Page 53 of The Cornish Princess
Nay, deep in Gwendolyn’s heart, she did not believe the Alderman intent upon his own demise. And now, someone would have to tell his poor wife that he was gone—perhaps it should be Gwendolyn?
But regardless, someone must now discover the true reason for this malefaction, and Gwendolyn didn’t believe anyone was taking it very seriously, except Mester Ciarán—concentrating so hard on his cadaver that he couldn’t take time to eat his prunes.
Much to Gwendolyn’s chagrin, she’d stolen the last handful for herself, and not for a moment did he bother to notice. She’d sat eating one after another right in front of him, and he’d never said a word—not even to caution her about digestive repercussions.
Indeed, he’d been entirely preoccupied with examining every spot on the man’s flesh—perhaps looking for evidence of hemlock poisoning. His conclusion: There was, indeed, some potential sign of the poison, but it was impossible to say without asking Bryok about his symptoms—a pounding heart, burning in the belly, increased salivation, paralysis of the muscles, and sometimes convulsions. Unfortunately, despite the unpleasant scent of the plant itself, there was none discernible in the cadaver.
“Inconclusive,” he’d said.
Suddenly, without warning, Elowyn came bursting through her door, but she did not pounce upon the bed as usual. Instead, she stood in the middle of Gwendolyn’s room, without bothering to close the door.
Outside, Gwendolyn sensed, rather than saw or heard, Málik, and she motioned furiously at the door, glowering at Ely for leaving it open.
Elowyn didn’t even notice. She placed her arms akimbo, then announced, “I was strongly admonished by your mother!”
Gwendolyn’s brows lifted. “I don’t understand…”
“’Tis the truth, Gwendolyn. Your mother hailed me as I made to follow you within. She advised me that a friend is not what you need, and said that you had a duty to perform, that it was high time you prepared for it.” Gwendolyn would have responded, but Ely was quick to continue. “Thereafter, she reminded me how wrongly Bryn served you, and then she cautioned me to learn all I can from Demelza ere we part for Loegria. Else, she said, I’ll be ill-prepared to serve you, and if she suffers worry o’er it, it will be all my fault!”
Gwendolyn’s belly roiled again, her bellyache returning. She frowned. “Youaremy friend, Elowyn—no matter what my mother claims. You are more kin to me than she is.”
Gods.It appeared Queen Eseld was purposely divesting Gwendolyn of her closest friends. Forsooth! She no longer had Bryn, and now it seemed her mother would deprive her of Ely as well—not as a servant, perhaps, but as a companion.
All warmth toward her mother vanished in a heartbeat, considering that Queen Eseld had seemed perfectly contented to saddle her with Málik—a puffed-up, spike-toothed gobdaw!
Again her gaze was drawn toward the antechamber, and she wondered if her mother had somehow conspired with theAwenyddsto bring him to the palace for some purpose Gwendolyn couldn’t fathom. Once more, she gestured toward the door and when Ely didn’t move quickly enough to close it, Gwendolyn bounced off the bed to shut it herself.
“I would like to lock him in a garderobe,” she said.
“Gwendolyn!”
“Please! Already, you sound like Demelza.”
How miserable she was—how truly miserable when she should only feel joy and hope. Scolding or no scolding, Ely smiled as the conversation turned to Málik. “Oh, Gwendolyn! You ought to be over the moon to havehimassigned to you. Why are you not?”
“Oh, I am,” assured Gwendolyn. “Over the moon!”
Poor, sweet Ely was enamored with the cold-hearted elf, and Gwendolyn suspected Málik was the reason her friend no longer wished to dance. Ever since he’d arrived, she had been moony and filled with sighs. And yet if that were true, her adoration for Málik was ill-fated. No matter how highly anyone thought of that bloody elf, there was no chance he would ever agree to such a thing. She sensed in her heart that he, like Prince Loc must consider himself better than her, and considering his haughty demeanor, she wondered—not for the first time—why he would attend her, when he clearly didn’t like her, and he had no connection to her kindred, nor any loyalties to her father, nor even to Trevena.
To be sure, he was an opportunist, selling his sword to the highest bidder, and that he had remained in Trevena so long as he had, to train her father’s men, was the subject of much speculation. Gwendolyn only wondered what was so special about Málik Danann that her parents should place him in charge of the kingdom’s only heir.
After all, what duty had he to keep her safe? If indeed he wasfaekind—but he was not—he probably believed it the King’s obligation to serve him, not the other way around.
“Gods,”Gwendolyn said softly, “I loathe that man.”
Poor Ely could swoon all she liked over the rotten elf, and he would never return her affection. Already he had proven that even a princess of Pretania was worth little.
At the moment, she wished with all her heart that she could leave this city and fly away.
She fell back on her bed, glaring at the door, then peered at Ely, eyes narrowed, scheming. “We’re going to Chysauster,” she decided on the spur of the moment.
Elowyn screwed up her face, confused. “Chysauster?”
Gwendolyn hitched her chin. “At once!”
“But Gwen! I cannot. I told you—”
Gwendolyn arched a brow. “Am I not your lady now?”
