Page 97 of The Queen's Huntsman

“But… that would make you—”

His eyes remained shadowed with something like regret. “Not as it would appear, Gwendolyn… I was his foster son, and despite that, it matters not if that sword should be yours by right. He will not return it to you if you come to him as my heart-mate. Instead, he will lock you away as he did my true father… Or he’ll send you back here again, nameless and faceless… only to torment me again, and again, and again…” He cupped her face now with both hands, shaking her gently, his bright silver eyes begging her to understand. “It is not because you are part Fomorian that he’ll decide against you, Gwendolyn. He, himself, is a son of Milesius. What will be the end of you is…” He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. When he reopened them again, the blue in his irises had brightened to the hottest shade of a flame. “Me,”he said, his pupils elongating, then thinning, like that of a viper’s. Even with the barest hint of moonlight, his translucent skin began to shimmer and two small horns appeared on his head. “You see… I am the son of the Dark One,” he explained. “The Banished Wyrm. The last true-blood heir to the Tuatha’an throne… and you… you… have been my weakness for a hundred thousand years.”

Confused, Gwendolyn’s arms dropped to her sides.

Only then did it occur to her that the prophecy suddenly made sense with this revelation. The union she was born to make wasnotto the serpent of Loegria… It was to…Málik.

Gooseflesh erupted on her skin. “You…are the Dragon Prince,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “It was my sire who lost the battle against the Milesians. Donn is his half-blood brother. When his trickery found him banished behind the veil with the rest of us, he seized my father’s throne, imprisoned him, and called him a demon. He then took me as his ward… for my own good, he said. Esme is his daughter, and this is why he would like to see us wed… to validate his half-blood lineage, even as Locrinus wishes to do with you.”

“And… your true father?”

Málik shrugged. “All that remains of him lies in the power he bestowed on your sword… and in your Dragon’s Lair. And… in me.”

Gwendolyn opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, bereft of words. She understood now that Esme had attempted to prepare her for this revelation, but there was nothing that could have done so.

“You asked me why I came to Trevena… I told you I was both summoned and sent. Your father called me to service, and mine sent me to retrieve that sword… but the true reason is neither. I came to see about your Dragon’s Lair—to discover if there was anything left of my father, some echo that would provide a clue to his end.”

Gwendolyn could find no words. She stared, blinking, and he continued. “I took the sword, not for safe-keeping,” he confessed. “But because Donn promised that if I returned it, he would—”

He suddenly paused, and whatever it was he was about to say seemed to think better of it and close his mouth. “There is more,” he admitted with a sigh, cupping her cheek. “But it must be told another time. What you most need to understand right now is thatClaímh Solaiis your best chance to unite these tribes. But you must make a choice, Gwendolyn.”

“Choice?”

“I can take you to my father. But you must be absolutely certain it is what you wish, because if you are not, and your will is weak…”

The thing you lack most is the one thing your husband has…. the will to see this done.But she was not weak, and she could and must see this through. She must have that sword to save her people. Intuitively, Gwendolyn knew he was right: That sword was the key to uniting the tribes. “What must I prove to reclaim my sword?”

His brow lifted, and he tilted his head with a mirthless laugh. “In the end, you may have to seize it from him. But I promise you that if you believe what you endured by Loc’s hands was too much, you’ll not be prepared for the trial to come. My father does not favor me, Gwendolyn, nor will he favor you. So I ask you once more… would you come away with me and allow me to keep you safe… or will you face my father and demand the sword to champion your people?”

One, two, three heartbeats passed…

There was only one true response.

More than anything, Gwendolyn wanted to choose Málik.

She had a sudden, inexplicable vision of the two of them lying in a field of sunflowers… under a brilliant, golden sun…

But she understood how she must answer…

And so did he.

There was a reason her people had been given stewardship of these lands and knowing what Málik had confessed only strengthened her resolve. “I must… have the sword,” she said, knowing it was, in truth, theonlychoice to be made.

He nodded. “As you will,” he said ruefully, then bent to his knee, and peering up at her, he took her by the hand. “You inquired once if I would bend my knee to you, and here I will… I am a prince, in truth, but I would rather be your huntsman, and Shadow, and if you will allow me, Gwendolyn, I will defend you with my dying breath, and put no one before you, ever—not even my blood.”

Gwendolyn peered down at her hand in his, his shimmering flesh revealing what appeared to be shimmering scales beneath the moonlight… his upturned face so darkly beautiful.

She lifted a hand to one of his ivory horns, marveling at the transformation… so soft, but hard beneath her palm, and she felt her skin flush with desire.

A slow smile spread across his face, his lips pulling back over the sharp points of his teeth. “I can smell you,” he whispered. “And one day I will taste you as well, but not yet,” he said. “Not yet.”