Page 29

Bronwyn

B ronwyn often favored country life to that in the capital, but there were a few things about city life that she truly appreciated. The access to art, music, and plays, of course, but also the variety of little cafés and the delightful confections they sold. Being the queen’s sister often garnered her more attention than she preferred, so she didn’t spend as much time visiting these places as her heart desired, but meeting Charlotte was an excellent excuse to do just that—royal guards and the commotion they stirred be damned.

If nothing else, the soothing aroma of tea and mouthwatering hint of sugar in the air bolstered her spirit enough that she managed a smile and small talk once her companion arrived. Bronwyn had already reassured her that she was quite all right after leaving the party early the other night.

“This really is such a delightful little place.” Charlotte beamed as she stirred her tea, dissolving another sugar cube in the steaming water. Bronwyn was never one to shy away from sweets, but she preferred her tea plain, not … well, not liquid candy or whatever concoction the other woman brewed in her cup. “How did you find it?”

The café wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but inside, its décor was cute and whimsical, done in pastels that evoked images of a garden party. Many of the patrons appeared to be more middle class based on their attire, which was part of why Bronwyn favored it so, but Charlotte did not seem to mind that she was likely the wealthiest woman in the building.

“I chose it for the food, actually,” Bronwyn said. “They get their pastries from a bakery that I enjoy.”

One Malik had turned her on to. She’d looked into it when she’d requested someone fetch her a batch of those heavenly jam puffs. On that subject, it was very hard not to think about that day in the opera house—Malik wiping the filling from her lips and sucking his finger into his mouth with a groan of delight.

Bronwyn shifted in her seat and savored the burn of a long sip of tea.

“Any word from your sister recently?” Charlotte asked.

The question hit a little too close to home. Bronwyn nearly choked. She covered her mouth, trying to disguise the reaction as she set her tea aside.

“Only the most basic of updates,” she replied. Then, with the most mischievous look she could manage, she added, “I’d like to think she’s a little too preoccupied to be bothered with many letters.”

Charlotte giggled. “One can only hope.” If she knew Queen Ceridwen lay cursed and dying instead of enjoying private time with her husband, she either did not care or did an excellent job of hiding it.

Bronwyn made a show of pretending to think hard before asking, “You weren’t at the wedding, were you? I don’t recall seeing you there.”

“No,” she replied flatly, her features turning a little downcast. “Unfortunately, my brother and I did not receive an invitation.”

Was that why she’d done it? Could it be so simple and petty as that?

Bronwyn barely reined in a sigh. Here she was, damning her friend when she didn’t even know for certain she’d been involved.

The locket hanging around her neck suddenly felt heavy. She yearned to check it, to see if the spell tucked carefully inside had activated. It had been clear before Charlotte arrived, but there hadn’t been a good moment to look since. That, and it would be a lie to say Bronwyn didn’t dread the results. Either her would-be friend was guilty, or it was another dead-end. Both outcomes led to sorrow.

They talked of various lighter subjects for a while until Charlotte stopped a waitress to request a new pot of tea. The two women became locked in discussion about the different varieties available and their nuances.

Bronwyn’s fingers found the locket and closed around it. It was the perfect moment to check if ever there was one. Maybe she should leave it to later. Wait until Charlotte had gone. But the idea of waiting, or of something else possibly adding confusion to the result, left her feeling worse.

Someone exited the building, and through the open door came a burst of commotion and chanting from outside.

“What in the blazes—” The waitress broke off, turning to the front of the store.

Charlotte rose to her feet, the tea forgotten. The fine hairs on the back of Bronwyn’s neck rose. Everything in her told her to turn and look, but she needed one mystery solved first.

Bronwyn flicked open the locket with her thumb, glanced down, and—

A sigh of relief slipped through her lips. Nothing. No change.

She snapped it closed once more and shoved up from her chair, turning to see what the commotion was about. Through the windows at the front of the café, she saw a cluster of people standing on the sidewalk. The crowd wasn’t looking in at the tearoom but rather away, at something in the street or across it.

Then, Bronwyn spied a familiar form amid the onlookers.

“Is that Lord Griffith?” Charlotte asked, having spotted the same well-dressed man in the throng.

“I think so.” There weren’t many men with such handsomely bright hair, and even fewer who carried themselves so well.

Charlotte dug into her reticule, pulled out a few coins, and placed them on the table. A quick glance told Bronwyn they would more than cover their meal. “Please hold our table if you will,” Charlotte said to the waitress.

The middle-aged woman still wasn’t paying them any mind, transfixed by the quandary of whatever was happening outside.

“Let’s find out what’s going on.” Charlotte took Bronwyn by the hand and practically pulled her toward the door.

One of Bronwyn’s guards stationed outside entered the building and approached them. “Miss Kinsley, perhaps you should stay in.”

But Charlotte wasn’t about to be dissuaded. She ignored the man as if he didn’t exist and pushed on. Bronwyn gave him a weak smile as her friend towed her along. Outside, the commotion was so much louder. Words were yelled, some chanted, but they were a jumble to Bronwyn’s ears.

“Lord Griffith!” Charlotte called to him and gave a little wave.

He turned, eyes widening with surprise. “Miss Davies. Miss Kinsley!” He hurried over. “What are you doing here?”

“We were meeting for tea,” Charlotte replied as if the world wasn’t coming unglued in the streets.

“What is all this?” Bronwyn asked.

Phillip grimaced. “A demonstration. Come.” He spread his arms, trying to usher them back toward the building. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I want to see.” She had to know.

“It’s not—”

Bronwyn side-stepped out of his reach. And where were her guards? Why had she only seen the one?

“Bronwyn!” he called after her, but she ignored him, twisting to the side to slip deeper into the crowd. She stretched on her toes as she moved. Before the crowd, a man stood on a platform, giving him extra height as he shouted. A castle guard reached for him, but he jumped out of the way, nearly avoiding capture.

A few in the crowd chanted, and now she could make out the words. “Down with the king! An end to monstrous rule!”

She slid between two onlookers and froze at the sight before her. Another man holding a sheet with markings on it wrestled free from a guard. He leapt onto the side of an overturned cart and held the sheet aloft. Though the images on it were crudely drawn, they were clear enough to make out. A wolf-like beast with a sword through its chest and a beheaded dragon.

Bronwyn blinked at the sight. She was still staring when the castle guards wrangled the man to the ground.

They weren’t dragons, then. Not supporters of the old king … or the new one, it seemed.

Months ago, she’d have chanted right along with them. After all, in the short years of his reign, King Rhion had made life torturous for the common folk throughout the country, and she’d had no love for the monarchy, the nobility, or any of it before then, either. In fact, she had often thought things would be much better without all that nonsense, with more equity. She still did in so many ways.

But Drystan wanted to change things. To make them better. Didn’t he? Did they know that? She knew with absolute certainty that Ceridwen wanted change and would use every resource at her disposal to that end.

If they could save her.

A knot tightened in her chest. When a guard finally found her and tugged her away from the scene, she didn’t resist. Then Lord Griffith was there, and Charlotte, both looking worried and asking after her safety. Some nearby started to look their way, to whisper.

Lord Griffith cast a glance toward the crowd. “Come. My carriage isn’t far. That’ll be more discrete,” he said to the guard. “Both of you. Let me take you home.”

Bronwyn let herself be led away. The fire in her heart burned more dimly than it had in a long time.

The world, everything she knew about it, seemed to be breaking apart and reshaping itself each day. And where did that leave her?