Page 10

Bronwyn

B ronwyn’s nails dug into her palms as she tried to tighten the tourniquet on her emotions. The pain was welcome, almost pleasant. And only fair, since her sister was the one suffering. Again. She cast a pained glance toward the bed, where Ceridwen lay eerily still and serene in cursed sleep.

The dragons had done this to her, those bastards. Hurt her sister, who saw the best in everything and was a light in the world to so many. Delivered their vile curse via her wedding presents, no less. Did they know no shame?

No, of course they didn’t. Anyone who would hurt Ceridwen had to be the lowest of the low.

All that filled her chest was an empty hole, one that pressed out against her ribs and throbbed with loss. Only once before had she felt anything like that—years ago, when her mother died. Ceridwen might be alive, technically, but the disbelief, the agony, was still the same.

Every time she closed her eyes, she returned to that moment. She’d held her sister’s unconscious body, staring in shock and disbelief. The world had crumbled around her, dropping her into the darkest bottomless pit. There had been nothing but an endless feeling of falling, of being unable to steady herself. Even now, her breaths were shallow, like there wasn’t enough air in the room. And no matter how many times she pinched herself, she couldn’t wake from the nightmare.

That was what it was, a waking nightmare with no escape. None but dark magic or the death of another.

“You want to keep this quiet?” Malik asked the room, but Drystan in particular.

Those present were the only ones who knew of her sister’s situation, or so they hoped. It was luck that her brother had been just down the hall conversing with the guards when they heard her cries. They’d rushed to her aid, and her brother—her reckless, hot-headed, sometimes-idiot of a brother—had managed to find clarity in that moment of panic where she could not.

He’d sought Drystan and Jackoby straight away. Hadn’t let the guards leave. Hadn’t sounded the alarm. Because somewhere in his years of military experience, he’d learned a valuable lesson: never let your enemy know your weakness. And this? This was Drystan’s weakness. If the people knew what had happened to Ceridwen, their queen, how could any of them feel safe? How could they be comforted knowing that the person who balanced their king was potentially lost?

Malik may have placed the crown on Drystan’s head, but it was Ceridwen who’d won the people when they might otherwise have balked at a king who could become a monster.

“Yes,” Drystan said with a sigh, finally raising his head.

“All this time, we’ve showed strength in the face of the dragons,” Adair added. “If we falter now, they’ll know they’ve hurt us, and they’ll move in for the kill.”

A grim, if astute, conclusion.

“You don’t think the people might show sympathy?” Jaina offered. The normally bubbly and talkative woman had been near silent since she first saw Ceridwen lying in bed.

“They may,” Malik replied. “But it will worry them, too. If their queen can be harmed in her bedchamber, what’s to protect them?”

Murmured assent filled the room.

“But how do we keep such a thing quiet?” Kent asked. He’d already ruined his slick ponytail by shoving his hands through his hair. It was strange to see him so disheveled. “In the castle, the smallest things travel faster than water downriver.”

Adair stood. “The only ones who know are in this room.” He turned to the two guards lingering in the corner of the room and pinned them with a glare. “And they won’t speak a word of it, or we’ll know exactly who to blame.”

Both young men shook their heads.

A strange bit of pride swelled in Bronwyn’s chest as she watched her brother, the emotion just tangible over the strangling pain of loss. He really had blossomed in his new role as the head of the castle guard, almost like the title had finally made him shape up. Or perhaps it was his burning desire to impress a certain young woman. Lydia still remained in town with her family, probably in hopes of an engagement. Not that such a thing was likely now, at least not soon, but they wouldn’t know that.

“That’s all well and good,” Gwen said, “but what do we do when Her Majesty’s maids arrive in the morning? Or the next shift of the guard? They’re bound to be suspicious if they don’t discover things outright.”

It was a miracle they hadn’t already. Bronwyn pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought.

“What if we said Ceridwen was ill?”

Bronwyn startled a little at the sound of her father’s voice. He’d been eerily quiet since Adair had gone to fetch him, the same kind of silence he’d sunk into for weeks after Mother’s death.

“We could say we’re limiting who attends her because of that,” Gwen added.

“And Drystan with her?” Malik asked. “If anyone were to see him like this, they’d know something is gravely wrong.”

Bronwyn begrudgingly had to admit that was true. And if they didn’t find a solution soon, Drystan would only worsen. If he were to truly slip and transform into a monster in front of the people, it would be disastrous, and likely exactly what the dragons wanted.

It struck her then—a way to keep him out of sight but in a manner that wouldn’t alarm the people. “What if,” she started, pausing to make sure she had everyone’s attention, especially Drystan’s, “you took your wedding moon? Or, rather, we said you did?”

The pause as everyone absorbed her idea gave her the push she needed to run with it. “You put it off after the wedding, but you’re so in love you can wait no longer to properly celebrate your marriage. It would give a reason for you and Ceridwen to both be out of sight for at least a month, and in that time, surely, we can find a solution.” The ache in her chest flared anew, but she had to be positive, had to inspire hope, for her father if no one else. Another loss might just end him.

“No,” Drystan said quickly. “I can’t leave. If there’s any hope of finding a counter curse, it’ll be in the books here in the castle.”

“You wouldn’t,” Bronwyn hurried to explain. “We’d fake it. Say that you left, but really, you’d be here, out of sight.”

“It could work,” Adair mused.

“Though people may expect some grand farewell,” Jackoby said.

“Unless they slipped off during the night?” Kent suggested.

Malik raised one dark brow. “A king and his queen sneaking off on their own?”

Of course he’d be the one to poke holes in her idea. Bronwyn scowled at him almost on instinct.

He raised one hand. “It’s a good idea, but we must be smart about it. The little details are the most important when crafting a convincing lie.”

Wouldn’t he know. He’d lied for years, pretending to be the hapless prince to escape his father’s notice. Or he lied now pretending to support Drystan. She so wanted to believe former, but some small part of her still wasn’t convinced. He played his parts so convincingly, just as he had when he’d led her to believe he felt something for her all those months ago.

But, oh, how he’d shattered that dream, flirting with every woman in the kingdom except her.

Adair rubbed his chin. “It would be expected for some guards to accompany them. I can think of two that will certainly do”—he glanced toward the corner—“but we need more.”

“And where would we say Their Royal Highnesses went?”

“There’s a lovely little manor in the countryside, Merryweather Hall. Small staff. Very private. Perfect for a new couple looking for some time alone together,” Malik said. “But it will be most convincing if we actually send someone along with the guards. We can ensure the staff’s silence once we arrive. But who will go?”

Gerard looked at his wife and said, “We would not be missed.”

“Mmm,” Malik mused. “But getting you there without someone noticing that you’re not Their Majesties might be a challenge.”

It was true, they bore little resemblance to the royal couple, especially in age.

“I could go.” Adair stared at Malik as if asking for a challenge. “I can select the guards and ensure their silence as well as that of the manor staff. If I wear His Majesty’s clothing, I could possibly pass for him, if seen through a carriage window for example. It would make the tale more believable.”

That unusual swell of pride flared in Bronwyn’s chest again. He’d do his best, too; he had ever since she and Ceridwen had confided in him and asked for his assistance in taking down the evil king. Funny that, once, she would have never thought him capable of carrying out such a ruse, but now she believed in him. “It’s a good plan,” she admitted.

“It won’t work if he travels alone,” their father said. The moment his weary gaze landed on Bronwyn, her stomach dropped. She knew the words that would come from his mouth before he spoke them. “Bronwyn should go, too. She can pretend to be her sister.”

She was shaking her head before he even finished speaking. Only respect for her father kept her from snapping and cutting him off. The moment he paused, however, she said, “I’m not going.”

“Bronwyn.” Her father frowned, looking personally offended.

“I will not sit idly in some countryside manor while my sister lays dying.” She stamped her foot for emphasis. It made sense that he wanted her to go. She would be safe there, she and Adair both far from harm’s way. But she would be damned before she hid from danger while her sister was in such a state.

Adair huffed and crossed his arms.

Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “You have purpose in going,” she said, trying to soothe her brother’s ego. “I would not, save letting the people see someone leave in a carriage.”

“But Bronwyn,” her father continued, “someone must go, and there are no other young women in this room.”

“Bronwyn is right,” Malik said, much to her surprise. “She doesn’t have the right look, and she can be more helpful here.” He gave her the slightest nod of acknowledgement before focusing back on the others. “We learned this evening that the spell that dropped the chandelier at the wedding was placed by a young servant boy, who was paid to do it by a young woman, likely one of some status.”

Bronwyn looked at the prince sideways, seeing him in a new light. He’d investigated the incidents? Gathered information for the crown? Only minutes ago, Drystan had lashed out, naming him a traitor—though, with the shock and horror of Ceridwen’s curse, she was honestly surprised his outburst hadn’t been worse, hadn’t been aimed at all of them. He’d calmed easily enough, and now, he and Malik discussed the incident at the wedding feast with such ease it was apparent they worked together often. Yet she hadn’t known, hadn’t considered it. Perhaps there was more to the prince of pleasures these days than she gave him credit for. And now he wanted to ally with her on such a task?

“A woman?” Drystan echoed.

“I was surprised as well.” Malik crossed his arms. “But if a young lady is involved, another woman might be the key to gathering the information we need to discover the identities of the remaining dragons.”

Bronwyn swallowed a sigh. Ah, so it wasn’t him siding with her after all, simply seeing how she could help achieve his goals. They were her goals, too, now more than ever, but somehow, it still stung.

“Then who will—”

“Lydia will go if I ask her,” Adair cut in. “She and Ceridwen look enough alike and are about the same size. It will work.”

“You trust the girl?” Malik asked.

He notched his chin higher. “With my life. She’ll do her best for Ceridwen. You all know how much she cares for her.”

Bronwyn did. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t a tad jealous of their relationship at times. Lydia looked more like Ceridwen’s sister than she did, and she navigated the court with ease. In many ways, she’d be the better choice to stay and investigate the dragons, but Bronwyn wasn’t about to say that and convince the others to send her away.

No, she would not be caged. If she were to go away, if she did not do every single thing she could to save her sister, she would never forgive herself if the worst happened. But it wouldn’t. She wouldn’t let it.

“This is well and good, but how will His Majesty stay hidden? Or how shall we care for Her Majesty?” Gwen asked. “We can’t very well be going in and out of their quarters with food and such each day if they are on their wedding moon.”

“There are secret passages that connect to our rooms,” Drystan supplied. “We’ll use those.”

“There are?” Gerard sat up straighter, looking rightly disturbed.

Drystan merely shrugged. “Old escape routes in case of trouble. Many rooms have them, but I’ve had them mostly secured with magical wards. I’ll unlock a few—the one in your quarters as well, so you can visit.”

Mostly? Bronwyn frowned, bothered by the idea as much as the rest of her family. Would the surprises never cease?

They began discussing the more intricate details of the plan: Adair and Lydia wearing masks to hide their identity on the way to the carriage—they’d call it a tribute to their dance at the masquerade ball in Teneboure; the route they would take and the most loyal guards to accompany them; what they would tell the guards and maids due to attend the royal couple in the morning…

The plans became a buzzing in Bronwyn’s ear, and she soon returned to the edge of her sister’s bed, taking her hand in hers. The warmth of it was reassuring, as if she truly were just asleep.

I’ll save you, Bronwyn told her silently. I’ll find a way to free you of this. I promise.