Page 121
She blinks slowly, like it’s taking her a second to comprehend what I’ve just said.
Finally, she says, “You’re here with a witch?”
“Indeed he is.” Gwyn dips her head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Queen Eliana.”
Mother’s frown is as sharp as a sickle, her disgust evident in her darkened gaze. “After all these years, the rune never held?”
Straight to it, then.
“It did,” I say gruffly. “So you admit it? You cursed me?”
“It wasn’t a curse,” she says sternly. “Only witches dabble in those.”
“Then what would you call it, Mother?”
“I did what I must to protect you, even after my death. Devlin—”
“Devlin is a liar,” I growl.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “You’ve been bespelled by this witch to not see reason.”
“I can assure you, Your Highness, I haven’t bespelled your son,” Gwyn says.
Sweat dapples her brow, and gods, I wonder if she knows she’s wrong.
I am bespelled by her—mind, body, and soul.
Mother opens her mouth, readying to volley with Gwyn, when I say, “There was never any talk of treason among the council, Mother. No whispers of my “unfitness” for the throne, nor about angering the Sovereign Sisters with my... dalliances with otherworlders.”
“That’s enough, Riven.” Her tone is sharp, final. “Devlin wouldn’t lie to me about something so serious. I don’t know what ideas this witch has woven into your mind, but Devlin loves you like family because you are his family. I never wanted you to find out this way—”
“Find out what?” I ask, palm slickening against Gwyn’s. Another squeeze. “What else are you hiding?”
Her teeth carve into her top lip.
“Answer me,” I demand.
“Devlin is your uncle.”
My stomach fills with dread. “That’s impossible.”
“Not quite.” She smooths her hands over her dress. “Your grandfather was renowned for his infidelity. It’s truly not a reach that at least one of his lovers fell pregnant.”
Gwyn is a portrait of calm, even as she swipes at the hair sticking to her neck. “Is he Godrick’s elder or younger sibling?”
Mother spares her a withering glance. “That is none of your concern.”
“Don’t speak to her like that,” I snap. “Gwyn is my—my—”
Fuck.
I don’t know how to finish that sentence without revealing to Gwyn just how deeply I’ve fallen for her, and I’m terrified that if she knows the depths of my feelings, I’ll scare her away.
Mother’s eyes narrow. “She’s your what, Riven?”
“I’m whatever he needs me to be,” Gwyn says at the same time I say, “She’s just mine.”
If she’s whatever I need her to be, and I need her to be mine, then…
