Page 11 of A Crown So Cursed (The Goldenchild Prophecy #5)

Chapter Seven

G wendolyn gasped, breath catching in her throat, as the world shifted and she stood amidst a copse of silver birches, the ground dappled with morning light.

For a moment, she could only stare, dumbstruck, at the woods that surrounded her—so real, so vivid, she half expected to hear the distant call of a Cornish dove. It was as though she had been sent back to the tranquil wilds of eastern Cornwall.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the nearest tree, fingertips grazing the bark. It was cool, and rough, and utterly indistinguishable from the birch woods she remembered as a child—before the blood, before the loss, before the wedding that was a massacre.

“How is this possible?” she whispered as she stood there, uncertain, heart pounding, unwilling to move for fear that the vision might shatter.

But the woods did not fade. The trees remained, and the morning light crept over her skin, gentle as a mother’s touch.

Málik’s eyes glinted with mirth. “Regrettably, it is only a glamour—an illusion. Like that time you believed I’d turned you into a tree.”

Yes. That.

Gwendolyn remembered, and the memory made her shudder, because that day had nearly been her last. Locrinus’ men had been so close in pursuit—so close she could still feel the frantic thudding of her heart as she’d darted through the trees, desperate to escape.

She’d nearly been recaptured, and if not for Málik’s intervention, she would have been.

Even now, the recollection of those moments left her weak at the knees.

“But this feels so real,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper as she turned in a slow circle, taking in the beauty of their surroundings.

He gestured to the tapestry. “Every thread—every color—holds some echo of the living world. The memory of sunlight, the scent of moss, the hush of wind. That is what you see, and why it seems so real.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He watched her with a crooked, fang-toothed smile, linking both hands behind his back, evidently pleased with her reaction. “This grove exists in the natural world—somewhere near Bodmin, if you must know.”

“Bodmin,” Gwendolyn whispered, a fresh wave of homesickness washing over her, although she knew that wasn’t Málik’s intention. Those moors had been one of her favorite places to ride—wild and windswept, where she could forget the weight of her crown and simply be.

“Alas, Bodmin, too, has changed, though I miss it,” she said, nostalgia tightening her voice as she reached out again, this time to study the leaves.

“There’s a part of me that feels...torn,” she confessed, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

She wished to be here—truly. Yet she couldn’t ignore the grief she felt over having left Habren and Bryn behind—and, really, everything she had built.

Málik’s features softened as he closed the distance between them. “I understand,” he murmured, reaching to brush away a tear that traced the curve of her cheek. “The bond between land and sovereign is not so easily severed… not by time, nor by distance.”

Gwendolyn shook her head, wiping another tear with the back of her hand. “It’s not simply the land,” she insisted, her voice raw.

He hesitated as though weighing his words, and his gaze lingered on her, gentle, searching. “No,” he agreed quietly. “It never is.”

With a flourish of Málik’s hand, the forest transformed into an unfamiliar glade where golden poplars loomed and silver flowers bloomed bright against the twilight.

“This one mayhap not so bittersweet…Hyperborea,” he said. “But I doubt you remember.” He watched her face closely, and Gwendolyn shook her head.

“What of this one?” he asked, waving his hand yet again, grinning as crystalline water cascaded from somewhere into a clear, beautiful pond.

“Porth Pool?” Gwendolyn whispered with awe.

He nodded. “Before the Rot, and, truly, before Trevena was itself a glimmer in your father’s eye.”

Gwendolyn turned up the palms of her hands. She could actually feel the cool droplets as they splashed her arms and face. “Here, the line between illusion and reality is...like a waking dream,” he suggested as she bent to disturb the water, watching as ripples spread from her fingertips.

“So you can create anything?”

“Within reason,” he allowed, moving behind her as she stood again, and his presence made her pulse quicken. “Alas, even here, certain truths remain immutable. Death. Love…”

His hands settled atop Gwendolyn’s shoulders, and she dared to lean back against him, closing her eyes—it had been, oh, so long. “If the location within is altered, does this reflect upon the tapestry as well?” she inquired as his arms encircled her waist.

“Clever. But no. Those tapestries are more like portals than windows. They remain as they were, displaying only what they were woven to portray—a moment frozen in time, regardless of what transpires within.” He kissed her neck. “These are all Arachne’s creations.”

“ Arachne ?” One fang grazed gently at her flesh.

“Oh, yes…the Orb Weaver’s Cloak is the least of her mastery.”

Absentmindedly, Gwendolyn’s fingers lifted to the fabric of her cloak, the memory of Arachne and her grotto flashing vividly through her mind as Málik’s voice took on a seductive quality. “You see, her skills were essential in creating the Veil that separates our worlds.”

“The Féth Fíada?” Gwendolyn guessed, though she could hardly focus—Málik’s lips grazed the hollow of her throat, his words melting into her flesh as she leaned back, surrendering to his embrace.

“Yes,” he breathed, the word barely more than a whisper, hot against her skin.

“If you can imagine… that Veil…” Another kiss, softer this time, just below her ear.

“…simply a tear in the fabric of the world…” His breath stirred the fine hairs at her nape, and Gwendolyn shivered, unable to help herself.

Oh, but this was a history lesson she could thoroughly enjoy—far preferable to any she’d endured at the hands of the mesters.

She tried to concentrate, to follow the thread of his explanation, but his touch was unrelenting, and her mind swam with sensation.

“A tear… in the world?” she managed, her voice unsteady.

Málik’s lips curled into a smile against her skin. “Precisely.” His hand traced her arm, slowly and deliberately, giving pleasure with his fingertips alone.

Gwendolyn’s thoughts scattered, unable to muster a single clever retort. She could only tilt her head, granting him better access, her breath coming sharper with every word, every kiss.

And if this was the manner in which he meant to instruct her, she would gladly forget every lesson but his.

“As for Arachne,” he went on, “it wasn’t until many moons into Aengus’ reign that she was banished to her lair.

” He paused, letting the words settle, then added, “For her part in your vanishing.”

“And how did you feel about my... vanishing?”

“I know you did it to protect those you love,” he said softly. “But knowing that hardly eases the pain of what was lost—especially since I believed I was your one-true love.”

Gwendolyn’s heart constricted at the raw vulnerability in his voice. Without hesitation, she turned and lifted a hand to his cheek, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw. “You are,” she whispered.

She was here, was she not? She’d given up so much—everything, to be sure. There was no going back, not now, not ever.

He took a step closer, his voice raw, as though he’d swallowed broken glass.

“I searched for you across realms, through time itself.” There was no mistaking the pain in his words.

“Every beat of my heart in your absence felt as though it would hasten my end.” He reached up then, brushing his thumb across the plane of her cheek, and said, “Promise me you’ll stay. ”

Spoken so, it was no command, only a plea, and Gwendolyn’s heart squeezed at the sound of it, though she tried not to let it show.

Of course, she would stay—of course she would. Why would he believe otherwise? He needn’t even jest about keeping her imprisoned, nor fear she would ever leave him when she had so willingly abandoned everything only to see him again.

Responding to his need—hers as well—Gwendolyn reached for him, daring to embrace him, wrapping her arms about his waist and holding him close. “I am sorry,” she murmured. “I only wish…”

He doubled his arms about her, resting his chin atop her head. “I know what you wish,” he said as he kissed her. “I wish it too…but your memories will return in time.”

Just so, they stood so long as Gwendolyn once again inhaled his magnificent male scent.

This too gave her a sense of belonging she couldn’t explain.

It gave her a sense of… home .

“I’ve missed you,” she said huskily, and his arms tightened about her possessively, his lips moving to her neck.

A gentle scrape of his fangs sent a delicious shiver down Gwendolyn’s spine, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped her as she melted into his arms, her fingers curling, clutching at the fabric of his tunic.

He kissed her, and she returned his kiss with equal fervor, feeling his heartbeat even through the weight of his tunic—a steady rhythm that echoed her own quickening pulse.

For the moment, the world about them faded, leaving only the two of them entwined in this magical forest. Her fingers sought and found his beautiful hair, taking pleasure in its silken texture.

“I have long dreamt of this reunion,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire. “Alas…now is not the time. More than anything,” he said. “I would love to have you to myself…but there is something I wish to show you. Come,” he demanded. “Before I lay you down and ravage you like a mindless beast.”

Once more, his hand found hers, his fingers tangling with hers as he pulled her through the greenwood. Until suddenly…the trees vanished, revealing a clearing bathed in light as silvery as his hair.

At the center stood a turreted construction, and the sight of it stole Gwendolyn’s breath.

She gasped aloud, and made to halt, but Málik tightened his grip upon her hand, dragging her along, leading her into the building, where all the trees were replaced by towering shelves stretching impossibly high…

They were filled with books, and once again, Gwendolyn gasped with delight.

In all her life, she had never seen so many tomes—and none like these. Not rolled. They were flat and bound.

Málik pressed lightly on the small of her back, urging her forward.

“This is the Máistirs’ library,” he explained.

“Where the Knowledge of Ages resides. Every breath every creature ever took has been recorded within these tomes. Indeed, the life of every blade of grass, the death of every star. Here, you will find answers to your questions…if only you know the right question to ask.”

Gwendolyn’s fingers longed to reach out and touch every manuscript! To feel the weight of so many centuries right there in her hands. “Everything?” she whispered, her voice soft with wonder.

Málik nodded, a crooked smile playing at his lips as he watched her. “It is a repository of everything that has ever been, all that is, and all that will ever be. The Library of Rhakotis was modeled after it.”

Gwendolyn spun to face him, realizing only belatedly. “But you called it the Máistirs’ library? Does that mean…?”

He nodded, and precisely as he did so, out from the aisles came both Emrys and Amergin, arguing like perfect old fools.

“Emrys!” Gwendolyn exclaimed and ran to him.

She collided with him, and he gave her an “Oof!”—returning her embrace, laughing so joyfully that Gwendolyn could feel his fat belly quake between them.

“They’ve fed you too well,” she said, jesting, and Amergin laughed as well, slapping his ample belly before embracing her too.

“Welcome,” said Amergin, greeting her. “It has been too long since last we saw you.”

“Neither of you has aged one day!” Gwendolyn said jealously. “I can scarcely believe you are here!”

“Where else would we be?” asked Emrys.

Indeed, where else? Gwendolyn had known they’d gone to retire in the City of Light. Still, she wondered why they were here —in Tech Duinn, in this library.

Málik stood back, watching the three of them together, his expression delighted. After a moment, he said, “I trust the lot of you have much to discuss. May I leave for a while?”

This, he asked of Gwendolyn, and though she was surprised, she nodded. “You will be safe here,” he added. “As I’ve said, the entire premises has been warded. There is no entry without authorization.”

“Yes, certainly,” Gwendolyn said as he came forward, placing a hand to her cheek, leaning in for the briefest, sweetest of kisses, and then lingering a moment too long.

He whispered for her ears alone. “As you can well imagine, I have matters to attend,” he said with regret.

“But worry not, my love. I leave you in excellent hands.” He spun then, dropping the hand at his side as he addressed the Druids.

“May I impose upon you to return her to my chambers in two bells’ time? ”

The Druids nodded, and Málik gave Gwendolyn one last glance, then turned on his heels, and strode away, vanishing into the belly of the archive.

“Well,” she said, turning her attention to the Máistirs. “I suppose we have much to speak of?”

Emrys cleared his throat, his deep-set eyes twinkling brightly. “Indeed, we do, Banríon . There is so much you will need to know to prosper here, and much we hope to learn from you.”

“In fact,” said Amergin, “I believe you are late.”

“Or just in time,” argued Emrys.

Gwendolyn furrowed her brow. “How could either of you have ever imagined I would come at all if the portals were closed?”

Amergin winked at her. “Love always finds a way,” he declared.