Page 23

Bronwyn

I t had been hard to breathe with Malik standing a mere few feet away. Even once he left the room, her chest was tight and warm to the point that she nearly considered asking one of the women if she could borrow her fan. Unfortunately, the only fan in proximity belonged to the young woman she’d slightly offended earlier that evening.

All she wanted to do was follow Malik from the room—preferably right out the gates and back to the castle, or his apartment, or anywhere.

But that might lead to other things, things she desperately wanted based on the ache low in her core and the moisture between her legs. Her mind, however, needed to be untangled. Desperately.

To go from thinking he was all but engaged to hearing a confession of love? She exhaled and took another long sip of wine. What a turn of fate.

The new knowledge was enough to leave her lightheaded and dizzy, but then there was the guilt… She cut a sideways glance at Phillip, who laughed at something one of the women had said. He was always so kind, considerate, and had been born and raised a commoner like her. They had much in common, and he’d been such a help these past weeks.

But it would be a lie to say she cared for him nearly as much as Malik.

She liked Phillip. She craved Malik—ached for him with a passion that scared her as much as it enticed her.

Yes, she wanted him, but letting someone in, opening her heart like that? It was dangerous. Foolish. Especially now. If her sister succumbed to the curse… Tears threatened to well up, but she blinked them away.

More than anything, she needed time to think. To process. But that wasn’t about to happen at a party.

A hand settled lightly on her shoulder. “Bronwyn, dear?”

She blinked, coming back to herself and looking over at Charlotte, whose brow was pinched in concentration.

“Should we take some air?” her friend offered.

Air. Yes. She needed that. But what if the men ventured outside instead of to the smoking room? Running into Malik again, with all the emotions of minutes ago still swirling within her, was the last thing she needed.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” Charlotte patted her. “If you insist.”

The ruby ring on her hand sparkled. Bronwyn’s stomach dropped.

Perhaps it was because she had been thinking about Malik, but the sight brought to mind something he’d told her weeks ago. One clue they had as to who had planted the dark magic spell at the wedding. A woman wearing a ring with a large, heart-cut ruby.

Surely not…

Bronwyn, realizing that she was staring and that Charlotte was giving her a curious look, said, “That really is a lovely ring. A family heirloom?”

“Oh, this?” She pressed her palm just above her breast, displaying the dazzling ruby and gold band. “I should say yes”—she dropped her voice to be in Bronwyn’s confidences—“but no, my brother got this for me the last mid-winter. He has such good taste, does he not?”

“He really does,” Bronwyn agreed before taking a long sip of wine. “Do you know where he acquired it? I may have to see the designer about something for myself.”

Phillip cleared his throat and leaned in from her other side. “If you’re so taken with it, I may be able to find the designer for you. Miss Kinsley would look lovely with a stone in a similar cut, don’t you all think?” he asked, widening the discussion to the entire group. “Perhaps an emerald?”

Oh, damn it all. As if her guilt wasn’t bad enough, now he talked of buying her jewels? The urge to run away from the conversation was as strong as ever.

Bronwyn started to lift her saucer, realized it was empty, and wrung her hands around it instead. “Emeralds are lovely,” she admitted.

She needed to tell him. To find a way to break his heart gently before he purchased some lavish gift she couldn’t accept. But not here. It wasn’t the place or time, but soon.

Phillip’s eyes hooded slightly as he reached for a small lock of hair near her shoulders and twirled it around his fingers. “A perfect complement to your lovely hair.”

The mess of emotions in her sloshed like waves in a storm. She could hardly breathe, much less think, until he dropped her hair and put a respectable amount of space between them once more.

“Is it quite warm in here to anyone else?” Bronwyn fanned herself with her hand.

A few women giggled, including Charlotte. But Phillip, gentleman he was, waved to a footman. “Do we have any fans laid out for the women? Where were they placed?”

“Over here, my lord.” The footman led them over to a small table where a few lace fans were folded.

Rather than take her time inspecting them, Bronwyn set aside her empty glass, grabbed a fan at random, snapped it open, and began to fan herself.

Phillip raised a brow. “Better?”

“Much.”

And it was. For about five heartbeats, until she happened to glance at the nearby mantel and caught sight of her painting.

After everything that had happened with Malik, she’d completely forgotten to look for it, especially since it had still been white earlier that evening. But now, the place where she’d affixed the spell was black as night, the reflected moon a dark sister to the one in the sky.

Someone present was a wielder of dark magic.

Bronwyn swayed on her feet. Phillip was there in an instant, steadying her arm.

“I just need to sit,” she insisted, dropping into the nearest chair with little grace.

The spell had worked. They were one step closer. But who had activated it? It couldn’t have been anyone near them when Phillip opened her gift, but there had been plenty of others further away.

And there was one person who bore another clue.

Bronwyn’s stomach turned as she looked at Charlotte a few feet away.

But it couldn’t be Charlotte. It couldn’t. She was a commoner—a wealthy one, but common nonetheless. She shouldn’t have magic in her blood. Shouldn’t be able to work magic at all, much less dark magic.

That didn’t mean, though, that someone couldn’t have given her something bespelled. Maybe they had without her knowledge? But if Charlotte had been the one to pass the spell off to the kitchen boy, she must have known it was something foul. And then, afterward, she would have heard about the disaster…

Did Charlotte have another dark magic spell on her now? Did someone else?

All of it—the dragons, Malik, Charlotte, Ceridwen’s condition—made her want to cry and scream in equal measure.

“I’m sorry, Lord Griffith,” Bronwyn managed at last. “I’m afraid I’m not quite all right after all.”

She tried to stand, and he was there again, helping her to her feet. “It’s Phillip, and it’s no trouble at all. Would you like to stay here? I can have a room made ready for you.”

“No, no. That’s all right,” she said quickly. “I think I will be best if I’m able to return to the castle and rest.”

“Of course.”

He insisted on seeing her out. They passed the men smoking in the front parlor, where she made sure not to look at Malik. She couldn’t handle that, not now. The royal guards who waited in the warm night air called the carriage at once.

“There’s no need to wait with me, Phillip,” Bronwyn insisted. “Please, go back to your party.” The last thing she needed was an awkward goodbye, or some attempt at flirting. The crunch of hooves down the drive echoed over the men’s muted conversation. “See, it comes already.”

Phillip sighed. “Only if you insist that you’re okay for the ride.”

“I am.”

“And you’ll let me call on you soon?”

“Yes,” she responded a little brusquely. Her sanity was on its last thread, and she needed peace and quiet.

Before she realized what he was doing, he took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. “Then goodnight, Bronwyn. Be well.”

She stood there, stunned and trying not to react, as he gave a little bow and turned to go back inside.

A minute later and she was inside the carriage. The moment the door closed, she sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She closed her eyes, finding what little comfort she could as she leaned back against the cushioned bench.

The carriage jolted forward.

Another breath in and out.

Oh-so-slowly, her body began to relax, even if her mind was still a mess.

Then, suddenly, there was a commotion outside. The carriage rocked to an abrupt halt, sending her body tipping forward and her eyes flying wide. “What on—”

The door was jerked open, and just as quickly, Malik filled its frame.

“Care if I join you, Princess?”