The Cornish Princess by Crosby Tanya Anne

Author:Crosby, Tanya Anne [Crosby, Tanya Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Romance, Historical, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781648390319
Amazon: B08KH49JL8
Goodreads: 55549299
Publisher: Oliver Heber Books
Published: 2021-10-26T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Seventeen

Over the ensuing days, it was all anyone talked about—the dead alderman, not Gwendolyn’s Promise Ceremony, nor anything at all pertaining to her nuptials.

Save for the burden about her neck—evidence of her pledge—it was as though the Promise Ceremony never even happened.

What was more, Prince Loc’s absence now lent the entire occasion a sense of foolish fire—like those piskie lights in the forest that led men astray, here one instant, not the next.

Gwendolyn wasn’t sure how this made her feel.

In some ways, relieved, perhaps? Certainly not over Bryok’s death, though she supposed she was pleased enough that the poor man’s untimely death now had everyone’s rapt attention, including hers, because she didn’t wish to confess how she felt about her upcoming nuptials, nor Prince Locrinus himself… because… well… she didn’t know how she felt.

Except for the encounter in the cave, and his disinterest on the day of their outing, there was truly nothing wrong with him—at least nothing Gwendolyn could point a finger at.

He was charming, handsome, learned—all the things one hoped for in a mate. And he seemed to admire her erudite nature, which was so utterly important to Gwendolyn, because she didn’t wish to be relegated to being someone’s prize, as her mother appeared contented to be.

Alas, but it was true, as much as Gwendolyn was loath to say it. As kindly as her father might be, he’d never actually encouraged her mother’s uniqueness, nor did he cherish her Prydein blood beyond the alliance it brought to their kingdom—or at least this is how it appeared to Gwendolyn. Rather, he praised the Queen most when she looked and behaved like all the other high-born wives of his court, and perhaps because her mother had so long ago embraced her role as Queen Consort, Gwendolyn scarcely knew anything at all about her Prydein lineage.

Duty first, always. This is what her mother so oft said. And this was the crux of the dilemma: her mother was right. Duty must come first. It didn’t matter what Gwendolyn wished for herself, nor was she raised to seek anything but fairness from a mate. Cornwall was her foremost responsibility.

Love where you must, she’d been told.

Love where you must. And this she would do.

Duty first.

Always.

Only, now that she’d met Prince Loc, and she’d had a moment or two to consider all that transpired, she found his nature to be… odd.

More to the point, if she could be truthful, she didn’t particularly enjoy him. All his golden finery and his blinding white smiles couldn’t hide a vain demeanor.

And nay, as angry as she was over Bryn’s demotion, it wasn’t so much the thought of leaving Bryn that upset her; it was more this: She knew what her mother had become since leaving her Prydein home, and it settled poorly in her belly, like a gut full of soured oats.

Worries spun round her head—old and new.

Moreover, she adored this gown her mother gave her, and now, having examined all the finery in her dowry chest—the emblazonry on the cloth, the fine needlework—she had determined the Prydein were anything but wildlings.

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