Page 31 of Arise the Queen

Slumping back against her gilded cage, she pinched her cloak together, wondering what these people saw when they peered within.

Considering her visage in the pond, she lifted a finger to trace the outline of her teeth—human teeth. Now that she better understood this gift of reflection, it seemed a very Esme sort of gift—a dubious bestowal intended for what purpose?

To warn others of Gwendolyn’s affliction?

Two gifts and a lie…

What was Arachne trying to say?

What did Málik wish for her to remember?

What was it everyone was keeping from her?

Lifting a hand to her aching head, she sank her nails into her scalp, tugging at her hair. What was it she was supposed to recall? Why had Esme deceived her? Why had Málik sent her to this place alone? Why did the Púca abandon her?

Why, why, why?

One after another, questions spun through her head like so many dancers, whirling, twirling endlessly… on and on and on.…

And then, suddenly, her heart lunged into her throat because she spied a familiar face… and that was all it took to spur her memory.

Gwendolyn swallowed convulsively as the Fae king entered the hall.

Taller than anyone else in his Fae court, he, too, wore gilded robes, with sleeves that dipped to the floor. And regardless, it was the beauty of his face that was most remarkable. For a moment, Gwendolyn felt as she had on the day of her Promise Ceremony, gaping with unsuppressed admiration. The Fae king was the most flawless male she had ever encountered… his face the face of perfection… his aura shining like a brilliant sun, and his smile, though certainly porbeagle, was radiant and beguiling. And… Gwendolyn knew him.

As surely as she was here, breathing… she knew him.

But most importantly, she knewhisname.

Aengus Óg.

The Poet King.

But he didn’t arrive alone. Esme and Málik joined him. Hand in hand, those two strolled into the hall behind Aengus, neither bothering to look in Gwendolyn’s direction with Esme leading Málik to the King’s dais. And there they stood, together, looking very much the happiest of couples, and Gwendolyn watched with growing horror as Málik lifted a hand to Esme’s cheek, caressing it ever-so-sweetly before bending to present her with a kiss upon the cheek.

No. It couldn’t be.

Gwendolyn refused to believe it.

Dressed in the most alluring of emerald gowns—a beaded, silken creation that matched the startling depth of her eyes—Esme appeared every bit the princess she’d claimed to be. And, to be sure, seated upon her brow, she wore, of all things, Gwendolyn’s crown—the very crown she’d fashioned from Gwendolyn’s locks. It shone upon her brow, and Málik appeared to be entranced by it, his eyes meant only for the Fae king’s daughter—as though the crown had bewitched him. Esme was doing it again—poisoning his mind! With a smile, he reached out to straighten Esme’s crown, and Gwendolyn’s heart squeezed painfully.

No.

No.

No.

No.

Dressed in ceremonial leathers—not unlike the garment he usually wore, this one bore symbols embossed into the design, with silver and gold in place of grey and black thread.

How?

And why?

Every damnable excuse Gwendolyn ever gave herself to explain their abandonment now scattered in their presence—because…

Málik was here. And if he was here, it meant he couldn’t be too much concerned over the possibility that his Fae king would command him to execute Gwendolyn.