Page 61 of The Cornish Princess
He walked away then, leaving Gwendolyn to stare after him.
Was that a threat?Because if it was, it would behoove her to climb atop her horse and fly away home, and yet, Gwendolyn did no such thing. Instead, she followed quick at his heels.
“What does that mean?”
“You know what it means,” he said, without turning. “Only be sure of this: Your father put me to a task, and I’ll not rest on my laurels, Gwendolyn; neither will you. Whilst we are in Chysauster, I expect you will attend me daily to practice.”
Gwendolyn halted, crossing her arms against the chill. Clearly he didn’t like her, but why? She had never actually done anything to him—not really.
Certainly not until he’d shown her such disrespect!
He was the one who had given her insult, and then betrayed Bryn.Hewas the one who should apologize, and yet, far be it from him to consider it.
Long hours later,Gwendolyn was still brooding over their conversation by the stream.
Gods.He was the most insufferable creature she had ever encountered.
And now, not only was he not riding beside or behind her, he had taken the lead, so she was forced now and then to spur her mount in order to catch him or not lose sight of him over the hilly terrain. When finally Gwendolyn had enough, she sidled up beside him and said through clenched teeth, “I am not playing at games, you must realize.” She really needed him to understand that the mission she’d embarked upon was delicate and important.
“Are you not?”
He couldn’t possibly understand. He didn’t know how things worked amidst her people. Clearly he hadn’t any notion how important the First Alderman’s position was to her father’s court. Something about his death was terribly wrong—something aside from the obvious, and Gwendolyn intended to find out what that was. She opened her mouth to respond, to explain, but something else occurred to her—that smell. It was horrible in the hall, but worse in Mester Ciarán’s laboratory. It was not the odor of a man newly deceased.
Beside her, Málik cast her a dubious glance, perhaps wondering why she fell silent, and Gwendolyn loathed the fact that she admired the shape of his lips, even when they were set so firmly against her. “If you must know, the true reason I am going to Chysauster is to invite my cousins to my wedding,” she lied, but she didn’t know if she’d said it to remind herself she was having a wedding, or if it was because she needed to apprise Málik of this.
Gods.All she really knew was that she had less right to notice the sinew in his thigh than she did to investigate the Alderman’s death.
He answered with silence.
“You do recall I am to be wed, yes?”
Nothing again—merely the sound of one guard hacking up a pit and spewing it out. She heard it land in the grass and cast the man a backward glance, noting he had a full handful of prunes, and even as Gwendolyn watched, he chewed another mouthful, moving it from cheek to cheek as he stripped the pit of its meat.
They were less than half a bell from Chysauster now, and Gwendolyn was desperate to engage Málik whilst she still had his full attention. After they arrived in Chysauster, she would be forced to keep him at arm’s length—as much as possible.
For the sake of her own sanity, if not her reputation, neither could she allow him to call her Gwendolyn anymore, even despite that she found she liked it.
“But perhaps you didn’t realize,” she said haughtily. “After all, you probably weren’t invited to the Promise Ceremony, nor the wedding.”
“I was not,” he confessed, without concern, and Gwendolyn fell behind to admire the cut of his shoulders… the way his leathers and hosen fit so snugly.
By the eyes of Lugh,what was wrong with her? Málik wasn’t the man she was promised to wed, and neither did he care one whit for her.
“Of course not,” she said meanly. “You are not one of us. So why should my father trust you so implicitly with the most important asset he possesses?”
That got his attention, and he flicked Gwendolyn a backward glance, and the only sign she had that her words might have cut him was the way he also snapped his reins.
“You value yourself highly, Princess.”
“I—”
But she didn’t, not truly.
She didn’t enough, so Demelza claimed.
Gwendolyn found herself with a lack for words, much less a proper defense. Indeed, she was the King’s most valuable asset—his heir—but this was not what she’d meant.Not at all.Rather, she was speaking of Málik’s affiliation with the palace guards—the Elite Guard her father had trusted him so quickly to train. And really, Málik could be training them to serve the enemy—him, for all they knew. In fact—she glanced back at the men riding in their wake—proof might be plainer than the nose on her face. Neither of these guards had seemed remotely inclined to see to her welfare. They answered to Málik, and scarcely ever even looked at Gwendolyn, despite that she was their princess.
Neither had even thanked her for the prunes she’d gifted them, and the one had already eaten a handful. “I must wonder how you came to be in my father’s service?”
