Chapter 63
Kingsley
Alexander transformed back into a frog before dessert. Thankfully, he was able to excuse himself quickly enough to do it away from prying eyes. And by that time, dinner had deteriorated anyway.
Into a staring contest.
Thus far, Alexander believed Trystan to be winning, but Benedict was putting up a fair fight. “Winnifred?” Benedict called, and over she scurried, a pitcher in hand. She poured the water with her head down, and Alexander felt himself inexplicably bothered. He knew what it was to feel small.
Now, for example. He was using a dinner plate as a seat.
“Believe it or not, we came here to negotiate,” Benedict started, folding his hands and sitting forward. “I believe you have the anchor and Fate’s copy of Rennedawn’s storybook. I would like both. And in return, I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Alexander pulled out a sign Trystan had slid to him when the transformation took hold. He scribbled in neat letters, then held it up.
Die
“Well said, Kingsley.” Trystan smirked, clapping. “Captain Jones. Is there a plank on board?”
Tatianna’s father winced. “Indeed.”
Griffin Sage looked bored with the conversation but assisted Benedict like the good lapdog he’d become. “I think you’re missing the point. Trystan, if you allow the curse to happen, that will hand you Rennedawn. It will make you the king’s heir, and you will never know any other life.”
“I would never want a life where Sage and I are on opposite sides.”
“You already are.” Benedict’s eyes flashed to Kingsley, the threat in them frightening. “You’re adversaries now whether you admit it or not. But the kingdom won’t survive much more of this dawdling.”
“It’s why we’re fulfilling the prophecy,” Trystan stated.
Benedict sighed. “Don’t you see? You cannot. The prophecy has already been so far derailed by the meddling we tried to do years ago. All to save a little girl who was hardly worth the trouble.”
Trystan glared, his eyes promising violence the moment it became allowed.
Griffin Sage sniffed, not looking at his daughter like the coward he was. But it wasn’t necessary, because at that moment Winnifred appeared beside King Benedict and dumped the contents of her water pitcher into his lap, drawing everyone’s attention.
Benedict stood up with a cry of outrage. “How dare you, you witch!”
“Enchantress,” Winnifred corrected quietly.
“Apologize to His Majesty for such a careless accident,” Griffin Sage ordered, but Winnifred didn’t cower or cry. She just stared blankly.
“I cannot,” Winnifred started. “For I am not sorry.” Her face lit up when she added, “And it wasn’t an accident.” She informed them of this with no sarcasm.
She was just sharing the truth of her mind.
How unusual.
And dangerous.
“Leave the girl be,” Trystan rumbled, walking to the other side of the table, standing between Winnifred and the two large men looking like they wanted to throw her overboard. “We won’t be negotiating. If this was a ridiculous attempt to rattle me, you’ve failed.”
Benedict shrugged, stepping back until he was flanked by his Valiant Guards. “Did you ever think, Trystan, that you’re not the one I intended to rattle?”
Benedict made to leave the table, walking past all of them, and on his way…
He looked right at Alexander.