Page 13 of A Crown So Cursed (The Goldenchild Prophecy #5)

Chapter Nine

“W on’t you join me?” Gwendolyn entreated.

“Oh, nay!” returned Emrys. “That…is…your private quarters.”

“Of course,” Gwendolyn allowed, disappointed, though she supposed he was right.

It was just that one glance within apprised her that Málik had not yet returned, and she did not relish the thought of being alone in this still strange place, even with the wards for protection, although at least she had the book.

“We should leave you to your studies,” suggested Amergin as Gwendolyn stepped into the chamber, clutching the dragon-scaled book to her breast.

“I will see you again, yes?”

“As often as you please,” said both Druids at once, and Gwendolyn smiled, for they spoke as one.

“Do not pore over that too long,” suggested Amergin, raising a finger. “I am told there is to be a feast in your honor this evening.”

Gwendolyn furrowed her brow. “A feast?”

She saw no one approach the Máistirs’ library, and Málik did not reveal any such thing before he left. However, that library was enormous, and it was possible that during one of their forays down the aisles, Amergin or Emrys was approached by a messenger.

“Indeed,” he said. “This evening.”

“Will you attend?”

Both men shook their heads, and Gwendolyn nodded, understanding.

And with all that needed to be said now said, both her friends departed with a rustle of robes, and Gwendolyn found herself alone in the king’s bower, with the dragon-scale tome heavy in her arms.

Once inside, the heavy door closed with a soft click, and she stood for a long moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the soft light of the room. But this chamber was grander than any she had ever occupied, even as the Queen of Cornwall.

Indeed, Cornwall’s palace was remarkable enough, but the floors were in places still dirt, and the walls were mostly bare, except for the Great Hall and the King’s Apartments.

Here, nearly every wall was adorned with tapestries, and the furnishings seemed to have grown from the stone itself—except for the bed.

And that—if one could call such an ethereal creation a bed—appeared to float above the floor, suspended by nothing at all.

The frame, crafted of twisting silver branches, stretched toward a rounded ceiling.

Gossamer curtains hung from the canopy, shimmering with an opalescent sheen that reminded Gwendolyn of silver-threaded spider silk—more of Arachne’s weaving?

She approached the bed, setting the dragon-scaled tome down upon a coffer at the foot, then peered about, taking measure of the space that was presumably now hers.

At one end of the chamber stood a steaming bath—awaiting her?

Vapor rose from its interior, and it carried the fragrance of exotic oils and herbs, not unlike those her mother had once favored.

However, there was another scent here…something deeper and more primal—a scent that reminded her of Málik himself.

At the other end of the room stood a wardrobe crafted of the same silvered wood as the bed, its doors slightly ajar to reveal garments within—brightly colored silks and soft velvets in jewel tones that caught the light like liquid gems.

Gwendolyn moved toward it, and like the room’s doors, the wardrobe flew wide as though eager for her to examine the contents—and so she did.

The gowns—all unlike anything she had ever worn—were every one more exquisite than the former.

Her fingers traced rich fabrics that seemed to breathe beneath her touch, some cool as a winterbourne stream, others warm as a summer afternoon.

She couldn’t help but remember all the lovely, shimmering materials that graced those dancers’ forms on her first visit to the City of Light—attire that defied description.

One woman had worn a gown that released a flurry of glowing petals that floated delicately to the floor, creating a carpet of light in her wake.

Her partner had summoned a breeze that lifted all those petals into the air, compelling them to swirl about them like a maelstrom.

Another Fae had worn an outfit crafted from delicate crystals and strands of pure light.

And another, with a cloak of cascading water that never touched the ground…

One dress in the wardrobe drew her attention most definitively, and she took it from the wardrobe, shook it out, and carried it to the bed, laying it down.

It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, interwoven with threads of silver that caught the light. But, as beautiful as it was, it was the book that most drew her curiosity, so she sat beside the dress, lifting the tome from the coffer, and turned it to the first page…

The words scrambled to form a single cohesive sentence. It read: “On the celebration of the wedding of Diarmuid and Curcog…”

Blinking, as though shedding a lifelong haze from her memory, Gwendolyn recognized her true name, and then… she remembered Málik’s true name as well.