Chapter 48
Kingsley
Alexander Kingsley used to play a game with his friends when they were children. A game where he would tell them two true things and one lie.
He wondered if those same friends knew he’d never stopped playing. That Prince Alexander’s entire life had been made of selective truths and even more selective lies, that it was what his life would always be. He was so resigned to it, he hardly knew the difference any longer.
To his benefit, he supposed—a lie was always more convincing when those around him believed it.
It was why no one ever questioned him. The frog. The poor man trapped inside something he wasn’t. It was easy to sympathize with a prince, easy to want him to be good enough to ignore the LOL signs, to ignore the truth staring you boldly in the face.
Alexander, however, was an excellent judge of whether someone else was lying.
And this elderly woman walking into The Villain’s offices on Keeley’s arm, claiming to be an unassuming librarian…was not what she appeared.
“Mo, this is where I work. You’ll be safe here.” Keeley helped her through the doors and into a chair. “The public library was attacked,” Keeley explained with frustration. “I had to bring her.”
Gideon held up a hand to Tatianna, Clare, and Kingsley. “It was my idea, if you need someone to throw under Trystan’s sword.”
“All this fuss is unnecessary, Keeley. I’m quite all right, and there’s much cleaning to do at the library.” Mo made to stand and winced, falling back into the chair.
Tatianna snapped into action. “Let me take a look at you.” Her hands glowed warm yellow, scanning the woman for injury.
Alexander felt irritated at his quick suspicion. Years of internalizing everything had taken its toll; he felt fidgety and nervous. “Water, my lady?” Alexander asked, his royal-born manners coming out of their dormancy.
Mo’s eyes twinkled. “Thank you, dear. You’re a prince.”
The room stilled, but everyone recovered, realizing Mo was using an innocent expression. It was a compliment, not an accusation.
Alexander rushed to the sideboard with the pitcher, pouring the glass with shaking hands. He gave it to the old woman with a sense of pride that he’d completed such a simple task. Though he supposed it was more impressive when he did it with a webbed toe.
But this caused significantly less staring.
“I’m not sensing anything but some bruising,” Tatianna explained kindly. “If you’d like, I can ease the pain while they heal.”
Mo nodded. “That would be a dream, dear.”
Tatianna got to work, and Gideon pulled a book from his satchel. “We found My Love My Sun, Blade. Is this the right one?” The leather-bound book was brightly colored and clearly for children, judging by the drawings carved into the front.
“Yes, this is it,” Blade replied, seeming lost in a fond memory as he turned it over. “A first edition? It says here ‘Property of Moira.’” Blade’s eyebrows shot up, and he gave Mo a friendly smile. “Rennedawn’s library is certainly well stocked. How many have you contributed?”
Mo winced when Tatianna went over a tender area. “Many.”
Keeley stiffened at the signs of pain coming from the old woman. “Should I get a frozen pack from the kitchens?”
Mo smiled. “And some tea for the nerves if it’s not too much trouble?”
Keeley was already off, Gideon following behind her. “Wait. I’ll help.”
“Goody” was the last thing Alexander heard before his focus refixed on the woman before them.
“Why were you attacked?” Alexander asked, unable to stop himself. It was the first time he hadn’t spoken with intention. Other than to the enchantress-in-training.
A mistake, judging by the uncomfortable stares.
Mo, however, chuckled, her glasses falling off her face and hanging on the beaded chain about her neck.
“A library is a place of refuge. A place where one can be anyone. Where knowledge and empathy collide.” She gave Alexander a pointed look.
“To a man like Benedict, such things are more of a threat than any weapon.”
True.
“It was this passage. The one the book of Rennedawn revealed.” Blade flipped the book open, pointing to the page with the same words.
Rebecka came up beside him to peer at the text. “What does this prove? Other than plagiarism.”
Alexander held out his hand. “May I see?” he asked with gentle politeness, and Blade handed it over without question. When Alexander peered down at the page, the illustration beside it made gooseflesh rise on his skin.
A depiction, one in colorful shards of stained glass. A faceless man and a faceless woman, reaching for each other in a field of flowers, their bodies positioned as if they were running while light beamed around them. But Alexander was fixated on their hands almost touching, just out of reach.
The sadness coursing through him was instant and overwhelming, like this moment was happening to him. It was the astounding phenomenon of a book. How could a heart possibly break for someone it had never met?
And yet.
“Could it have been one of the windows in the manor? Before the boss had them rearranged into murderous images?” Becky asked.
“Alexander’s been here the longest.” Tatianna pointed to the page and looked at Kingsley. “Is this one of the windows in the manor, Alexander?”
Alexander gave the page another long perusal, taking in every detail with careful attention. He told the truth when he looked up and said with strain, “Not in the manor.” He winced.
And without cause or warning, his body transformed, his limbs shrinking rapidly and uncomfortably until his view of the world became much shorter, everything else doubling and then tripling in size.
He was a frog again.
He etched a word quickly on a sign.
Ugh
“I’m sorry.” Clare winced, picking him up and away from the discarded clothes, then plopping him on a chair. “Think human. Think human,” she chanted like a fan at a sporting arena.
“Mayhaps if he starts thinking as a frog when he is human.” Mo offered the vague advice with a raspy chuckle, then returned her attention to the children’s book, sitting taller. “If it’s a passage from the book of Rennedawn and you do indeed possess a copy, you should compare them.”
“I have it!” Lyssa slid into the room with the book in her hands, and Alexander coughed a laugh into his webbed front foot. Had she been waiting in the wings to spring in on cue?
He admired her patience. “How did you get it out of the safe?” Blade asked.
Lyssa blinked. “I stole Trystan’s keys.”
Rebecka was unamused. “We need to get your sticky fingers under control, you kleptomaniac.”
“Blossom told me to.” Lyssa held up the snail, very serious.
Blade was beside her, giving Lyssa a subtle thumbs-up. “I believe her. The snail’s untrustworthy.”
Lyssa grinned, opening the book to the cover page and walking it toward Mo. But she froze.
“Moira?” Lyssa whispered.
Mo gave Lyssa a quizzical smile. “My full name.”
Lyssa appeared fearful, taking a step away, then another.
Alexander was at her side instantly, standing in front of the child, prepared to shield her if necessary, small as he was, not trusting the gleam in Mo’s eye. Furiously he scribbled down one word.
No
Lyssa objected. “Who are you—”
“Moira.” The librarian was unruffled as the book in Lyssa’s hands began to shake until it flung out of her fingers and into Mo’s. “I’ve missed you,” Mo breathed, running her fingers down the front pages. “And I’m sorry, to all of you.”
“For what?” Gideon asked, nearly frantic at the way the tone of the room had changed.
“This.”
The book opened, and one by one…they were dragged inside.