Chapter 17
Saying the words, calling Ceridwen nothing special, was painful. Seeing the immediate effect they had on her was so much worse. He’d rather cut his hands and bleed himself a hundred times than hurt her that way, but nothing good could come of Malik realizing his true feelings for her. In fact, nothing good could come of Malik’s visit at all, but it was too late to avoid that.
The arrogant bastard hadn’t even sent word that he would come. Perhaps he should have expected it. It wasn’t Malik’s first visit, after all, but this close to midwinter, to his return, he thought himself safe from interference from the capital.
Should have known better.Letting his guard down was a fool’s error. Drystan had little doubt who sent his cousin up for a visit, and he knew exactly to whom Malik would be whispering whatever he learned during his visit upon his return—the king.
“She’s quite attractive for a commoner,” Malik said, his smirk fixed firmly in place as he admired Ceridwen with far too much interest.
He couldn’t have Malik speaking to the king about her. If he had any idea that she meant more to him than just some hired help, the king would find a way to use her against him, another tool to keep him in check. Worse—it would put her in more danger.
Drystan shrugged, trying to appear unfazed by Malik’s appraisal of Ceridwen as he crossed to the table with casual grace. “Are you planning to join us for dinner?” Drystan asked, ignoring the plaintive look Ceridwen aimed his way. “There should be plenty of food.”
If only he could tell her exactly what transpired, but there was no method of it. Malik had caught him unprepared, and he’d had no time to warn Ceridwen of possible visitors and what such a visit might mean for him, or for her.
“Perhaps.” Malik straightened a serving utensil set near a platter of food. “Though I’ve developed a craving for something else.” His gaze drifted to Ceridwen, his smirk broadening in a way that had Drystan seething within.
At the side of the room, Kent took two steps forward, but Jackoby grabbed his sleeve, holding him back. He admired the young man and his eagerness to rise to Ceridwen’s defense, but he should know better than to interfere where Malik was considered. His cousin was a pest that only he could deal with.
Drystan rolled his eyes and cut his cousin a hard look. “She’s my guest, not your entertainment for the night.”
“Ah, but that’s the thing. You never have guests.” Malik rounded Ceridwen’s chair until he stood just behind her. She stiffened, going absolutely still as Malik placed his hands on the edges of the back of the seat.
“Have a seat, pet,” Malik crooned, leaning in so close to Ceridwen that his lips might have brushed her hair.
Drystan bristled, his teeth grinding together.
Silently, she raised her chin and stared across the table at him—begged him for help. Drystan inclined his head ever so slightly. If she followed Malik’s command, maybe he’d leave her alone.
Ceridwen tightened her hands into fists at her side, but she sat.
“An obedient little thing,” Malik remarked. “Curious that she’s here with you. No family present. No others either. It’s quite…” His palm slipped from the chair to land on Ceridwen’s shoulder, causing her to jolt in her seat. “Intimate,” he punctuated each syllable of the word.
Fury coursed through his veins, but Drystan fought it down. “I told you—she’s just my musician. Leave her be.”
Malik released his grip, and the act let Drystan suck in a much-needed breath. But Malik didn’t fully retreat and stepped to the side of the chair as he rubbed his chin and continued to appraise Ceridwen. “She is a lovely little bird. Too lovely to be trapped in such a dreary place with such limited company. Does he make you sing for him all day, little pet?”
The careful expression on Ceridwen’s face broke into something almost like a snarl as she snapped her head to the side to stare at Malik. “No. And I am not your pet, nor anyone’s.”
Good girl.Pride sparked in him at her fight, her fury.
Then, her features smoothed out all at once, and she lowered her eyes. “Lord…”
She pulled for the rest of his name, a careful brow ached in question like a proper lady, as if her momentary fury had never existed. Impressive.
“Just Malik will do.” He smirked.
“Is that not too intimate for an acquaintance?” she countered.
Far too intimate, though not a surprise where his cousin was concerned. In fact, Drystan wouldn’t be surprised if that, too, was a ploy to get under his skin.
“Then let’s be more than acquaintances.” Malik closed the distance to Ceridwen’s chair once more, trailing his fingers along the back.
Drystan found himself rocking forward on his toes, ready to spring. “Malik…” He ground out.
But his cousin’s grin only widened. “If you’re nothing special to him”—Malik caught a bit of Ceridwen’s hair and pulled it to his lips, even as she leaned away as far as she could—“you could be to me. What do you think?”
A small thread of doubt tugged at something in his chest. What if she said yes? Surely she wouldn’t, but if she did…
“No. Thank you.” Ceridwen managed to lace the polite rejection with venom sharp and piercing.
A sigh of relief crept up his throat, but it was too soon for that.
Malik dropped her hair, and Ceridwen bolted from the chair, accidentally knocking into the table and rattling the dishes in the process. A few glasses tipped, one rolling to shatter on the floor.
Run. Go.Drystan silently pleaded to Ceridwen as he edged around the table to get closer to her. But if she thought to flee, Malik was faster.
His cousin moved with a swiftness only nobles possessed and grabbed Ceridwen’s wrist. “Ah, don’t fly away yet. The fun’s just getting started.”
Ceridwen tried to jerk away from him. “Let me go.”
“Oh, I will, but not yet,” Malik promised.
Ceridwen twisted her head toward him, eyes pleading as she pulled against Malik’s grip. “Drystan,” she whispered. The sight nearly gutted him.
“Let her go, Malik,” Drystan warned.
“Now, now,” Malik crooned as he brushed the back of his other hand along her cheek. “She may come to enjoy my attentions. You never really know until you try, do you?”
Malik leaned in to steal a kiss, and something in Drystan snapped.
Before he could think, Drystan sped across the space between them, jerked Malik back, and hurled him at the wall with such fury that he sent the other man flying.
His cousin smacked against the wall before sliding down its surface, a crack marring the spot where he’d slammed into it. The force of such a hit might have killed a normal man, but only a trickle of blood seeped from Malik’s lips to drip down his chin.
Drystan’s fingers curled and uncurled at his side. His breaths came sharp and quick as he stepped in front of Ceridwen, attempting to block her view of what he’d done—the damage he’d almost brought upon her as well. Malik could have easily grabbed her and pulled her with him. The pain it would have caused her was unthinkable. He shuddered before letting out a cry of anguish that was almost a roar.
The fact that Malik hadn’t grabbed her, had almost seemed to anticipate what he’d do, was the only reason Drystan didn’t stalk across the marble floor and do even worse.
Malik touched his lips, his fingers coming away red. Laughter with a maniacal edge slipped from him as he beheld the blood and then looked at Drystan.
“Well,” Malik began, pushing off the wall and sending a small shower of rubble tumbling to the floor. “I think we’ve established that the girl is not nothing after all.”