Chapter 77
Trystan
Fowler didn’t take them all the way to the manor. At Trystan’s request.
Because when he searched his pocket, he found the fucking key gone.
“You’ll take the window back to the manor, and I’ll go to the capital,” he ordered after they’d landed in the nearby forest. “No doubt that’s where they’re headed.” He handed the stained glass piece off to Tatianna.
“And Evie, too, I assume?” Malcolm pointed in the direction Evie was already running for.
Damn it.
“Get back to the manor,” Trystan called, unsure why he felt the need to stop and turn around. “I’m sorry,” he said to his siblings. Alexander’s betrayal was too painful to express, so he merely said: “For all of it.”
Malcolm and Clare tentatively wrapped their arms around him, and he froze uncomfortably. This was as close to a sibling mourning session as they were going to get, it seemed.
“Very well. That’s sufficient.” He patted both of their backs, acknowledging that though their father was gone, they had him still.
Within each other.
“Come back soon, bonehead. We’re due for a family dinner.” Clare smiled sadly. “I would hurry, though; she’s quick.”
Trystan threw his arms up. “Naturally, she’d develop that skill now.”
Sage moved unreasonably fast for a woman with such short legs.
“You’re walking with such purpose because you came up with a plan…yes?” he called out to her.
She stopped, allowed him to catch up, then continued walking again. The sun still shone high in the sky, gliding over her, giving him a beautiful thing to gaze upon.
“You must be so hurt,” she said, still looking forward as they walked. “Because of Kingsley. I can’t believe he would—”
“I can.”
Sage’s eyes sharpened at the comment. “Wait, were you lying to him? Did you suspect him? And you didn’t tell me!”
Trystan stared. “You suspected your father of being the traitor, and you didn’t tell me.”
Her mouth was open in preparation for more yelling, but she stopped walking, her lips slowly closing. “I forgot about that,” she grumbled. “You really knew? Is that why you had Fowler waiting?”
“No, I didn’t really know; not until I saw him holding a knife to your throat did I allow myself to believe it. But I knew something was different. I knew I needed to send a raven for Fowler in case the king made any wrong moves. But no, Sage, I didn’t know the wrong moves would be from Alexander.”
And it really fucking hurt. Because he still cared. “I can’t totally blame him. He was so convinced the curse had to happen. And he was stuck in the body of a frog. What did he have to lose?”
“You.” Sage’s voice broke over the word. “His home.”
Something unraveled in his chest, something that had been like a vise grip since he became The Villain. Because he was mourning, and it was painful, but she was still here.
“I don’t think I realized it,” he said in wonder, brushing a curl from her eyes.
“What?” she asked, staring at him strangely, probably because he was doing the same.
“When my home stopped being Massacre Manor”—he kissed her lightly, savoring it, like it was the last time he’d get to do it—“and began being you.”
A low rumbling sound echoed his sentiment; he tried to ignore it. Until it grew louder—and closer. “What is that?” Sage asked, pushing against his chest, her face twisting in an adorable scrunch.
“I don’t know. It sounds like— Gods damn it all. Really? Now?”
“Can the world stop ending for a moment so we might have at least one to ourselves,” Sage grumbled, bouncing beside him, grabbing his shoulder to move around him. “Move your big head! I cannot see.”
“My head is not big.”
“Very well.” She scoffed. “Move your adequately sized head so I can see— Oh my. Is that an angry mob?”
Indeed. He knew the sight well. The pitchforks swinging, the torches held high despite the daylight clearing their path, the raucous yells for The Villain’s demise.
But then he heard a call that stilled him.
A call for Evie Sage.
“They’re after…me? Me specifically?” Sage squeaked, and Trystan knew the sound now, knew that he wouldn’t find hopeless tears when he looked upon her face.
“A milestone moment for you, and here I am without a portrait artist to capture it,” he muttered dryly in response to the beaming smile on Sage’s face.
“I realize you are being sarcastic, but I’ve never had an entire mob of people after me. It’s very flattering.” She drummed her fingers against her lips, observing as the group came closer. “What do you usually do when a mob is after you?”
“I chop their heads off.”
“Oh.” Sage frowned, mouth twisting. “Is there a less gory option? I could barely stand it the first time I did it.”
“We’ll run.” He stated it like it was an inevitable action rather than a choice.
“A less boring one?” she asked cheekily.
“There she is!” a villager screamed, and Sage didn’t joke any longer.
She grabbed hold of his hand and began tugging him along, breaking into a sprint he was forced to follow until he was breathing hard beside her, moving deeper into the trees.
“I thought running was ‘boring,’” he pointed out.
When he gripped her hips to nearly toss her over an array of green bushes, the feel of her beneath his hands was enough to distract him from the dangers; his fingers stayed poised to grab her again even after he let go.
“Only if no one is chasing you.” She gave him that sinister half smile that would send a lesser mortal to their knees.
It couldn’t be helped.
He turned his hand over in hers, tugging her with great force until they were off the path, hidden in the brush, and pressed her against a tree.
His lips were on hers before she could form a question, but she didn’t appear to mind, grabbing at his hair, holding him to her.
Her lips moving against his, her tongue brushing at his mouth, forced a groan from the back of his throat. First of pleasure, then of pain when it needed to end. Nearly ending himself in the process, he let her go, kissing her cheek before pulling away, satisfied at how he’d left her.
Wild. Her pupils huge, her lips swollen from his attentions, her chest heaving, her cheeks red, the color traveling all the way down her neck until it disappeared into her bodice.
It was a strangely possessive feeling, knowing how far that blush traveled, knowing the secrets of her body as no other did. Evangelina had stripped him of all civility, he realized; he was no better than an animal guarding its mate.
He suddenly had great sympathy for the male guvre.
“Time to go?” She blinked slowly. “Already?”
The mob was fainter than before. “I think they passed us by. Come, I know a shortcut.”
“Are we foolish to chase after the key instead of enacting the prophecy now? The destiny monster said the curse wouldn’t happen until three sunrises before Hallows’ Eve. We’re still nearly two months away.”
“No, the destiny monster said that is our final chance to be free of the curse. There’s nothing saying Benedict can’t enact it during the most powerful times of day.
Like Edwin said: sunrise, midday, sunset.
” Trystan pointed at the light dimming from the setting sun. “We need the key. And we need it now.”
They kept walking through the forest they’d spent so much time in—running for their lives, falling in love, discovering there was life to be lived. Through the dirt roads they went, until they found a clearing.
Entirely filled with dandelions.
Sage stopped beside him. “I know this place.”
Trystan looked around. She was right—there was something eerily familiar about it.
The dandelions began to glow, and her eyes widened. “Trystan? We need to leave.”
He didn’t question it, just took her hand and pivoted on his heel.
Until Benedict stepped through the trees on the other side of the field with a smile that looked suspiciously like victory.
“Don’t leave on my account. The fun is just beginning.”