Page 24

Malik

T he look on her face was almost comical, her mouth parted, eyes wide. He’d wager the last thing Bronwyn expected was for him to rush after her carriage and insist they give him a ride back to the castle as well. He’d nearly missed it. Might have, if Lord Griffith had taken another moment to see her out. Or if he’d tried for a more daring kiss.

Malik’s fingers tightened on the door frame. Then he slid the rest of the way inside, snapped the door shut, and banged his fist on the roof to signal the driver should continue.

“You cannot be here,” Bronwyn hissed. “What are you thinking?”

Malik settled on the bench across from her, completely unruffled. “I was thinking I’d rather be here than anywhere else.” He leaned forward, elbows braced on his spread thighs.

“Fool.” She sucked in a deep breath and let it rush out again. “What if someone saw you? What about your companion, Lady Sian?”

“I may have mentioned that the smoke was getting to my head and I needed to step out. Who’s to stop me from leaving early?”

“But leaving with me ? Someone will take note. People will talk.”

“Why? Don’t we live in the same castle?”

Her scowl deepened, and it only made him want to prod her more.

Yes, he was a fool for running after her. Yes, people might talk. It was a terrible decision, really, but one he couldn’t fully regret.

“You know that’s not it. Ugh.” She balled her hands into fists in front of her and ducked her head behind her arms. When she raised them a moment later, the look in her eyes was so vulnerable he nearly reached out for her. “The painting…” Her arms dropped with a sigh. “The magic was triggered. Did you see?”

“I did,” he replied, solemn.

She glanced out the window, then back to him. “Someone there must have been the person we’ve been looking for.” He’d expected that knowledge to brighten her spirits, but instead, she slouched a little in her seat, defeated. “I … I think it may be Charlotte.”

“Charlotte?” he echoed in surprise.

“Miss Davies,” she amended, though he knew exactly of whom she spoke. She stared at his boots as she continued. “She was wearing a ruby ring with the stone cut in the shape of a heart.” She glanced up at him, all her fire gone out. “That’s the same kind the kitchen boy reported, right? The dark-haired woman who handed him the spell to place at the wedding feast.”

Now he knew why she was so crushed. Malik leaned forward. “It is. But her family does not have noble blood, do they? Aren’t they common?”

“I believe so. Wealthy, but no title among them.”

What everyone believed wasn’t always the truth where parentage was concerned. It was entirely possible the Davieses carried some noble blood from a dalliance that was kept quiet. Possible that the Goddess’s blessing had taken root in Charlotte. Possible that she’d somehow learned complex dark magic.

But unlikely.

A conspirator, though? That was more feasible, however much he wished it wasn’t true, for Bronwyn’s sake if nothing else. She seemed to have grown fond of the woman.

“We’ll need to be sure before we do anything,” Malik said in an attempt to reassure her. “Though there’s another possibility.”

This made her brighten.

“My father had a number of subtle ways that his followers acknowledged each other, a secret handshake being the most common—but there were words as well, phrases that might seem a bit odd to someone unfamiliar with them but not strange enough to draw much attention. I recalled one of them and used it while I was in the smoking room with the men. Someone reacted.”

Bronwyn leaned in as he spoke, scooting to the edge of her bench until mere inches separated them. One good hole in the road could throw either of them at the other.

“I bet you can guess who.”

Her eyes widened before her features dropped into a scowl. “Lord Osric.”

Malik nodded.

“I knew he was foul,” she spat. “But Charlotte, aligning herself with such a man?”

“Who is to say?” Malik attempted a shrug. “If she’s mixed up in all this, maybe her companions are not ones you’ve come to expect.”

He regretted the words as soon as they were out. Bronwyn sighed and slid back, hugging her arms about herself. “Perhaps not.”

“We’ll need to test them again. Individually.”

Bronwyn huffed. “Should I make them paintings as well?”

“It could work for Charlotte, but we may need a different approach for Lord Osric. Something more subtle.”

“Ah, yes. Can’t be giving gifts to every unmarried nobleman, can I?”

“No, I suppose not.” If he had his way, Malik would keep her as far from that oily bastard as possible.

Despite the dim light filtering in from gas-lit lampposts outside, he could still make out the flush on Bronwyn’s chest, just above the fashionably low neckline of her gown. A tell that she was frustrated, upset, or both. As if how closely she hugged herself did not give it away already—she didn’t huddle from chill, not on such a warm night.

Malik carefully slid from his bench to sit beside her. He laid a hand on her upper arm, barely restraining himself from tugging her against his chest and holding her tight. She sucked in a breath, her gaze jumping to his.

The silence between them was so thick he could cut it with the blade hidden inside his coat, and it only grew thicker with every passing moment. Thoughts untangled behind her eyes as her gaze flitted over him, his face, his form, all the way down to his boots then back up again.

“Did you mean it?” she asked at last. “What you said in the study?”

He could get lost in the warmth of her eyes, especially when she looked at him with such utter vulnerability. “Every word.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Perhaps it was the bounce of the carriage, but she seemed to nod as she took in his answer. Malik sat still as a statue as he waited for whatever came next. She needed time to process, that much he knew. Perhaps he shouldn’t have chased after her. She was a wild thing that would scratch and flee when cornered, but it was done now.

When she still didn’t speak, he could no longer hold back the thoughts roaring through his mind. “Do you regret it? Kissing me?”

“No!” She nearly leapt from her seat as she turned toward him fully. “No,” she echoed more calmly. Then, barely a whisper, “I don’t regret it. Do you?”

The stiff knot of tension in his chest loosened. His lips lifted in a satisfied grin. “Never.” His hand travelled from her shoulder up to her cheek, where he tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

She shivered. “Not even if it ruins your plans?”

“Hm … I’m not sure I’ll be able to stomach leading on some poor woman and having her at my side when I know it could be you. Like I said, I’m not that good of an actor.”

She huffed. “You’re better than you think.”

“Maybe you’re not a good judge of men,” he countered.

“Hey—” She swatted at his chest.

“Did you think I wouldn’t fall for a woman who knelt by my side when I was bleeding out while facing down a monster?” He quirked a brow. “Most would have run.”

“Not me,” she whispered.

“Not you.” He held her gaze. Steady and so full of unsaid words.

“I … I thought then that you…” She shook her head. “But then you became so distant, and I wasn’t sure. And I couldn’t…” She pinched her eyes shut, then opened them again. “I couldn’t risk it.”

Malik could taste the panic rising in her like a tang on the breeze. That urge to run, to flee. So, he cupped her cheek, savoring the sharp intake of her breath and the subtle way she leaned into his touch. “Is falling for me so terrible?”

“To care for anyone, to let them in, it’s foolish. Dangerous.” She turned her face away from him, breaking his touch.

“Dangerous.” He reared back as if she’d shoved him. Of all responses, he had not expected that one.

“Yes.” She crossed her arms again and scooted away from him. “Letting someone in, giving them space in your heart, it weakens you.”

If anyone was weak, it wasn’t her. “How so?”

She stared out the window for so long he feared she might not answer, but finally, she turned to him. “When my mother died, it nearly destroyed us.” She sighed, her arms loosening a bit. “Father couldn’t make wise decisions anymore and near ruined us. Adair put all of his focus on one thing. Well, two—war and women. Ceridwen lost herself to music and almost lost that, too. And I…”

He knew. Goddess above, he knew better than most. “You built a wall around yourself.”

She swallowed but nodded. “Look at my sister. She nearly died chasing after the man she loves.” Then, so low he barely heard her, she added, “She might still.”

“Did you go with her?” Malik asked. “When she chased after him?”

Months may have passed, but that morning was still fresh and sharp in his mind. Drystan had left, fled to the capital to try and destroy Rhion all on his own, leaving Ceridwen asleep in his bed. Safe, in his mind. He’d sent for the person he knew she would need upon waking and learning he was gone. Her sister. Malik still couldn’t quite imagine what Bronwyn—what the whole family—must have thought when she was called on early that morning, but the sight of her stalking into the main hall, bundled against the cold but burning with inner fire hot enough to set the manor ablaze, had been awe-inspiring.

How she’d raged at him, snowflakes still caught in her dark hair. It shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it had.

And then she’d learned who he truly was. All the color had drained from her face. But she had not swooned. Never that.

Yet, beyond her fury and disgust, there had been something else, something he tried to convince himself he’d made up—until he saw it again, and again, and again. A sharp desire so elusive most would have missed it.

“You know I did.” She crossed her arms again and looked away. “I couldn’t let her run off to the capital alone. She might have died, and I couldn’t lose her.” Her fists tightened. “Not then, I couldn’t—” She choked up.

Everything about her body language said stay away , but Malik had a habit of ignoring such warnings. He covered her hand with his, curling his fingers over hers. When she squeezed him in return, it was the sweetest victory.

“Love made my sister do foolish, reckless things. It nearly got us all killed. And if she’d lost Drystan, she never would have recovered, just as he won’t if he loses her. So, you see,” she said, “love breaks people. It can destroy them utterly.” Her fingers gripped his for dear life. “Losing Ceridwen would destroy me, too. I can’t—I can’t lose anyone else.”

“Ah.” He closed the distance between them until her body was pressed against his. “You worry about losing me.”

She sniffed, snapping her head to stare at him. “Of course I do. These accidents … chasing after dragons…”

Something glimmered in her eyes as beams of light from a nearby lamppost poured in—there and gone a moment later. Malik slid his thumb under one of her eyes, but he found no wetness. Then the most unexpected thing had his heart leaping and stalling. Bronwyn laid her head on his shoulder.

He stiffened, then relaxed into her touch, leaning his head in until her hair barely grazed his cheek. Her scent filled his nose.

Despite all that had happened that night, he couldn’t recall ever being quite so content.

A quick glance outside showed a familiar street, one far too near the castle for his liking. He pounded a fist on the wall behind him, causing Bronwyn to jump, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, holding her close. “Make a loop through the city,” he shouted to the driver.

There came a muffled response over the clomp of horse hooves and the crack of the wheels along the cobbled streets. A moment later, they were turning. Good. The man understood.

Bronwyn shifted, looking up at him with her cheek still pressed into the arm of his coat. “Thank you.”

He nodded once. Thank goodness he wasn’t the only one unprepared to step back into the world, a world so changed from when the sun had still been in the sky. And he sensed she needed care. Bronwyn was never weak, not that. It took strength to be vulnerable, and he was honored that she shared that side with him. It said even more than the kiss they’d shared, a kiss he longed to repeat.

Malik wasn’t accustomed to providing comfort, but damn it, he’d try. Anything for her.