Page 27

Bronwyn

B ronwyn blinked in astonishment as she beheld the large sitting room of the multi-bedroom suite her father shared with Jaina and Gerard. Neat stacks of books dotted the room, some on tables, a few on the floor. One chair held half a dozen volumes on its emerald-patterned cushion.

“Oh, Bronwyn!” Jaina hopped up from her seat, a book still in hand.

“What is all this?” Bronwyn asked, bewildered. They did all like to read on occasion, but usually one book at a time. Maybe two. This … this was something else.

The plump woman sidled up to her, drawing her toward the seating area where Father and Gerard pored over two other tomes. The book spread out in Gerard’s lap was so large one half of it tipped onto the cushion next to him. “Well,” Jaina started, lowering her usually loud voice to a whisper, “His Majesty and His Highness were spending so much time combing through these books looking for solutions that we thought we might help. Give a different perspective, as it were.”

That was … a surprisingly good idea, actually.

Before Bronwyn could voice that, however, Jaina seemed to remember something and crossed to a nearby table. “Oh! And we received another letter this morning from the lovebirds on their wedding moon.” She gave a dramatic wink as if Bronwyn didn’t understand the subtext of the words.

Bronwyn took the offered letter. Half the wax seal still clung to it. “Good news, I hope?”

“Mmm,” Jaina replied noncommittally. “They still keep having to turn away nosy visitors. The nerve of people, trying to disturb a couple during such a time.” She clucked her tongue. “And I’m not sure. I do wish I knew Miss Lydia Ainsworth better. She’s always such a happy, bouncy little thing, but that makes it harder to understand her sometimes, you know?”

“And?” Bronwyn tried to keep the irritation from her voice as she flipped open the letter and started reading it herself.

“Well, it seems like things may be a little … tense between her and Adair? It would be such a shame if they turn out not to be well-suited after all. Adair has been so keen on her these past years.”

“Better they find out now than later,” Father called from the sitting area.

Bronwyn folded up the letter. It did seem like her brother had done something to annoy his pretend bride, though that wasn’t entirely a surprise. He might simply have taken to drinking too much with little else to occupy him. Bronwyn loved her brother, truly, and wished the best for him, but he was his own worst enemy at times. Goddess willing, he wouldn’t bungle things badly enough to cause real harm—to his relationship or their ruse.

“So”—Bronwyn set the letter aside and gestured to the room—“have you found anything in all of this?”

“Oh, the books are fascinating! Truly!” A spark of excitement glimmered in Jaina’s eyes as she drew Bronwyn down onto the settee next to her.

Gerard, ever calm and pragmatic, shook his head slowly. “Nothing to save our dear girl.”

“Not yet,” Mr. Kinsley amended.

Bronwyn’s heart sank, but Jaina was not deterred. “Do you know why the dragons—those vile ruffians—call themselves that?”

“After the legendary creature of old, yes?” They tainted the noble creature’s legacy with their use of its name. One more sin to add to their long list.

“Yes, but not only that. One of these books discusses at length the ability for those with the blood of the Goddess to become a dragon. Can you image that? A man becoming a creature of legend.”

Those loathsome cultists had found a way to become creatures all right, but they were more wolf-like in shape, with leathery, stretched skin similar to that of a bat. A far cry from dragons of myth with their brilliant scales, wings, and lizard-like appearance.

It was hard to image that a person with Goddess-touched blood could become something other than a thing of nightmares, but months ago she’d have said a man becoming any kind of literal monster was impossible, too.

“So, a powerful magic user might become a dragon somehow?” Bronwyn asked. “How does that help us?”

“It doesn’t,” Gerard said, not looking up from his book.

Jaina scowled at him. Then, with a huff, she turned back to Bronwyn, smoothed out her features, and opened her mouth to continue.

Before she could, the muffled grinding of stone came from the back of the room. A phantom draft made the tapestry hanging there—a depiction of the Goddess bestowing her blessings upon a king of old—twitch. Someone had opened the secret passageway.

Gerard leapt into action like the trained soldier he’d been in his youth, hurrying to lock the sitting room door lest anyone discover their surprise visitor. Only a handful of people knew about the secret passage, which connected to the royal suite, and most of them were already in the room.

The heavy tapestry flapped open to reveal Drystan, whose arrival she’d predicted, and an unexpected second person. Her heart skipped a beat and broke into a gallop. Malik panned his gaze across the room, going still for just a moment when he spied her. A soft smile, there and then gone again, flitted across his face before he let the tapestry fall. The stones began to move back into place behind him.

“We have news,” Drystan said.

It was clear from the tone of his voice that this news wasn’t anything good, yet Bronwyn’s father still half-stood from his chair. “Ceridwen?” The hope in his voice pierced her heart.

Drystan pinched his eyes closed before giving a short shake of his head. Though she’d known the moment they entered that Ceridwen’s condition must be unchanged, Bronwyn’s heart sank a little anyway.

“There’s a flaw in the spell we’ve been using,” Malik said, getting straight to the point. “It seems it only works when close to an active spell or someone who has used dark magic quite recently.”

The little hope and optimism in the room seemed to slip away like rain into a gutter. “So, the paintings here in the castle won’t identify anyone connected to the dragons?” Jaina said.

It wasn’t her fault, but the connection between her art and failure still made Bronwyn frown.

“Not if the person hasn’t reached for darkness recently,” replied Malik. “But any recent usage or active spells will trigger them.”

“Then the castle is still well-protected,” Gerard reasoned, “in the sense that we’ll know if they try anything here.”

“Yes, but we’ll need to hurry some of our other plans along, and we can’t be too quick to rule things out.” Malik’s gaze shifted to Bronwyn. “Did you tell them about last night?”

Instantly, her cheeks heated, and her words dried up.

His eyes widened ever so slightly. “About our potential suspects,” he clarified.

Bronwyn’s father cocked his head as he looked between them but said nothing.

“Not yet,” she said, finding her voice again.

Bronwyn and Malik spent the next few minutes bringing her family up to date on what they’d learned. They were just finishing up when a knock sounded at the door. At once, everyone stilled. The sound seemed to suck the air out of the room.

Then came a voice through the thick door. “It’s Jackoby. Is anyone in?”

Bronwyn let loose a sigh. Thank goodness it was someone they could trust. Even so, Drystan slipped off to one of the bedchambers as she went to unlock the door and let the butler in.

“Ah, Miss Kinsley,” he said before she’d fully opened the door. “Exactly who I was looking for.”

“Me?”

He waited until he’d shut the door and locked it once more before continuing. “You have a guest to see you, a Lord Griffith.”

Oh. Oh, no. It felt like her body was trying to shrink in on itself. She’d really thought she would have more time before she had to face him again after last night. Malik had told her to keep the ruse going with him, but pretending to be interested when she’d just been kissing another man, one who wanted her, too… It had been hard enough at the party, but all the confessions in the carriage ride and the stark light of day made everything worse.

It had been easy, almost comfortable, to be with Griffith before the party, but now?

Damn it all, no wonder Malik worried about being able to keep up his own act. The thought was terribly painful once the reality of it had time to fully sink in.

“Should I tell him you’re out or not receiving?” Jackoby asked. “I left him in the blue room and asked a maid to bring him tea while I searched for you, but I can send him on his way.”

“No.” She needed to face this. “He’s likely concerned since I left the party suddenly last night.”

It would work if I said I’m ill. He’d believe it. But then word might get to Charlotte, and she’d already sent a letter asking to meet for shopping and afternoon tea tomorrow. Worse, Lord Griffith might learn of their outing and think she was avoiding him.

“Have you gone off him, dear?” Bronwyn’s father asked. “I thought you liked the man?”

She turned toward her father—and damn it all if Malik wasn’t standing behind him with the hint of a smirk on his face. Bastard. How she wanted to snap at him, but that would raise even more questions she didn’t want, which he well knew.

“I do,” she replied as evenly as possible. “It was merely a bit of an awkward evening with what I told you about earlier.” She turned back to Jackoby. “I’ll go and meet him now.”

But first, she had something else to see to.

Bronwyn stalked toward Malik. “I trust you’ll have some new papers ready for me?” She arched a brow at him. “And if you’re still planning to stop by the opera house today, perhaps pick up the two paintings I still had drying there, as well as my paints? There will be a lot of activity with the last-minute preparations for new show, and I don’t want them to get misplaced.”

“As my princess commands.” He gave a mocking bow.

She barely stopped her eyeroll. Should have known that kissing him would only make him more obnoxious.

*****

As Bronwyn neared the blue room, a footman rushed to open the doors. She stopped just inside the room, strings of tension coiling within her chest.

Lord Griffith turned away from the windows, lowering the porcelain cup to the saucer in his hand. “Miss Bronwyn.” His grin shone as brightly as the afternoon sunlight flooding into the room. It caught in his red hair, a bold contrast with the room’s décor.

“Lord Griffith.” She gave an awkward curtsey, trying to force a smile even as her pulse kicked up.

Jackoby had come with her from her family’s suite and waited by the door. Only his gaze moved as it shifted between her and the young lord. “Would you like me to stay, Miss Kinsley?”

Some might frown upon a young woman left alone with a man, but with a footman just outside the door, it could not be too improper. “No. Thank you, Jackoby.”

With a stiff bob, he left the room.

“I’m surprised to see you,” Bronwyn said.

“Pleasantly surprised, I hope.” His still-steaming cup of tea found a home on the table, next to a little tray of refreshments. “I wanted to check on you after yesterday evening, to assure myself that you are well and made it home safely.”

“You were worried about me?” She crossed the room to him.

His brow pinched as a wry smile crossed his face. “I should hope I’d be concerned for any young woman who found herself feeling unwell at my home and had to leave a party early.”

“And I suppose a letter wouldn’t do?” It was supposed to be a joke, but Phillip’s eyes widened, and she realized how terrible it sounded. He wasn’t someone she could tease like Malik. “Apologies.” She dipped another curtsey in an attempt to be demure. “I am feeling much better now. It’s truly wondrous what a good night of sleep can do.”

“I’m glad of it.”

Bronwyn started to pour herself some tea, conscious of the painfully awkward silence descending on them.

“Let me call for someone to do that for you,” he offered.

“Oh, it’s fine.” She waved him off. “I can pour my own tea.” For some reason, the thought of the warm cup in her hand gave her strength. Or at least something to focus her attention on other than him.

She had just set the teapot down when Phillip placed a hand on her wrist. Her breath hitched as she looked up at him, finding him much closer than she expected.

“I hope you know that, while I would be concerned for any woman who fell ill, I can’t say I’d pay most of them a visit. I’ve grown quite fond of you. Surely, you’ve realized that.”

The flush that burned across her cheeks wasn’t at all faked. Her heart leapt into her throat. Oh, Goddess, of all the days for a confession…

“Yes,” she replied, a little breathless. “Yes, I’ve realized.” She turned back to her tea. “It’s only that with my sister so—” She snapped her mouth shut.

When she hazarded a glance back at Phillip, he had that curious look on his face once more. “I’d think your sister being on her wedding moon would be an ideal time to explore your own romantic pursuits? Does it not make you consider your own future a bit more?”

Oh … oh no…

The edge of a brittle laugh slipped from her lips. She covered it with a quick sip of tea. “Yes, but my sister is my closest confidante. I’ve found it a little … unsettling to not be able to talk to her about things as I would like. There’s only so much a letter can convey, after all.”

“Indeed.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “All the more reason for me to check on you in person today. Though, that’s not the only reason I’ve come.”

“It’s not?” Her voice rose a little, a sense of impending doom hanging about her like a storm cloud.

He shook his head, some of his humor fading away. “No. I have a question for you.”

“Oh?” she all but squeaked. The teacup in her hands began to shake, and she had to set it down.

“Yes.” He took her hand in his.

She held her breath, chest tight. If he proposed, she’d faint, and she wouldn’t even have to fake it.

“I hoped you might accompany me to the premiere of the Wonderland opera.”

The opera. Oh, thank the Goddess! She could almost cry with joy.

“Yes,” she said amid a breathy huff of laughter. “That would be lovely.”

“Excellent.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “I’ve heard it’s sold out, but tickets can always be found for the right price.”

“Actually, Wynnifred—the opera house owner,” she clarified, “has already set aside a seat for me in the central box. I helped her with a few things, and she’s always been so generous with me. Perhaps you’d like to join me? I’m certain she wouldn’t mind adding another seat.” The box chairs were not fixed like those in the main gallery. After all, no one of importance wanted the shame of empty seats in a box they’d booked.

“Well, then. I’d be honored to be my lady’s guest.” Damn if he didn’t look it, too.

Guilt swelled even as she smiled pleasantly at him.

Dig the hole a little deeper. Let him fall harder.

She might really hurt the man when she finally broke things off with him.