Chapter 81
Trystan
Two weeks later…
Prince Trystan Benedict Martin had never been more furious than he was right now.
Pounding through the forest on horseback, chasing after the runaway carriage with a vengeance, his Valiant Guards riding proudly aside him to stop the ne’er-do-well who had absconded with his father’s priceless artifacts.
Leaping over a fallen log, he took the lead.
As heir to the throne, his responsibilities would always be the care and keeping of Rennedawn and its citizens.
No doubt she was behind this—the wretched creature who had tormented Hickory Forest and the rest of the kingdom for the last time.
He would catch her, and he would rid the kingdom of her evildoing once and for all.
“I’m rounding to cut off the carriage. Stay on her tail!” Trystan ordered and was heeded immediately by several knights behind him. He made for the shortcut he’d found the other day as he’d ridden through here, scouting for the evil the public called “The Villainess” or “The Wicked Woman.”
A more ridiculous moniker there’d never been. But the memories of hunting her were fuzzy, like something his mind could not put together, though every time he dug for the reason, he was sidetracked, finding any other thing to fixate on.
Riding at full speed, he cut the carriage off at the front. The horses reared up, chuffing, the carriage unhitching and barreling for a tree, crashing into it with a sickening crunch. Trystan winced.
Dismounting his horse, he launched himself for the ruined conveyance, searching for the woman adorning all the Wanted flyers in Rennedawn.
She had flames for hair and an unsightly smile that unnerved even the most stoic of knights.
Her cheekbones were pointed in a jagged, unappealing manner, and everything about the etching gave her the deportment of a woman who sought to harm innocents.
Trystan vowed to protect those innocents. “It’s over, Villainess,” Trystan called out, grabbing the door and yanking it off in one powerful tug, only to find it— “Empty! The carriage is empty!” he called to the knights who should have been trotting up at any moment.
But they did not. Trystan heard not even a whisper of hooves pounding the dirt. He did hear, however, a voice that made his body awaken and all his senses go on high alert.
“How curious. Do you think she escaped?” The voice was smooth and light, the words laced with laughter and something else that was forcing a buoyancy into his chest.
Whirling around, he met the point of a knife at the tip of his nose. And he saw her.
There was much to see.
The flaming hair was nowhere in sight, but a thick bounding of curls cascaded down the woman’s back. Her light eyes were lined with kohl that should’ve made them piercing but only seemed to highlight something soft in them, and her smile was both like the Wanted flyers and nothing like them at all.
It took over her whole face, lips so full and red he was certain he’d never seen the like. Her cheekbones were high, her nose a gentle arching slope that was now scrunching up as she observed him. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Inconvenient, that.
Since he was duty bound to kill her.
But when he went for the sword at his belt, every instinct inside him screamed to halt.
Every inch of him repelled the thought of doing her harm.
What was this? One look at a pretty girl and he forgot all sense of duty.
He wasn’t an untried youth—he was a man of nearly thirty.
Get it together, man. She’s not that pretty.
Yes she is, his sick, treacherous mind objected, and when he tried to snap himself out of his stupor, he realized he’d said nothing for several long seconds and she remained there, blade pressed to the tip of his nose, a curious tilt to her head as she observed him.
Say something to her, you fool! Anything.
“You were meant to be ugly.” His words came out with the blunt force of a battering ram, and the damnedest thing happened as a result.
She laughed.
The sound was like bells ringing a chord deep in his soul, tugging at something in his mind he could not reach.
It bothered him that he couldn’t place it, like he’d heard it before but couldn’t recall where.
“Apologies for the disappointment, Your Highness. On the contrary, I heard you were meant to be handsome.”
This needled him. “And you think me…not?” Why in the blazing bloody fuck was he asking her that? His father would have his head if he saw him now.
Her blue eyes softened further, and that grin pulled wider, which didn’t seem possible, but she managed it just fine. “I think you very handsome, actually. I just expected there to be a large crown atop your head and some princely arrogance to keep it in place.”
She was teasing him. He’d always had a poor sense of humor, but even he could see the mirth in her eyes, the unbridled joy she exhibited like stardust. Where was her menacing grin?
Where was the evil that should’ve floated around her like the wind did now, brushing her curls aside gently, one falling across her lips?
For the deadlands’ sake, the woman was unequivocally lovely, and how dangerous that was. The reminder of her magic, of the menace she’d wrought, of the knights she’d killed brought him back to himself.
“Remove your dagger, madam,” he growled, shoving her hand away, the contact of her skin against his burning like a brand.
Shaking out the limb at his side, he flexed his fingers, trying to rid himself of the tingling sensation that wouldn’t abate.
“You’re under arrest for your crimes against the crown. ”
She responded by spinning with her arms up, and Trystan began to wonder if the wench had hit her head.
“It is a beautiful day, is it not? Lovely for walking.” She brought her hands down, clasping them behind her back.
Her dress looked like a black opal, the sleeves falling at her shoulders and ending around her wrists, flowing out like a waterfall.
Perfectly poised for someone about to be arrested.
“Lovely for walking, yes. I find it significantly less so for stealing.” He seethed, feeling his jaw clench and his fist, too, when she twirled back to face him, appearing light, amused. Colorful. The word rang somehow discordant in his mind.
She was earnest when she moved closer. Unafraid. Undeterred by the hardness in his expression. “You’re correct, in that I much prefer to steal in the dark, but your father insists on daytime transport. What am I to do?”
He searched for a trace of sarcasm, of menace. He found none. She was being sincere. It flabbergasted him; he found himself at a loss for words.
It mattered not. She clearly didn’t. “I mean, of course your father isn’t anticipating what’s convenient for me, because I am the one stealing from him.
It would be odd if he did accommodate me.
Although it would be more courteous, which princes seem determined to be.
If you could make a recommendation for nighttime travel, I’d be most grateful.
” She had asked this favor like it was reasonable.
Like it wasn’t outlandish or absolute lunacy.
“I will not aid and abet your villainy, madam.” He was stern, pleased with himself for not sounding as confounded as he felt.
“I wish you’d stop calling me that.” The woman wrinkled her nose, waving the dagger back and forth in a negating gesture. “It makes me sound so boring.”
No. This woman was not boring. She was out of her mind. That or she was trying to unnerve him, playing the kind maiden to lower his defenses.
She paused, looking bewildered for a moment, and then let out the most pitiful sound he’d ever had the displeasure of listening to. It took a moment for him to realize it was a sneeze, a small squeak of a thing, followed by a sheepish expression.
It was working. How in the gods’ names was this working?
He couldn’t help it; he dug in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, a gray one. The same one he always carried along with him. Sullenly, he handed it to her, lamenting his foolish gentlemanly compulsions. She took it and let it slide over her fingers, and his body did the most horrid thing.
It responded.
Yanking his hand away from the vicinity of hers, he looked onward for aid. Where in the deadlands were his men? This woman was bewitching him. That had to be it. There was no sense in this pull. None.
And yet not a single knight could be seen ambling down the dirt path.
“What happened to my Valiant Guards?” he demanded with every ounce of royal domineering in him.
“Oh, they’re around,” she said airily, unaffected by his harshness. She looked amused. Trystan was unsure if he was dealing with a true perpetrator of evil until she finished with, “Hanging around, to be exact.”
His blood chilled.
With a cold sweat starting at the back of his neck, a block of lead dropping into his stomach, he turned on his heel, walking—no, running—back up the path that led to his men. And there they hung. By their toenails.
All alive.
And yelling like they’d been skinned.
(They hadn’t.)
His first question should’ve been where she found her never-ending audacity. Instead, what spilled out was, “How did you get them up there?” He stared, incredulous.
“Oh, it was nothing.” She sounded bashful, and he found her cheeks flushed with red. “An old parlor trick, really.”
“I wasn’t complimenting you,” he bit out. Until he realized…he wasn’t not complimenting her, either. But he wasn’t quite so far gone that he’d allow himself to admit that. Aloud. “I was asking so I can ensure you never do it again.”
She gasped, her eyes glassy when she looked away. A small sniffle escaped her nose that made him feel like a caged animal. “You’re not crying.” He willed it because she couldn’t be. He refused to dispatch The Villainess when said villainess was overwrought. “You cannot be crying.”
Another small sob escaped her, and then that horrible, delightful laughter got sprinkled in again, her false emotions slipping away to reveal her genuine, blinding joy. “My goodness. Are you always this easy, Your Highness?”
“Are you always this difficult?” he volleyed, his eyes catching on the red flush at her chest, the way it went lower and lower until it dipped somewhere beneath her bodice.
“Most definitely,” she answered gleefully, then twirled a finger around one of her curls, and he found himself transfixed.
This woman is a villainess indeed.
I have to get the fuck out of here.
“Sire! A little help?”
The call was from one of the Valiant Guards, still hanging upside down.
“Yes, yes, man, give me a moment.” But when he turned back to The Villainess, she was gone, racing in the other direction.
“Hey!” he bellowed, feeling more frantic than was likely necessary.
He didn’t need frantic energy right now; he needed anger.
He needed motivation to catch and destroy her.
Instead, he found himself running at top speed, launching his large body atop hers until they both tumbled to the ground.
He rolled, trying to take the brunt of the hit when they landed, the pain against his shoulder enough to rob him of breath.
“Hello.” She blinked up at him, her eyes so wide that he swore he saw a reflection of his soul in them. He had to look away. “Is there something you wanted? I really have a lot to do today, so I needed to be off posthaste.”
“I arrested you. You can’t leave.”
“Oh, apologies.” She tried to look chastised, but he saw right through her. “I’d forgotten. Is tackling people to the ground part of the arresting process? Or perhaps you’re just the sort to take advantage of your position to accost women?”
He shoved himself up onto his hands. “No! How dare you.”
“Or perhaps your desire is to accost me specifically? Humiliation is always a worthy punishment.”
“Certainly not,” he growled, shoving off her so fast he nearly fell backward. “I would never— How dare you insinuate—”
“I’m sorry.” It was amazing how she could go from mocking cruelty to genuine softness within seconds. “I shouldn’t have said that; it was unkind. I don’t even know you. I react poorly when I feel overpowered.”
The statement did unconscionable things to his heart, as did the cry out of her mouth when she was suddenly dragged up by her hair and clamped in iron chains.
“Got her! I have her, Your Highness!” One of the Valiant Guard captains, Meenka, shoved his hand over The Wicked Woman’s throat and pulled her to his chest with a smarmy, pleased laugh.
They’d captured her.
It was confusing to Trystan why this achievement felt very much like a horrible failure.