“Foul play?” said Ely, and Gwendolyn shrugged, though she shared the sentiment.
At the instant, there were more questions than answers, and now that she was privy to so many facts, she found she didn’t wish to leave the investigation to others.
Wretched as it might seem, the First Alderman’s death was a welcome distraction—from what, she dared not confess.
Not even to herself.
ChapterSeventeen
Over the ensuing days, it was all anyone talked about—the dead alderman, not Gwendolyn’s Promise Ceremony, nor anything at all pertaining to her nuptials.
Save for the burden about her neck—evidence of her pledge—it was as though the Promise Ceremony never even happened.
What was more, Prince Loc’s absence now lent the entire occasion a sense of foolish fire—like thosepiskielights in the forest that led men astray, here one instant, not the next.
Gwendolyn wasn’t sure how this made her feel.
In some ways, relieved, perhaps? Certainly not over Bryok’s death, though she supposed she was pleased enough that the poor man’s untimely death now had everyone’s rapt attention, including hers, because she didn’t wish to confess how she felt about her upcoming nuptials, nor Prince Locrinus himself… because… well… she didn’t know how she felt.
Except for the encounter in the cave, and his disinterest on the day of their outing, there was truly nothing wrong with him—at least nothing Gwendolyn could point a finger at.
He was charming, handsome, learned—all the things one hoped for in a mate. And he seemed to admire her erudite nature, which was so utterly important to Gwendolyn, because she didn’t wish to be relegated to being someone’s prize, as her mother appeared contented to be.
Alas, but it was true, as much as Gwendolyn was loath to say it. As kindly as her father might be, he’d never actually encouraged her mother’s uniqueness, nor did he cherish her Prydein blood beyond the alliance it brought to their kingdom—or at least this is how it appeared to Gwendolyn. Rather, he praised the Queen most when she looked and behaved like all the other high-born wives of his court, and perhaps because her mother had so long ago embraced her role as Queen Consort, Gwendolyn scarcely knew anything at all about her Prydein lineage.
Duty first, always.This is what her mother so oft said. And this was the crux of the dilemma: her mother was right. Dutymustcome first. It didn’t matter what Gwendolyn wished for herself, nor was she raised to seek anything but fairness from a mate. Cornwall was her foremost responsibility.
Love where you must,she’d been told.
