Page 90 of The Queen's Huntsman
But nay, it couldn’t be. Because that would mean he was ancient—far, far older than she had ever supposed. His tone was embittered. “Let’s leave that subject for another time,” he said with a throaty sigh. “Keep your attention on the task at hand, Gwendolyn. In fact, we should be close enough now that perhaps it’s best to end our discourse.”
“How convenient for you,” she grumbled.
But it was true. They were too close now—so close she could feel it in the sudden relief from Málik’s heat, a cool draft that was also apparent by the feathering of his Faerie flame. It had behaved just that same way when it revealed the exit to her uncle’sfogous.
Later, she told herself.
Later, she would make him tell her everything.
And then she would kiss him soundly, and the gods only knew what else she would do. Even now, her body tingled over the memory of his touch, and she didn’t bloody care if she was still married to Locrinus. Her heart belonged to Málik.
After removing the final blade, Gwendolyn stood, then hauled herself into a mostly dry reservoir, crawling across only half an inch of stale, musty water.
She couldn’t wait to be free of this contraption, and no matter how brilliantly it was constructed, she was tempted to bury it when all was said and done. No man or woman should ever be expected to traverse this oxygen-deprived hole in the ground.
Spotting the exit at last, she crawled over, splaying her palm across the trapdoor. She pushed it, but the door came free with no help from her, clattering to the floor.
A pair of wide black eyes peered into the reservoir.
“Yestin?”
ChapterForty-Two
“Majesty?”
The elder man froze, staring at Gwendolyn, blinking.
“You?” she whispered, her heart squeezing painfully, even as her mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.
Below her, she heard the hiss of metal as Málik’s dagger left his scabbard.
Gwendolyn still had Borlewen’s blade as well in case she needed it to pry loose the blades, but neither she nor Málik would have proper weapons until she opened the portal to admit Caradoc.
Her father’s steward blinked at her, as though he could scarcely believe his eyes, then he gave her a nod. “Oh, gods! Yestin,” Gwendolyn said, her tone filled with so much sorrow…. because suddenly, she understood how such a great deception could have been carried out so expertly—thedroguingof so many guests, the allowance of weapons into their hall…
Her father’s steward held the keys to their city. He, alone, had oversight over nearly every operation, every palace worker, every affair, and even the smallest of tasks.
Her father and mother had loved and trusted him without reservation, and Gwendolyn herself had looked to him first even before going to her parents.
Yestin had taught her to manage the household accounts. He’d planned her Promise Ceremony, and the only thing he wasn’t in charge of was the palace security—a fact that left her feeling suddenly uneasy, because Yestin couldn’t have managed alone.
The elder man swallowed, stepping back from the reservoir so Gwendolyn could no longer see his face. “Are we alone?” she dared to ask, but her voice lacked emotion. Bracing herself for battle, she inhaled a steadying breath.
“For now,” Yestin said. “Who goes with you?”
“I do,” growled Málik, his voice dark and menacing as he pushed Gwendolyn aside, emerging before her, landing like a cat on his feet, then flashing his blade.
Yestin did not speak again until Gwendolyn, too, emerged, and then he said, “I have regretted my part in this, Majesty… but… but… I… fear you’ll never understand.”
Gwendolyn swallowed her grief, making room for anger. “You are right, Yestin. I do not understand,” she said. “Did we dis-serve you?”
The elder man shook his head. “I loved my King, but he was…so… ill… and so old… and…”
She guessed the rest before he could speak it. “And you did not believe I could lead my people?”
Gwendolyn saw the truth in his eyes. He had not believed in her. Given the choice to support a strong new king or wait to see if Gwendolyn could rise to the task, he had chosen Locrinus, and in his choice, he had sealed her father’s fate, and hers as well.
“I did what I considered best for Trevena,” explained Yestin. “I was made to see the advantage for our people. Brutus was unfit to rule!” he said, rambling now. “What hope can any man have to lead if his own sons will not respect him, and neither his bride?”
