Chapter 75
Kingsley
It was done.
The worst of it was finally over.
And it had only taken losing everyone he cared for in the process.
“You—you knew?” Alexander had been so careful. So meticulous. He couldn’t believe all this time, his friend had allowed it to go this far.
“No. No, I didn’t know.” Trystan laughed caustically. “I never would have suspected you. But you knew that, didn’t you? I trusted you. I loved you like a brother since we were children, Alexander, and because of it, I ignored every red flag in front of my face. But I see now. I see you.”
“I didn’t want it to come to this, Trystan.” His voice was smoother after days of practice, but the edge was still there. Perhaps it always would be.
“Oh, no?” Trystan’s words were low and deadly. “Then release her.”
Alexander tightened the blade at her neck. “I need the window. Bring it to me, and nothing will happen to her.”
Evie spoke. “You won’t hurt me, Kingsley.”
Alexander couldn’t bear this, but he had to. He’d tried to keep his hands clean, to stay out of it, but there was no other way for this to end. Alexander Kingsley had but one option.
“I will if I must,” he replied steadily. “In this, Evie, we are adversaries.”
Trystan’s eyes were so frigid. “How long?”
“Benedict got ahold of me when I left the manor eight months ago. Just before you found me.”
“The day I met Evie,” Trystan concluded.
Alexander swallowed. “Indeed. I began working with him then. Trying to prevent you from fulfilling the prophecy.”
Tatianna stepped closer, and he tightened his hold on the blade. “Why? Why would you ever agree to such an arrangement?”
Alexander swallowed. “Because the curse must happen. For all your lives to be saved.”
Evie shifted in his arms, suddenly pressing herself away from him and farther against the knife, cutting into the top of her neck. He flung the knife away like it was monstrous and fell backward, holding the tree for support. His hands shook.
“I apologize if that freaked you out. I was growing tired of all this.” Evie rubbed at her neck, and Trystan tracked the motion, the dribble of blood that slid down to her collarbone. “Told you he wouldn’t hurt me,” she said lightly.
“There is a wound on your neck that wasn’t there a moment ago.” If looks could kill, Trystan’s would eviscerate. “I wouldn’t agree.”
“I don’t mean to cut this greeting party short!” Malcolm huffed, sprinting toward them. “But you have maybe five more minutes before the king cannot be stalled any longer. Exit plan?”
“There is none,” Alexander murmured, knowing he’d led them to a dead end.
Trystan’s fist was the least of what he’d been prepared for, but the hit knocked him to the ground nonetheless. Malcolm shoved his brother back, and Clare kneeled beside Alexander, hands hovering. “There is, actually.”
“Was that my cue?” a voice called, hidden in one of the tallest trees above.
“It was, Lord Fowler.” Trystan moved away from the clearing as Lord Fowler’s flying contraption drifted in. The eccentric man who’d gotten his kicks by kidnapping them at his theme party not so very long ago landed gently on the ground. “You have the window?”
“Safely tucked away,” Lord Fowler confirmed, saluting, his thick mustache moving with his assurance.
“Trystan, I’m begging you,” Alexander pleaded with his oldest friend, missing the days he needed but one word to express himself.
“The curse must happen. Rennedawn must break in every way before it becomes whole again—just like that window. Fulfilling the prophecy at this stage is putting a small bandage on a free-flowing stab wound.”
“How do you know that?” Tatianna asked. “Benedict? He’s a liar, Alexander.”
He wasn’t lying about this. Alexander knew it with certainty. “On this point, he has no need to lie. If he believed the prophecy would gift him Rennedawn, don’t you think he’d be doing everything in his power to fulfill it himself instead of sabotaging your efforts?”
Trystan appeared to be contemplating his words, tilting his head. “If this was all some grand scheme to save us, why would you keep it a secret? Why would you help him at all?”
Alexander shut his eyes tight. “I knew someone had to do the difficult thing in order to save us all. Someone had to be the one to make the choice no one would want to make. What did it matter if it was me?” His voice grew quieter. “I was just the frog.”
“You were always far more than that.” Clare pressed her lips together until they were colorless.
“The prophecy will work,” Trystan said. “You’re wrong.”
Alexander choked on his next sentence. “I hope that I am.”
“We’ve got to go, Villain.” Lord Fowler addressed Trystan, assisting Tatianna, Clare, and Malcolm inside. “Room for two more aboard.”
Evie stood between them. “We— No, we can’t leave.”
“I won’t come.” Alexander expected another strike when Trystan moved toward him, but instead, his oldest friend clapped him in a hug. “What—what are you doing?”
“A very wise woman once told me that much could be solved with a hug. I am—” He breathed in. “I am so angry at you. But when you realize that Benedict played you, we’ll be waiting for you—at home.” He blinked furiously, rubbing the back of his arm over his eyes.
Alexander didn’t bother to hide the tears burning in his own eyes as he watched his best friend leave with the woman he loved. The basket lifted off, and he tracked the movement, waiting until they were too high. Too far away to see what he’d pulled out of Trystan’s pocket.
“Prince Alexander?” Benedict appeared at his shoulder. “Were you successful?”
He didn’t look at the king, knowing his hatred would be far too easy to see. Instead, he handed it over.
The key.
The anchor.
It was really over now.
And he’d never forgive himself.