Page 3

Bronwyn

F or a moment, Malik had been the man she remembered from winter. The soft sparkle in his green eyes, the way his dark locks framed his face, how each layer and fold of cotton and silk accentuated the strong body beneath. Each detail brought memories that she’d tried hard to bury rushing back to the surface.

Being near him was insufferable.

If only she could drag him into the shadows and berate him for leading her on only to go back to his spoiled, princely ways. Perhaps smack him across the face, let him feel a little bit of the hurt she did.

Not tonight, though. And probably not ever, if her lack of action these last few months was any indication. Better to simply forget him, as impossible as he made that. At least Lord Griffith had helped her forget, if only for a few minutes. She glanced around quickly but didn’t spot him anywhere nearby. Perhaps she could speak with him again later, though, if only to avoid the crowds. And Malik.

A minute later, they ascended the wide stairs to the slightly raised section of the ballroom where the royal couple awaited.

Ceridwen hurried toward Bronwyn, her smile as radiant as her attire. She was truly glorious today, beaming with an inner light that spilled from every pore and added shine to the tiny crystals sewn like glittering snowfall across her voluminous white gown. Her golden locks were pulled up, pinned, and woven with even more glittering stones.

Truth was, she could be wed in a burlap sack and still look magical. Funny how love brightened her sister where it only seemed to cause Bronwyn pain.

“Bronwyn!” Ceridwen beamed as she beheld her sister. Malik released Bronwyn in time for her sister to wrap her in a tender hug. “We’re just about to do the toast.” She took Bronwyn’s hand and led her toward the others who had gathered.

Tradition required family members to pour a drink for the new couple. Indeed, their small family already swarmed around them. Father, who finally walked without his cane thanks to his returning health. Her brother, Adair, with his likely soon-to-be-fiancée Lydia on his arm. Jaina and Gerard, who’d served their family since childhood and were practically surrogate parents. And lastly, Bronwyn. For Drystan, only Malik was present to represent his family—though several of his trusted staff from Teneboure were present to share their well wishes.

Bronwyn forced a smile for her sister’s benefit, making sure she showed it to the rest of her family as well. “Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.” Not the way she already missed her sister. They’d been inseparable all their lives until Drystan had requested Ceridwen’s services as a live-in musician at the manor in Teneboure. Ceridwen had fallen in love. Moved on. She didn’t need her older sister around anymore.

Ceridwen’s gloved hand slid into Bronwyn’s, giving it a squeeze. “I’m so glad.”

Bronwyn’s cheeks ached, but she wouldn’t let the smile drop.

Lydia and Adair went first, happy to be the center of attention for once this evening. They’d have gossip to tell their friends about for days. Lydia still lived with her parents in Teneboure, but she and her parents had rented a home in the capital to come and stay a while specifically for this event. Her mother, Lady Elspeth Ainsworth, had always been kind to Bronwyn and Ceridwen, inviting them to her teas and gatherings. Even so, her sideways glances and comments whispered just out of earshot made it clear that Bronwyn didn’t conform to her idea of a proper lady. Her words were too blunt, her actions not refined. Ceridwen, on the other hand, fit her ideal much better. In fact, Lydia, with her blond curls and frilly, pale pink dress, resembled a queen’s sister more than she did. Even now, Lydia poured a perfect toast, lifting the glass to exactly the right level and commanding the attention of the surrounding nobles, who followed suit.

Soon, Ceridwen would have a new sister, one all too happy to spend her time attending events and socializing with nobility—tasks Bronwyn hated.

“Would you like to go next?” Malik peered down at her. Bubbles floated up within the saucers of sparkling liquid he held in each hand. He offered one to her. “I could join you if you’d prefer not to toast alone.”

A hint of something comforting—his scent—tickled her nose. She’d envisioned that once, toasting at Ceridwen’s wedding with Malik at her side the way Adair was at Lydia’s. She’d thought they had a future, one together. But that happy illusion had lasted no more than a week after Drystan took the crown. Then Malik had returned to his old self, not the man she knew but the one she’d heard of, the flirty prince who spent all his time at parties. In fact, she rarely saw him in the castle these days.

Bronwyn should have known not to bet on love. If it didn’t lead a person to ruin as it had Father, it consumed them whole as it had Ceridwen.

Her attention flicked between the prince and the rest of the family a few paces away. “I believe I can give a fitting toast by myself, thank you.”

Bronwyn notched her chin higher as she walked to the center of the open circle. The room quieted, awaiting her words. She swallowed her apprehension as the memorized speech floated to the surface of her mind. Ceridwen and Drystan had eyes only for one another; they wouldn’t notice if she messed it up. But she would not mess up. Speaking before a room full of people was somehow easier than having a casual chat with one or two.

Bronwyn raised her glass high in the air. “To my dear sister and her charming husband. May you—”

A loud crack sounded overhead, pulling everyone’s attention. The grand chandelier, bearing multiple rings of sparkling crystal and lit oil lamps, swung. The elaborate glasswork clinked and chimed as gasps filled the room.

“It’s going to fall!”

Bronwyn’s body locked up as she stared in horror at the unfolding sight. People screamed. Some ran. Drystan pulled Ceridwen into his arms.

The chandelier swung her way. Groaning wood joined clinking glass as pieces of the ceiling rained down on the crowd. Her legs shook, but she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move. Time seemed to slow as the chandelier swung, gliding lower—

Someone bowled into her, knocking the air from her lungs and the glass from her hand as they careened toward the ground. Her eyes slammed shut as she braced for the jarring impact with the stone floor, but—

The warm, comforting scents of sweet musk and spice surrounded her. The hard smack of marble against her head never came. A deep groan rang in her ears as the man who’d grabbed her took the brunt of the fall, cradling her against his chest.

Ear-shattering screams and the crash of glass and wood echoed through her bones. Bronwyn burrowed into the solid body wrapped around hers. Blood rushed through her ears, drowning out the chaos with the rapid thump of her pulse—or his.

Sobs and groans mingled with the screams as the world returned.

“Bronwyn, are you hurt?” Malik’s urgent tone freed her from the prison of shock.

Aches made themselves known along her ribs and hip, but they were minor. A small cut along Malik’s cheek left a thin streak of blood. He’d taken the brunt of the fall … for her. “I’m all right.”

Malik helped her sit up as chaos reigned around them. Shattered glass littered the floor; some small fragments sparkled on Malik’s jacket. The injured cried out and bled upon the ground.

“Father. Ceridwen!” Bronwyn’s heart clenched as she scanned the room.

Not far away, Ceridwen clung to Drystan, who cast about wildly, calling for his guards. Adair had drawn the sword he wore at all times as Drystan’s captain of the guard. He, too, snapped orders, keeping Lydia, Father, and the rest of the family behind him.

Safe.

Bronwyn breathed deeply. Thank the Goddess, they were safe.

Smoke filled her lungs, sending her into a coughing fit. Malik pulled her to her feet and away from the gray cloud drifting around them. But the smoke didn’t come from the burning oil of the fallen chandelier—it seeped from the wreckage in dark billows. It was no ordinary smoke, not like that of a fire. It had form as it rose. Substance.

“Magic,” Malik said, a dark edge to his voice. He threw out his arm, ushering her behind him.

Her skin turned clammy. Magic. A power few possessed, and if they wielded it here, it could not be a spell of the light. No practitioner of light would dare disrupt Drystan’s wedding, not after all he’d done to defeat King Rhion, a wielder of dark magic.

The smoke folded in on itself, tightening and taking the shape of a winged lizard that coiled below the high, arced ceiling. Some guests froze in terror, staring up at the magic flowing before them. Others screamed and continued their hasty exit. Guards rushed in only to skid to a stop, gaping at the sight.

A dragon. Symbol of the old king’s followers. King Rhion Ithael had fed Drystan’s addiction to dark magic and used him as a tool to kill any would who oppose them. Under the magic’s thrall, Drystan had been forced to attack even his own parents, and Rhion had convinced him he was solely responsible for their deaths.

The evil king was dead. His reign had ended. But some of his followers still lived in the shadows, challenging Drystan’s rule and seeking the twisted freedoms they’d once held to steal the blood of the living and use it to increase their power.

“False king.” The smoke dragon’s voice hissed like steam, setting Bronwyn’s teeth on edge. “Abdicate the throne you stole by force or face our wrath.” The dragon shifted, almost as if it turned to take in the rest of the room, and spoke once more. “He’s a monster. One who’ll devour our country whole.”

“Drystan!” Ceridwen tugged at his arm.

Drystan’s teeth were bared, the canines slightly longer than normal. His eyes flashed a dangerous shade of red. He’d used dark magic for so long under his uncle’s influence that, even now, his craving troubled him. Light and dark magic should never mix, Drystan had said. When they did, the wielder could lose control and be overcome. It had been months since he’d fully transformed into the monster that lingered beneath his skin, but anger and aggression brought it to the surface. Only Ceridwen was able to calm him and keep the beast contained.

“You’ve been warned.” With its final eerie note, the dragon dissipated.

If Drystan didn’t rule, who would? Without a monarch, the country would fall into chaos. Drystan’s only heir, Malik, peered down at her, his brow wrinkled and lips pressed thin.

“You—” Bronwyn started.

No. He couldn’t be a dragon, could he? He’d helped them take down his father and his followers. He’d placed the crown on Drystan’s head himself. Bronwyn bit her lip, holding in the accusation she yearned to fling his way.

“Bronwyn.” He touched her upper arm. Gentle. Searching.

“You protected me,” she stammered, covering her almost-accusation.

“Of course, I—”

“Prince Alastair.” Guards swarmed them, addressing Malik by his official name. “Lady Bronwyn.”

Malik dropped his hand as if she’d burned him. As he stepped away, the trace of worry on his features vanished into unusual stiffness. “I’m glad you’re all right. It would be unfortunate for the king and queen if you were injured.”

But not for you? She didn’t mask the hurt that had her standing a little straighter. “Inconvenient, more like,” she replied, letting the bite of his indifference filter into her words.

His lips twitched once before he turned away.

“Bronwyn!” Adair filled the space in front of her, looking her up and down, brushing dust from her arms. “You’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” she promised.

“Let’s get you out of here.” Her brother turned her toward the rest of the family and the guards surrounding them. Ceridwen clung to Drystan and he to her. The eerie light had gone from his eyes. Bronwyn breathed a small sigh of relief. At least his monster was back under control … for the moment.

Bronwyn glanced back over her shoulder, searching for the man who, in the middle of chaos, had likely saved her life. She could not find him.