Page 36

Bronwyn

E very inch of Bronwyn’s skin tingled as she turned in a slow circle once more, taking in the room. She wasn’t imagining things. Hanging in frames, leaning against the wall, propped on tables … her art was everywhere.

His room. His bedchamber. He’d covered it in her work.

“Why?”

“You know I favor the arts.” It wasn’t an answer. Not really. It might make sense for one piece in the room to be hers, but all of them?

Part of an old set leaned against the wall by the door, and she stepped over to it, her fingers trailing across the painted edge. It was a simple piece, a field of flowers. Any number of artists could have done it, but Wynni had asked her to give it a try. It was the first piece she’d done for her. A test of sorts, most likely, but Bronwyn had just been happy for the excuse to paint and escape the busyness of the castle.

“I thought this would have been discarded after the play. Or painted over.”

She felt him before he spoke, a warm presence at her back that had her standing a little straighter. “It may have been. But I asked Wynnifred for it, and she acquiesced.”

The reason he wanted it burned in her chest, hot, furious, and pressing against her ribs.

“And this one.” She walked to the framed landscape near the bed. “It was from the gallery opening.”

“It was.” His voice was calm. Even. Almost devoid of emotion. “I loved what you did with the light on the water, and I had to have it. Truthfully, I might have purchased them all, but I thought you’d be cross with me if I did and you learned of it. I would have acquired any that did not sell, but they all did.”

She whirled on him again. “Why, Malik?”

He neared until his legs pressed into the skirts of her dress and they nearly shared the same breath. A shiver rolled across her skin as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “You know why.”

“Tell me.” Only the words would do. No guessing. No games.

Malik grabbed her chin, keeping her from looking away. Not that she would, not for this. “I have longed. Ached. Pined. I wanted you and could not have you. So, I made do with what bits of you I could surround myself with.”

“You—” she started, but his thumb found the seam of her lips and pressed.

He smirked. “So impatient.”

She glowered at him even as his thumb rubbed across her bottom lip, causing a knot of desire to coil tight within her. Goddess, he infuriated yet beguiled her like no other.

He dropped his hand and swallowed thickly, expression sobering. “I love you, Bronwyn Kinsley. I have loved you—”

She didn’t let him finish. Couldn’t. All the pent-up tension and worry within her burst. Her lips were on his in a heartbeat, the kiss passionate and fierce. She ached for him. Had craved the taste of his lips again and had been frightened of it in equal measure. But no more. Something about facing down death had shifted the pillars of her soul, and she no longer feared what giving in to her desire might bring. Instead, she feared never tasting their passion again, never learning the depths of his feelings or what they could be together.

Bronwyn slid back onto her heels, breaking the kiss but lingering against him. “I love you too, Malik,” she said the moment he opened his eyes.

Despite the dim lighting of the room, there was no missing the pure joy that sprang to his face, blooming in a smile on his lips and sparkling in his eyes.

She smiled in return, a heavy weight on her chest gone as if it had never been. Had she ever felt so light? So free and joyous? He loved her, and she loved him. And finally, finally, he knew.

Fear had not won.

“I—” She nestled closer, and he winced in pain. “Oh, Goddess!” She sprang back. “Damn! Your arm!”

In the revelation of everything else, she’d forgotten it completely. Stupid. Foolish. Letting the man she loved bleed out while he professed his feelings.

“It’s—”

“Nonsense,” she snapped. He better not tell her it was nothing. “I need you to take care of yourself. I need you healed.” Before he could stop her or beguile her with more kisses, she stomped past him, toward the desk where he’d said the medicine was kept. The thing was a mess, covered in stacks of letters and papers, a few errant jars, and a candleholder overflowing with pooled wax.

Malik trailed after her. “Do you have plans for me, Princess?” he crooned.

The tone of his voice, the implication, shot straight between her legs. She’d never considered herself the lustful type, but around him, her body had its own ideas. “Stop distracting me and help me find the medicine you need.”

An arm snaked around her middle, pulling her against his solid chest. “ We need.” His lips brushed her neck. “It’s just here.” He pulled out the drawer by their legs and selected a small, nondescript ceramic pot. From the look of it, she would never have guessed it contained anything of value, but perhaps that was the point.

“Good.” She managed to twist around and face him, her back half bowed over the desk. She gave him a gentle shove. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

He stepped back and arched a brow. “So then you can have your way with me?”

The entirety of her body grew hot, from her head, down to her core, and all the way to her toes. It would be a lie to say she didn’t want just that, but admitting it? Even her ears burned. “One thing at a time,” she mumbled, squeezing out from between him and the desk and refusing to look at him. He laughed.

Back in the sitting room, he tried to use the cream on her.

“Don’t waste it on me. Look.” She held out her arm. “See? It’s already stopped bleeding and everything.” As she shifted, the new ring she wore glimmered in the light.

Guilt flooded her. Here she was, confessing her feelings to Malik while wearing some other man’s ring. “Ugh.” She jerked it off and plunked it none too gently on a side table.

Malik’s grin widened, looking from the ring to her. Two of his fingers were covered in the greenish goop. “Your wound may leave a mark.”

Just like that, the unwanted ring was forgotten.

She shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“And if I do?”

A disappointed huff fled her lips. “I didn’t think you so shallow.”

“No, not like that,” he said at once, truly affronted. “No change in your appearance could affect how I feel. But you got this mark because I did not save you in time. It’s my failure.”

“It is not.” She jerked her arm back against her chest. “It … it shows that I did something. Or I tried to. I want to remember that.”

His features softened. “Like the one on your wrist?”

It had been on this same sofa, in the same room, just months earlier. She swallowed, remembering that night and cursing herself for being such a scared fool. If she’d kissed him then, how differently might things have gone? “Yes. Like that one,” she said, her voice gone thick and husky.

“Then, as my lady requests, I shall leave it.” He inclined his head in a mocking gallant bow.

Bronwyn sighed and rolled her eyes, but a smile crept to her lips all the same. “Just heal yourself already.”

And so, he did. Bronwyn unwound the tight, bloody cloth from Malik’s arm, managing not to get sick despite the viciousness of the wound. Still, she couldn’t quite look at it as he applied the cream, but she heard him sigh and knew something was working. There was enough blood still present for him to work a spell; a few minutes later, the wound had sealed shut and vanished as if it had never been.

“Satisfied?” Malik held the arm out to her.

She nodded, but her mind was full of a thousand questions that had sprung up in the short time he’d worked his spell. One shouted louder than all the rest. “Why me?” she asked, trusting he knew what she meant. “I’m no one special. Not really.” The sister of a queen, now, but that spoke to her sister’s greatness, not hers. She was just a woman from the countryside. A talented artist, she’d give herself that, but no great beauty, and certainly not a charmer. The opposite, really.

“You are special.” Malik took her hand in his larger one. “To me.”

“Malik…”

She tried to pull away, but he held her firm. “Let me tell you a story.”

Fine. She sighed and nodded.

A weak smile formed, then vanished as he began, “I told you about how visiting the opera house and seeing the plays there saved me. They gave me something to look forward to in my life.”

“Yes.” She would never forget that night, all that they’d shared in the carriage ride. When she’d arrived at Lord Griffith’s party, the world had been one way; by the time she went to bed that night, it had been irrevocably turned inside out—changed into something she could hardly imagine but loved even more than the world she’d left.

“Well, that was the first step on my path to falling in love with the arts and becoming Wynni’s favorite patron, as she likes to call me. Drystan … Drystan was already on the path toward darkness then. One of my father’s loyal would-be dragons. Such a mockery of the honorable beast of old,” he spat. “We were not close as we had been in our youth. My father favored him, which only made me loathe him for a long time. With Mother gone, I had no one else. Art, especially the theatre, was my only source of joy.”

To be so alone… Her heart ached for him, and she found herself scooting closer, closing the narrow distance between them until she leaned against his side.

“Far too early in life, I learned to avoid my father, to placate him, rather than stand up to him. If I did that, I could continue to pursue life’s pleasures. And, oh, how I sampled them.” He grimaced. “Sorry as I am to admit that at times. But none of those pleasures fulfilled me, especially not when I needed them. Except, perhaps, the arts. Most people—then and now—see me as a prince, a title. But when I watch a play, hear a song, or see a painting, I’m an observer like any other. My title doesn’t matter, nor the magic in my blood. I’m simply human. Nothing special.”

“But you are—”

The sad smile on his face stopped her cold. “I didn’t want to be.”

Her brows drew together, but he continued before she could ask more. “And then one day, a certain woman looked at me not like a prince but a pest.”

The shame of it had her shoulders hunching. If she’d known who he was, truly … well, she might have treated him the same way, if she’d had the courage.

Somehow, the memory sparked mirth in his eyes. “I’ll admit, I was curious. Intrigued. The more I saw, the more I wanted to know. During those days at the opera house, I was able to get a glimpse of the real woman within. I wanted her to look at me. To see me, the real me. I wanted to receive even a fraction of the love and dedication you showed Ceridwen. And then…” His thumb traced over the scar on her wrist. “You offered me your blood. Such absolute trust.” He raised her wrist to his lips and placed a kiss over that scar.

Bronwyn squirmed and glanced away. “I wanted to be helpful.”

He tipped her chin back toward him. “Is that all?”

The knowing look in his eyes had her insides melting. “No.” The confession was breathless. “Though I don’t know what else I wanted, really.”

Such a lie. She’d lied to herself over and over about that night. She’d wanted him. Even then. Even knowing who he was but not really knowing him yet, the man beyond the title. Danger clung to him; arrogance, but also mirth and humor. He was everything she wanted to be but didn’t feel capable of becoming. She might be capable now, but not then. Part of it was unexplainable, the way his soul called to hers. They should never have been possible, a prince and a commoner. Yet, deep down, that knowledge hadn’t stopped the yearning.

He huffed and grinned but didn’t push her on it. The more time she spent around him, the surer she was that he could pluck every thought from her head if he wanted to, though there was no magic she knew of that could allow someone to do that.

“And when I lay injured,” he continued, “you stood at my side.”

More like sat. She bit her lip, cheeks flaming.

“You could have run. Hidden. But you stayed. You fought in your own way. You were courageous. Strong. Brave.”

She glanced away. “I’m not—”

Malik cupped her cheek, tipping her face back toward him. “You were, and you are. I knew then that I wanted you at my side, not just for that moment but in all the days to come.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Even then…”

He nodded. “I realized it fully after my father was defeated. My vengeance was complete. I should have been satisfied, but I was not, because I had something I wanted more than that, more than any play, or party, or title.” He held her face in both hands, leaning in until his breath ghosted across her lips. “I wanted you. I still do.” His lips brushed hers. “I always will.”

The press of his lips against hers was slow and tender, so much so that the gentleness of it threatened to break her. It was reverent, holy, the way one might worship the Goddess. And though she could never compare herself to a deity, he almost made her believe she was one in that moment. Incomparable. Beloved. And she worshiped him in return, clutching at his shirt in fear that he might disappear or she might open her eyes to find he was some dream. But the strong arms wrapped around her were very real, as was the warm, musky scent that enveloped her. One by one, he pulled the pins from her hair, and it tumbled in waves down her back. Malik kissed her like they had all the time in the world, and only when her head was thoroughly buzzing did he pull back.

“I wanted you, too,” she admitted once she caught her breath. “But I was terrified.” During their kiss, he’d half pulled her into his lap even as they sat facing each other on the sofa. “Letting someone in gives them the chance to hurt you, and I never wanted to feel that. I didn’t want to be broken the way my father was after Mother died. But I realized something this evening.”

“Only this evening?” He grinned.

She shoved him back onto the cushions and climbed fully into his lap. A deep groan tore from his lips as she settled on him, all too aware of the bulge in his pants that pressed up against her most intimate area. “When you think you might die, you cannot lie to yourself anymore.”

That sobered him. Even so, he grabbed her hips, holding her in place atop him. “What did you realize?”

Bronwyn pulled in a shuddering breath as his hands slid up and down her sides in a slow rhythm. “I realized that it would be far worse to never tell you how I feel, to never truly be yours, than to savor every moment we could have together, even knowing that they might be our last. I would rather have you and lose you than have never had you at all.”

“I am yours,” he promised.

Not fully, not yet. And the words got stuck when she tried to voice what she really wanted, so she simply said, “I want everything, Malik. All of you.”

His grip on her hips tightened, and he pulled her snug against his erection, eliciting a gasp from her. He understood. He understood completely. “I may ruin you for other men,” he teased.

But the look in his eyes said they both knew there would be no others.

“Then ruin me.”