Page 54 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘Hello,’ Gwen said awkwardly, after her mother had patted her on the shoulder and walked away. ‘I’m Gwendoline.’

They all curtsied briefly and introduced themselves: Celestina, Clement and Sigrid.

‘Do you like hunting, then?’ Gwen asked desperately.

‘No,’ the youngest said firmly.

‘Sigrid!’ said Celestina, shooting daggers at her. ‘That’s not how you speak to a member of the royal family.’

‘Ah. Sorry,’ said Sigrid. ‘No,your highness.’

‘Oh, that’s all right – I don’t much like it either,’ Gwen said, encouraged.

‘I don’t mind the birds,’ said Clement, who was by far the prettiest. ‘But I like rabbits, and I can’t stand it when they catch one. They’ve got no fight in them, you know. They’re cowardly little things – they just want to survive.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Gwen, who hadn’t put much thought into the motivations of rabbits.

‘Does your brother like to hunt?’ Sigrid asked, attempting and failing to sound casual.

Gwen didn’t have the heart for her usual mischief, and felt strange discussing Gabriel at all at the minute. ‘I don’t know. He loves Edith, no matter how awful she is to him. Edith is the falcon,’ she added by way of explanation, when all three girls looked confused.

‘Ah,’ said Celestina, and they all turned to look as Rowan released Edith from his arm and she flew elegantly to Gabriel’s fist, where she immediately and savagely startedtearing into the dead mouse that was waiting for her there, spraying blood as she did. ‘How … lovely.’

Gwen rolled her eyes. The very best of luck to them in gaining his attention; they’d just need to sprout wings and talons first.

‘Is your friend all right?’ said Clement, staring past Gwen’s shoulder.

Gwen turned, confused – and then she was stammering excuses, rushing to Bridget’s side without a backwards glance.

Bridget was leaning against a tree, her head bowed, her back heaving with effort; Adah was carrying Beowulf away, trying to calm him as he shrieked and flapped his wings, straining against his tether. There was a large scratch on Bridget’s right cheek, oozing a slow trail of blood down to her chin.

‘What happened?’ Gwen said, going to put a hand on Bridget’s shoulder and then swerving at the last minute and letting it hover uselessly in the air.

‘Nothing,’ said Bridget, but her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and she looked alarmingly bloodless. ‘I’m fine.’

The hunting party was starting to move further into the forest; nobody seemed to notice that Gwen, Bridget and Adah were being left behind.

‘You need to sit down,’ Gwen said firmly, actually putting a hand to Bridget’s arm this time. She was surprised when Bridget allowed herself to be steered gently towards a fallen tree trunk. They sat down, and Gwen watched as Bridget stared at the forest floor and breathed shakily in and out through her nose, fists clenched tightly in the fabric of her dress.

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the sound of Bridget’s laboured breathing and the occasional flap of Beowulf’s wings, as Adah came walking back towards them.

‘I think he’s done with his tantrum now,’ she said, Beowulf still comically incensed on her arm. ‘You all right, Bridget? Can I do anything?’

‘Could you go and fetch the guards, please?’ Gwen said. ‘We need to go back to the castle.’

Adah looked as if she wanted to give Bridget a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, but when she tried to shift her arm Beowulf looked incredulously furious; instead, she hushed him, and walked quickly off in pursuit of the group.

‘Did Beowulf try to murder you?’ Gwen asked seriously, and Bridget gave a short, pained laugh.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t his fault.’ Her blood had formed a scarlet line from cheekbone to chin, and was dripping into her lap. ‘I felt faint, and … I almost dropped him.’

‘Here,’ Gwen said, reaching out and blotting it with her sleeve. Bridget barely seemed to notice; her blood blossomed purple on the blue silk. ‘Are you ill?’

‘Er – no,’ said Bridget, opening her eyes with a grimace. ‘Not really.’

‘Well, you’re doing a very impressive impersonation of an ill person then,’ said Gwen, watching as Bridget seemed to be struck by a fresh wave of pain.

‘I’m fine, you don’t need to baby me,’ Bridget snapped, and Gwen raised her eyebrows.