Page 25

Bronwyn

I n all her imaginings, Bronwyn could not have pictured her current predicament—pouring her heart out to the one man who’d touched it, broken it, and now, impossibly, seemed determined to put it back together again.

But there’d been a scathing truth in his kiss earlier that night. An honesty in his words since. And his arm around her as they rode through the streets of the capital simply felt … right.

Maybe it should have been awkward. Father might deem it inappropriate, especially since they were alone. But she couldn’t care less about any of that. All she wanted to do was linger in Malik’s embrace and let him hold together all the fragile parts of her that she no longer seemed able to keep in place. Her sister still lay cursed and dying. Her new friend might be, at least partly, to blame. Enemies lingered close as friends. The fate of the whole kingdom teetered on a knife’s edge.

Yet with Malik’s warmth around her, she could weather the storm. At least, as long as he didn’t shatter her utterly. Comfort, she could handle. A kiss? Oh, how she wanted it, but she feared it in equal measure. And more? She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Letting him in, letting anyone that close, could be more dangerous and damning than confronting a room full of dragons, man or mythical.

“You know, after my mother died, I lost myself,” Malik said into the gloom, not quite looking at her. “For a long time, I wasn’t sure what I was living for. Revenge? Yes. But I had little clue how to go about it other than a dagger to the back, and I wasn’t quite ready to sign my own death decree.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “Ironic that a dagger in the back is exactly what worked in the end.

“For so long, my life was hollow. I denied what had happened to my mother … then I tried to cope. I even tried to earn my father’s love, despite knowing what he was and what he’d likely done to my mother, either by his own hand or through another. I still don’t know who administered the poison that slowly took her life, but in my heart, I know its source.”

His arm flexed around Bronwyn, and she leaned in closer, sharing her warmth—not that he needed it on such a warm evening. How her heart ached for him. Losing her own mother had been horror enough. If that death had come at the hands of her father? It was too terrible to fathom.

“One day,” he continued, “I stumbled into an opera house. Yes, that opera house.” He glanced at her, and her breath caught. Their faces were inches away. With a wry smile, he glanced away again, lost in his tale. “I was only there to fulfill my role as a member of the royal family—to be seen and pretend like everything was right in the world when it was anything but. But watching that performance, The Merry Men it was called, brought light into my life. It woke me up, I suppose you could say. Sad as it is to admit, the thought of watching stories unfold on the stage gave me something to live for. It made me realize something, too.” He paused, staring down at her.

“What?” she prompted, hanging on his every word, waiting for the next like a woman starved. She inhaled softly as he caressed her cheek with his fingertips.

“Loss is the worst kind of pain. But a life with nothing to lose? That’s no life at all.”

A feeling of emptiness sprouted in her chest and pressed outward. No life at all… That was how it had felt after Mother died. Like they were all dead, merely walking through the world of the living rather than being taken to the Goddess’s hallowed plane.

“I think you may have missed a few things in your story.” Malik tapped her gently on the nose with one finger. “Isn’t your sister happier with Drystan than she was before?”

Bronwyn’s brows knotted together. “Well, yes…”

He nodded. “I know my cousin is happier with her, too. Love healed him. It saved him when nothing else possibly could. And don’t you think their love has helped others, too? Before the last few weeks, hasn’t your father been healthier and more cheerful than in years? Didn’t you even say as much once?”

She didn’t know Malik had paid any attention to her father, or any of her comments about him, but apparently, she’d been wrong. He was, in fact, quite accurate in his assessment. “But if my sister dies—” Her voice hitched. “It will break Father. Probably for good.” And her right along with him.

“We won’t let that happen.”

So much confidence when, already, their time grew painfully short.

“I bet, though, if you asked your father, he would say the joy of the years together—with your mother or your sister—is worth the pain of loss should it come.”

“That’s different.” She tried to pull free from his embrace, but his strong arm held her tight. The corners of her eyes burned with unshed tears. “She’s his child. He has no choice but to…”

Malik’s jaw stiffened as her words trailed into nothingness. Oh … oh, Goddess above.

“Not all parents love their children so well as your father,” he said. “Love is a choice. Whether we love those connected to us by blood, fate, or luck, it’s always a choice. We take risks letting people in, letting anything touch us so intimately.” He cupped her cheek again, drawing closer until his forehead nearly rested against hers and they shared the same breath. “But it’s a risk worth taking, I think.”

The feel of his thundering heart under her palm—when had she placed her hand over his chest?—and the warmth of his breath against her lips sent her emotions careening wildly.

“Malik.” His name caught somewhere between a prayer and plea. Without waiting for a reply, she leaned more into him, narrowing the whisper of space between them until her lips pressed against his.

He met her readily, angling his head, his body, until they fit perfectly despite their precarious position on the coach’s narrow bench. A rush of tingles exploded across her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Something much warmer built low in her core, the sensation blocking out all her worries until it was just the two of them.

Unlike their first kiss, this one was slow. Careful. Tender. He lavished her mouth with reverence like a supplicant before the Goddess herself, begging for just a morsel of her grace. The softest nip of his teeth on her bottom lip elicited a little whimper from her. It was such a simple thing, this kiss, but somehow it seemed to rip her chest open, presenting her soul on a platter before him.

Bronwyn reached for the lapel of his coat, pushing it aside. She needed more. Closer.

Suddenly, Malik pulled back, his lips slipping away. His hand covered hers, halting her pursuit.

Her eyes flew wide, all the moment’s warmth doused in a burst of wintery ice. “I…”

Malik swallowed, chest rising and falling as he held her hand in place. “I want you. More than words. But not when you’re still uncertain.”

Uncertain? She started to shake her head. “I’m not—"

“You are. And that’s okay.” He placed her hand back in her lap. “Don’t you think I’ve come to know you at all?” A gentle smile lifted the corners of his lips. “I want you, Bronwyn. I will have you one day. But I’m content to wait until I can have all of you, nothing between us.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch elicited a jolt straight through her chest to the apex of her thighs. “I’ve waited months already. What’s a little longer?”

“But we— The dragons— If—”

He shook his head. “No more worries. Not tonight. I’ll be here when you are ready. I promise. When your heart is settled and your head is clear.”

She glanced away, biting her bottom lip if only to distract from the feel of him lingering there. “I should break things off with Lord Griffith, at least. Make it clear that—”

“No.”

She whipped her head back toward him. “What do you mean, no?”

“We can’t sever ties. Not publicly, anyway, not yet.”

Her stomach plummeted straight through the floor of the carriage. Because the plan must go on. No matter all they’d shared and revealed to each other, the world must remain ignorant of their connection. They still needed to find and stop the dragons. They had to save Ceridwen at all costs.

Goddess. How easy it was to forget her duty when all her thoughts were twisted up in his piercing stare.

She, too, was practiced in longing, in aching and waiting. And he was right. No matter that she loathed to admit it to herself, she was still unsteady, her emotions a mess. The night had twisted her up and wrung her dry like a wet cloth. Though she doubted the light of day would erase what she felt, it would be wise not to muddle her senses further with so much resting on her—on him, too.

A humorless laugh fell from her lips. “You worried about being able to pretend, if I returned your feelings. I think I understand why.”

He cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing her skin. “A trial if ever there was one. But if I’ve come to learn anything about you, it’s that you’re the most determined woman in this kingdom. If you want something done, it will be.”

She blinked away the emotion his words brought forth. A trial indeed, and she’d face it head-on. Anything for her sister.