Page 27 of Arise the Queen

By now, there was no telling how many soldiers Locrinus had already amassed, and in the meantime, Gwendolyn had regressed.

She was a grand total of one.

One.

Against many.

Despite that, theremustbe something she could do—something she could say to convince the Fae king to ally with her?

Lifting her head from the bars, she let it fall once more, gently smacking her forehead upon the gilded bars.Thinking…

Only thinking…

Very well… so she was that child hidden by the Fae emissary—this much Arachne had revealed all-too easily. And it rang true. Gwendolyn had always felt different, and in retrospect, that visage in the pond last night explained so much. For one, it perhaps shed light on the reason some folks looked at her and saw a girl, and others looked and saw somethingother.

It was also perhaps the reason she’d so readily accepted the Fae, feeling a genuine affection for them. And despite this, she wasnotFae.

That fact couldn’t be more apparent at this moment.

Gwendolyn had no magic or mastery over anything. Any skill she had was hard won, earned through blood, sweat, and tears—most often her own.

And yet, there must be something she did not understand…

What else did she know?

You have been my weakness for a hundred thousand years…

So Málik was her lover—not only now, but then, too.

No wonder she’d been so drawn to him—no wonder she’d fallen so quickly into his arms. Even now, under the direst of circumstances, Gwendolyn could summon no regret for loving him, even despite that he’d left her to face this trial alone.

But there must be a reason he and Esme had done so—there must!In Gwendolyn’s heart of hearts, she could not imagine either of them as her enemy.

What more?

Esme bespelled Málik to love her, and Málik discovered her ruse—no wonder he didn’t trust her!

It was hardly a secret that Esme loved him, but there was no mistaking that look in Málik’s eyes when he’d first gazed upon her in the Druid village—such loathing! Gwendolyn could never forget the way his jaw had clenched when first he’d heard her voice in the Máistir’s hall…

Think, Gwendolyn, think!

She was missing something—something she knew intuitively.

This was not how the end should come—not for her, nor for Pretania.

One by one, she pored over every story she’d been told…

Unfortunately, the Faeneverspoke plainly. Every tale came with a lesson untold. And yet… somehow, all those stories must be connected… every word.

Indeed, Gwendolyn had never known a Fae to waste words, even when they spoke too much and said too little…

Think,Gwendolyn demanded of herself.Think.

And still she could not. The growing cacophony made her head hurt.Blood and bones. If she’d thought the Púca’s three heads capable of a frightful noise, the dueling troubadours in this hall, each singing from a different corner—inconceivably more than four—sounded like a thousand Devil Whales.

And meanwhile, the attendants of what appeared to be a burgeoning celebration were each more intent upon ignoring Gwendolyn than were the soldiers who’d seized her from Arachne’s lair.

“Look, Papa. Does it bite?” asked a young female of her elder escort as they passed Gwendolyn’s cage—but at least someone noticed!