Chapter 35
Evie
“It barely looks anything like me,” Trystan grumbled, leaning against the sleek black desk in his office.
They’d searched till midnight with no success, Trystan then ordering them all to bed for at least the next twelve hours before reuniting in his office.
Evie had immediately collapsed in a tired heap against his shoulder.
It was a hazy memory, being carried, sweet words murmured into her ear. It felt like a dream.
But Evie had awoken safely tucked into her bed this morning, Lyssa beside her, her magic hovering above.
She’d waved.
It had waved back.
And perhaps for the first time since it had become hers, she had looked upon it kindly and smiled.
Now, with late-morning sun lighting the office space, there was new vigor in the air.
The two baby guvres were bringing everyone joy as well as hope.
They’d gotten the key before Benedict; up close, they’d discovered it was white, covered in tiny flowers of all colors, its dainty bow twisted at the top in an intricate design that looked as if it had been created with great care.
She imagined the gods of magic couldn’t create anything not so.
She giggled to herself, patting the satin skirts where she’d hidden it, wispy white and shimmering fabric lying in romantic drapes from her waist to the floor. It made her feel pretty and strong and incredibly fortunate to have awoken early enough to see this.
Clare and Tatianna’s find.
“Correct.” Alexander smirked; the white shirt he wore was cleaned and pressed, his appearance a little more tailored than yesterday.
His self-given haircut seemed to have been evened out, his face shaven if not still a bit shadowed.
“It looks just—” The words stopped, still roughened, his voice low.
Rubbing his throat with a grimace, he finished, “Like you.”
Evie laughed. “Honestly, Evil Overlord, are you sure that’s not you?”
“Of course not!” Trystan bit out, waving his hands around.
There was no “of course” about it. The portrait propped up against the wall of Trystan’s office was his exact likeness. Except this man smiled widely, as if he did it more often than not, with a dimple on each side of his face. But the biggest difference?
This man wore a crown.
“Gods, Trystan. Is this…?” Evie started.
“It’s the first king of Rennedawn,” Clare explained, pointing at the small engravement at the bottom. “Julius Benedict Martin the first.”
“Martin?” Evie’s face pinched in confusion. “Is that— That’s not Benedict’s family name, is it?” She searched the room and found Tatianna already cackling in her arm. “Shut up. It is!”
“Sage, it’s a perfectly normal last name,” Trystan reasoned.
A wild choice, given Evie’s new life goal was to be entirely unreasonable.
“Whose side are you on?” She drummed her fingers against her arms, mock glaring.
He stared blankly. “The side of logic.”
“Well, that’s boring,” she said matter-of-factly before crossing to lean next to him, smiling at Alexander, who smiled rakishly back. “You found this in one of the storage cellars? How could you never have seen it before?”
“It was hidden under something with glitter.” Tatianna took a break from cackling to deliver this news with comedic evenness. “Trystan never would have touched it.”
“That’s what was under there?” Trystan stood, quickly collecting himself, clearing his throat. “A small oversight. I searched those rooms many times myself with Kingsley. And we never found anything of note.”
It was small, almost undetectable, but Evie swore she saw Kingsley flinch. “So, this is your ancestor, then?” Evie asked softly, staring at a man who looked very much like a king should. Regal, strong, kind.
It’s what Trystan would’ve been.
If you’d never been born.
Oh, good. She had been eagerly awaiting her mind to send her on today’s doom spiral.
“Apparently,” Trystan murmured, snapping her back. “We need to keep looking, everyone, so get the laughter out of your system and move on.”
Clare was still staring, almost scrutinizing the painting.
“What?” Trystan snapped. “Why are you looking at it like that?”
“Your head is definitely bigger,” Clare said, tapping her chin.
“It’s not to scale,” Trystan stated, exasperated, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Can you go and do something more useful than disparaging the size of my head?”
“It wasn’t disparaging. Just an observation,” Clare said brightly, patting her brother’s arm, then sailed from the room with Tatianna not far behind. “We’ll let you know if we find anything of note!”
Kingsley remained, and Evie was glad for it. “How are you, um—Alexander?”
He chuckled, shrugging. “I’m still me,” he replied, looking upward, contemplating. “Just taller.”
Alexander Kingsley was indeed still himself.
Still brightening the room, with one or two simple words.
Evie grinned, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him. “Wow,” she said, pulling back quizzically. “You’ve got a lot of muscle for someone freshly human.”
“Hopping.” He grinned in return.
Trystan looked pleased by the tableau of two such important people in his life coming together. It felt a bit like a merging to Evie, that she might truly be a part of this. Finally. “I don’t think he’d appreciate being snuggled to my cheek like old times. Unless—”
“He wouldn’t,” Trystan stated immediately.
Alexander laughed, and his eyes went somewhere else for a moment. Somewhere that appeared almost…sad. “I should go look,” he gritted out. Then the former frog pointed at Trystan, sending Evie a playful wink. “And…he would.”
When he sauntered out, Trystan was smiling again, shaking his head. “I know it’s not ideal that he’s still becoming a frog at random intervals, but it’s incredible to see him.”
Evie looked back to the portrait for one last look at Trystan’s ancestor, and she was rendered immobile. Because this was Trystan. He’d always been quietly kind, protective, and fair.
By the gods, he’d always been a prince, hadn’t he?
There was even a ceramic chalice in his hand, sitting at—
“That’s… Is that the table in the kitchen?” Evie asked, scanning the background of the portrait. “Trystan! That’s the office kitchen.”
“Yes. It is.” He watched her, brow furrowed. “Is that of note?”
Evie walked forward, her body turning jittery, ready to burst. “No, but this is.” She pointed to the stained-glass window painted behind the king. The one she saw every day. The one they’d found the prophecy written upon in the sunlight. A bright sun, shining down on…nothing.
Just a patch of empty grass. “Trystan,” Evie said in awe. “Look.”
Indeed, there was no book of Rennedawn in the stained-glass window.
Because it lay on the counter…in front of it.