Page 96 of The Cornish Princess
“Gwendolyn, please! Don’t look so glum,” her mother persisted, and then, turning once more to watch the Prince, she said, “This is the difference between a woman and a child, my dear—a woman faces adversity and makes the best of her situation. I will apprise you what my mother once said to me: If you look for joy, you’ll surely find it. If you look for grief, you will find that, as well. But, if you accept your fate with grace and faith, you may yet discover your greatest joy.” Essentially, it was the same counsel Demelza had given her.
Her mother smiled then, and said, “At any rate, I have never seen a man so fine. You are fortunate, indeed!” Thenyouwed him, Gwendolyn thought glumly.
And truly, it galled her that she had vied her entire life to receive an instant of the regard her mother so willingly gave to her betrothed. Even now, Queen Eseld found it far more appealing to gaze athimthan she did to consider her only daughter.
Only Málik had ever truly seen her.
Only Málik had ever treated her as an equal, expecting her to live up to her promises.
Unwittingly, Gwendolyn lifted her fingers to her lips, remembering the feel of his mouth, the sharpness of his teeth, the taste of his tongue.
I am undone,she thought.
Undone.
Unquestionably, if she refused to consummate this marriage, her mother would gladly offer to catch her by the ankles—and only to think of it, something like bile rose at the back of her throat over the thought. Battling the urge to weep—a thing Gwendolyn rarely did but was doing quite oft now—she caught her hands and held them before her, if only to hide their trembling. But it wasn’t merely nerves that made her belly ache. It was something else entirely.
Time was growing short.
Already the sun was beginning its descent.
Awaiting their cue as well, Ely and Demelza joined them on the ramparts, but neither spoke. Both stood aside, stone-faced, and in the presence of Queen Eseld, both were mindful to keep opinions to themselves. And yet, Gwendolyn knew intuitively that Ely was grieving as well, her heart heavy knowing that she, too, would be expected to depart the city within the next few bells—dragged away from the only life she had ever known… these halls wherein they’d played together, the fields where they’d run, the shoals they’d climbed, the oysters they’d loved.
Gods willing, perhaps Ely might eventually forgive Gwendolyn for her duplicity, even despite that Gwendolyn couldn’t regret having allowed herself the time with Málik.
Even now, she couldn’t regret a single moment.
If he asked again, would she go?
Knowing her father’s plight, how could she not wed Prince Locrinus?
Not for the first time, Gwendolyn cursed the infernal Prophecy.
But no matter—even if she refused to marry, she might never see Málik again. He’d run away with her heart and the sword. Even now, standing next to her mother, Gwendolyn longed to cast herself into her mother’s arms and beg not to go. But no one was more adamant than Queen Eseld that Gwendolyn must fulfill her destiny.
“Our banners will be united!” her mother had said fiercely, and if she was passionate about nothing else, she was passionate about this.
Below the ramparts, Prince Locrinus was making his way toward the gathering place whence the procession would depart, appearing contented to soak in the praise. Apparently, his younger brothers were attending, as well as his mother.
By now, the entire countryside had gathered, and the city gates were left wide to admit all who cared to follow the procession.
There was a crush clear through the courtyard, all the way past the Mester’s Pavilion, past the barracks, across Stone Bridge, and clear out the gates, onto the King’s Road.
Down below, to one side, Gwendolyn could see that same little girl with her mother, the one she’d spoken to on the bridge on the way to the market. They were both holding brightly colored flowers, waiting for their chance to give these as an offering.
Conspicuously absent from the celebration were three of Gwendolyn’s favorite cousins… and their dutiful father and his wife. A knot formed in her throat as she remembered their final moments—Lowenna’s twisted body being dragged by her grieving husband.
It was a sight Gwendolyn would never forget.
Her own father stood below, flanked by his Shadows, and for now, he was steady on his feet, looking resplendent—and quite golden by right, for his livery, like their dragon standard, was gold and white—and this was a curious thing Gwendolyn only now realized: the choice of Prince Locrinus’ colors, the absence of crimson, even in his cloak, despite that he was flanked by his red-cloaked guards.Curious as well was the fact that he never once peered up to seek his bride, though Gwendolyn could have missed his glance, as she was peering out over the palace gates, over the parklands, searching the horizon… for someone else.
Someone who was long gone from this place, and perhaps even this isle.
Someone who had likely already cast her out of his mind and his heart.
She would never forget that final, hardened glance.
And still, some small part of her prayed he would come trotting through those gates, as he had during thatwintertideevening, that he would ride into the courtyard and pause before the ramparts, begging Gwendolyn to leap into his arms—but it was impossible.
