Chapter 60
Trystan
The ramp was lifted before they could retreat.
It was just as well; Trystan didn’t want to retreat.
He wanted to murder.
Unsheathing his sword, he stalked for Benedict, swinging the blade toward the bastard. Benedict didn’t move, merely watched with a satisfaction not often found in a man about to be sliced in half.
The sword came down, but it repelled off Benedict so quickly and abruptly that Trystan flew through the air, slamming into the main mast and crumbling down, pains shooting along his spine.
“Hey!” he heard Sage yell in his disoriented state.
He watched, still trying to collect himself, as she walked forward, her vibrant skirts blowing behind her, the color contrasting with the magic now spilling from her fingers.
Her eyes closed as she let out a battle cry.
The power hurtled for Benedict and the Valiant Guard, but the king still stood there.
Unflinching.
Something was wrong.
“Sage, wait!” Trystan yelled too late.
The magic, much like his sword, repelled off Benedict and slammed into her with such force, she gasped against its brutal onslaught. Collapsing on the ground, she choked on it.
Trystan swallowed the ache in his limbs, barely noticed it when he flung himself toward her, throwing himself into the magic and picking her up and away so she could catch her breath.
“What is the meaning of this?” Trystan growled, holding her tight.
Practically daring them to come closer. He’d end them all.
“Daddy?” Tatianna’s whisper of confusion echoed around the ship when Captain Jones revealed himself. “What have you done?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Tatianna,” he began, glaring at Benedict and motioning for them to come to his side.
Clare was the first to go, then Alexander and Tatianna. Evie and Trystan came next, at a distance, wary of the man they thought they could trust. “When you sent your missive that you’d assist in transporting us…” Trystan alluded, waiting for Jellyfish Jones to admit to his treachery.
“There was a last-minute condition from…a relative.” Captain Jones was apologetic, wincing at his admittance.
He wasn’t happy with the situation any more than they were; that much was clear when he looked upon his daughter with protective pride and so much guilt.
“Tatianna, believe me, I didn’t want to do this. I did not have a choice.”
“Did he threaten your life?” Tatianna was hurt, her mouth pinched, her dark brows pushing together in a frozen flinch.
“He threatened yours.” Captain Jones walked closer but stopped when Benedict began to clap.
“So touching.” Benedict grinned. “Truly, I’m honored to be a part of such an occasion.”
“I am going to kill him,” Trystan murmured.
“I can’t wait,” Sage muttered in response, holding his arm as he held hers, helping them both to stand. “What are you doing here, Benedict? Have you stooped so low you’re now crashing funerals?”
“No need to crash when you receive an invitation from the deceased’s wife.” Benedict motioned an arm, and out from behind the bodies of the crew came Amara Maverine, her bun severe, the hard edges of her lovely face made more stern by the deadness in her eyes.
“Hello, Trystan.”
“I should have known you had something to do with this,” Clare spat, pushing through the crew until she stood before her mother, and Trystan moved, too, in case she needed assistance strangling the woman.
“As per Father’s will, we get to make his burial arrangements.
You’re breaking the law if you interfere. ”
Amara didn’t smile or frown. She stared at her only daughter as if she were a bug beneath her shoe, the inconvenience of addressing her making her eyes roll.
“Clarissa, I’m far too tired to duel with you.
I had to ride for a full day on this wretched ship.
Now, if you’d calm down, you’ll realize that this was the best thing that could’ve happened for you. ”
“That can’t be true.” Clare scowled. “You still breathe.”
The first sign of emotion flashed in Amara’s dark eyes. “Why don’t you explain, Captain Jones? Since my children seem determined to be obtuse.”
“Allow me!” Benedict stepped forward, sweeping his fur cape behind him, gilded crown atop his head shining in the sunlight.
“I made a deal with Captain Jones. Allow me to join in the funeral festivities or I’d await your arrival at the docks with an arsenal behind me—one I would not hold back from using. ”
Captain Jones let out a ragged sigh, the immovable confidence in the man seeming cracked, but Trystan felt his anger in the narrowing of his expression.
“They agreed to a temporary stay of violence if I allowed them aboard for the celebration-of-life dinner. I thought it safer than allowing you to be ambushed at port.”
Tatianna sighed, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m sorry they pulled you into this.”
“How?” The graveled voice cut in, and all eyes went to the man who stood tall, shoulders back, an air of princely royalty in his stance.
Alexander was resembling his portrait more and more every day.
His hair was tamed, his attire simple but clean, gold crown no longer atop his head but shining as a ring on his finger.
Its original purpose before his curse. “How do you know they won’t be violent? ”
“Well, if it isn’t Prince Alexander!” Benedict crowed. “My, you’re looking well. Is this the work of your girl, Amara?”
A flash of drab gray was dragged through the crowd, a small woman tossed into the middle of the confrontation. Winnifred Erodina. “Here she is.” Amara practically sneered through her smile. “Winnifred was nearly as effective as her mother is.” Amara paused with lethal intent. “Forgive me. Was.”
Winnifred’s shoulders shook, but her spine straightened, a determined set to her large green eyes.
Putting a foot down, she made to stand but instead stepped on her skirts.
She would have fallen if Alexander hadn’t appeared at her side, holding her elbow with a barely there touch, helping her steady herself, a dark look upon his face when he stared at the men who’d thrown her.
“I am at your service.” Winnifred moved her arm away from Alexander, curtsying before Benedict. “Your Highness.” Her words were meek and small, but her fists were clenched.
Benedict tipped Winnifred’s chin up, leering at her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Sage didn’t let that stand. Trystan knew she wouldn’t. Shoving Winnifred behind her, she shielded the girl with fire in her stare. “I didn’t agree to any such stay of violence. Touch her again and I’ll skin you alive.”
Benedict was merely amused by her threat.
“I’m afraid it isn’t a choice, Ms. Sage.
The moment you boarded the boat, you entered into an enchantment.
There will be no possibility of violence against any aboard the boat, and if you try, the only one hurting will be you. Isn’t that right, Lord Charles?”
A man to Benedict’s left nodded, his hair long and slicked back with an aggressive amount of hair oil, his small mustache curling up at the ends.
He looked like a caricature ad for the role of creepy sidekick. And then Trystan realized something. “You’re a magical specialist, aren’t you?”
Lord Charles’s beady eyes squinted. “Not any longer. My days of diagnosing people with their magic type are gone. I now work for my king. Gideon Sage left some of his blocking magic behind, and we were able to cast it about the boat, therefore turning a violent act on the other person. Like the rebounding of a shield.”
Creepy Sidekick spoke too much.
Sage shut her eyes tight. “Why? Why wouldn’t you just wait and ambush us?”
Benedict shrugged. “Because I desired a calm conversation, and my new chancellor advised this was likely the only option not ending in bloodshed.”
“But I do so love happy endings,” Sage drawled, folding her arms, that wicked gleam in her eyes telling Trystan she was thriving on the possibility of a fight, the wheels in her mind already turning. Thinking of all the ways she’d make Benedict pay.
Trystan didn’t believe in having “types” for partners. But that was his. Maniacal woman plotting murder.
So distracted by how her cheeks burned red beside her lips, he nearly missed the offhanded comment. “What new chancellor?”
Benedict appeared pleased when he swept out an arm. “Now, this is the very exciting part. Come, Chancellor. They’re eager to see you.”
A man moved through the array of bodies to stand beside Benedict—a knight whose face was covered with a helmet, but when he took it off…
Sage’s cheeks went from reddened with anger to pale with shock and fear.
“Hello, Evangelina.” The man smiled.
Sage’s voice wavered, but her stance was strong when she said, “Hello, Papa.”
Griffin Sage.