Page 8 of The Queen's Huntsman
They both knew what she was asking, and she also knew how he would answer, perforce. There was nothing Bryn could say to reassure her, but this was her way of keeping him here, if only for a moment longer…
She and Ely were close, but never quite like her and Bryn.
Not only had Bryn served her as her Shadow for more than a decade, he had been her confidant and friend since birth. Only months ago, they’d been like siblings, carefree and easy. No words left unspoken. Now… so much was left unsaid.
“I serve the true king,” he said carefully, and despite the iciness of his tone, Gwendolyn understood what he meant by the glimmer in his eyes.
Her father was thetrueking—that he could not say he served his heir, was only to be expected. “You mean the usurper,” she argued, and her anger wasn’t altogether feigned—not for Bryn, but for Loc’s betrayal. “I warrant it will take more than parading a hostage queen before the ambassadors to convince anyone to follow an Outlander. You and I both know that without the support ofalltribes, he will never succeed in his bid for my father’s throne.”
“Gwendolyn,” he said. “He already has the throne.Andthe crown.”
Gods.He did. This was true—but how many times must she remind herself?
Bitterly, she remembered how they’d handed the crown to Loc on the morning of their arrival—a crown of bronze with depictions of flowering myrtle. Her father’s crown. “He’ll need more than that,” she said. “Neither a throne nor crown will make him High King.”
“Agreed,” said Bryn. “But that is why I have been sent to… advise you. You must contemplate the evening carefully. If you are not convincing… enough…”
His words faltered, and Gwendolyn’s brows lifted. “If I am not convincing enough?”
A muscle ticked at his jaw. “The first blade is spoken for, and it will not be yours.”
Fear sidled through Gwendolyn’s veins. “Whose? Yours?”
He shook his head slowly, his blue eyes betraying something akin to fear, but Gwendolyn knew it was not for himself.
Ely.
“Will you deal the blow yourself?”
“If I must.”
Bile rose at the back of Gwendolyn’s throat, and she turned away, if only for an instant, to conceal the maelstrom of emotion she could no longer hide.
She knew Bryn would die before ever harming his sister, and yet… if he knew they intended to torture her… he would strike that blow… and another for himself.
And then… she would truly be alone.
However, Bryn was a careful man—inallways. Every word he uttered was precisely considered, like his father. It was Gwendolyn who’d so oft led him astray, and she knew there was more to his warning, though she could still not glean what it was.
“Do we comprehend one another?” he said.
“Yes,” she lied, and her heart thumped madly as she turned again to face him. “So… is there aught more you would say to me—another warning?”
“Nay, Majesty. That is all,” he said. “Only that you are required to attend the evening’s festivities, and—”
“Perform?” she finished curtly, with a defiant lift of her chin.
“Indeed,” he said, blinking. “Perform.”
Only this time, when he opened his eyes, he slipped her a wink, and Gwendolyn turned away, lest her surprise betray them both.
There was nothing else she could say or do to forestall him.
Her actions here and now—tonight—would have dire consequences for both him and for his sister. For Gwendolyn as well.
“You may leave now,” she said, and her heart thumped madly as he closed the door.
After a moment, she heard his footfalls ebb.
