Chapter 13 #2
“It isn’t that. I just…” He trailed off, hesitating again. The Library was too important to risk, even to calm her fears. But if he didn’t calm her and get both of them into hiding, then this whole trap would be blown. “Beatrice, please…”
A softer whisper rustled from the nook’s entrance. He stilled, even as Beatrice started turning, her mouth opening, likely to call a warning to the person she thought would be the Primrose.
“I’m sorry.” Benedict wrapped an arm around her, spinning her to place her back to his chest, and clamped his other hand, the one with the handkerchief, over her mouth.
This time when she tried to bite him, she got a mouthful of handkerchief instead of his hand.
The fabric also helped muffle her angry screams. Though he was careful to make sure her nose wasn’t covered so she could still breathe.
He hauled her, kicking and squirming, back into the hiding spot behind the stand of birches.
Once they were more or less crouched behind the undergrowth, he spoke into her ear.
“Shh. Please be quiet. I can’t explain now, but this trap isn’t for the Wild Fae Primrose.
Please trust me. The fate of the Library depends on it. ”
She stopped screaming and thrashing, though she still glared at him from where she crouched, pinned in his arms.
As he held her, Benedict grew more and more aware of the gentle sound of her breathing, each breath shifting her body subtly against him. His skin tingled at the points of contact.
She’d grown up from that gangly ten-year-old with flyaway hair that he had treated so terribly.
Had he grown up enough to be worthy of even hoping for something more with her? He’d been a cruel child, encouraged by his parents and by the fae around him in his actions.
Not that it would likely matter how much he’d grown and changed. She was determined to end the mate bond, and once they did, there would never be any hope of anything more between them.
And he would go through with it, if that was what she wanted. He wouldn’t keep her in this binding against her will.
When he eased his hand from her mouth, she hissed, “Fine. But if you’re lying…”
He met her gaze again, his voice low and rough as he willed her to believe him. “I vow I am not lying.”
Her blue eyes widened, but he yanked his gaze away as a figure made its way between the trees.
A fae man with blond hair and expertly tailored navy silk tunic and trousers strode into the small clearing with all the arrogant confidence of a lord.
When he glanced in their direction, his face left Benedict in no doubt of the terrible, heart-piercing truth, much as he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this.
His father. His father was working with Claudius.
Beside him, Beatrice made a slight squeak, as if she was prepared to launch into him again.
Father’s gaze swung in their direction, his eyes sharpening, even as Borachio strolled into the clearing and halted at their father’s side. His presence was no surprise.
“Stay here,” Benedict breathed, hoping against all hope that Beatrice would listen. Then he rose to his feet and strode around the stand of saplings, a smile plastered into place.
Of course the spy was his own father. Benedict had suspected his brother Borachio, but his father made even more, horrible sense.
That would be the only reason the spy would negotiate with Claudius to have the real Benedict returned instead of a fake Benedict like the others.
Benedict might be the lesser of his two sons in Father’s eyes, but he had enough pride that he’d want his own flesh and blood returned instead of a false one.
His father and brother were bound to the Court of Knowledge. They were high-ranking nobles with all the privileges associated with their status. Their loyalty should have been with King Theseus.
Instead, they had betrayed the court and their king to the enemy, all because of their hatred of humans.
Slouching to a halt before his father and brother, Benedict crossed his arms. “Father. Borachio. I take it you heard I plan to trap the Primrose?”
“I did.” Father glanced around with sharply blue eyes, keeping his voice low. “I thought I heard voices and a scream.”
Benedict opened his mouth, his mind whirling.
What could he say? Should he lie and say that the Primrose had been there already but he failed to capture him?
No, a failure like that would earn him even more of his father’s disdain, and Benedict might need his father’s trust to set up a second trap to prove he was a spy.
“How dare you!” Beatrice marched from around the birch trees, all fluttering skirts and furious eyes once again. “You schemed with your father and brother to trap the Primrose? You are even worse than I thought!”
Father turned to Beatrice, his scowl deepening with disgust even as something sparked in his eyes. “What is this human doing here?”
“Stopping all of you from capturing the Primrose!” Beatrice marched toward his father, her hands fisted once again.
Benedict swept out an arm to halt her. It was one thing for her to confront Benedict, but his father was something else entirely. Father would see that she mysteriously disappeared into Claudius’s clutches if she crossed him.
Before Beatrice could make another move or Benedict could process how to salvage the situation, more rustling and crunching rang out from all around them a moment before King Theseus and Queen Hippolyta, her sword drawn, strode into the clearing.
Swordmaidens wielding everything from swords to spears appeared from between the trees, menacing with hard eyes and steady grips on their weapons.
Behind Father, Borachio’s face paled, and he raised his hands, palm out.
Father turned to Benedict and met his gaze, something in those blue depths sparking. Father didn’t know King Theseus’s arrival hadn’t been a part of Benedict’s plan but instead must be Beatrice’s doing.
No, Father had just realized that this had all been a trap, but not for the Primrose. He knew that Benedict had planned to betray them.
Father’s mouth curled, a look of purest hatred filling his face and eyes.
Whirling, Father bowed to King Theseus before he pointed at Benedict.
“My king. It is my greatest sadness to report that I have apprehended my son in the act of trying to trap the Wild Fae Primrose. As Your Majesties have made your support of the Primrose clear, this is a betrayal of the Court. I am appalled to find that one of my sons has done this terrible thing.”
Benedict’s breath caught, his stomach dropping into his toes.
His father might have been willing to bargain with Claudius for Benedict’s return, but he was more than willing to cut ties to save his own skin.
While it was difficult for a fae to lie to one’s monarch, his father had been careful not to actually name Benedict.
He’d implied that Benedict was the betrayer, even though Borachio was the son who fit the description.
And there was nothing Benedict could do. Thanks to his vow, he couldn’t defend himself. He couldn’t tell the king that his father and brother were the true traitors. He couldn’t explain what he’d really been doing here.
Borachio stepped forward, shot his own look of disgust at Benedict, and bowed to the king and queen. “This very evening, Benedict told myself, Tybalt, and Pedron that he planned to trap the Wild Fae Primrose tonight at midnight. I, of course, rushed to tell my father.”
“That confirms what we have been told by another who also overheard.” King Theseus took one step forward, his eyes flinty, his voice firm. “Apprentice Librarian Benedict, you are under arrest for treason against your duly bound court.”
Arrested. For treason. Even as the two who were actually committing treason walked free.
Benedict raised his hands, not resisting as two swordmaidens stepped forward. They grabbed his arms and yanked them behind his back. The far too familiar cold of faerie steel manacles clamped around his wrists.
Surely King Theseus’s dungeon would be far preferable to Claudius’s. Surely he would treat his prisoners with far more mercy.
Yet the real traitors would go free. The imposters were still at large, preparing to disrupt the choosing of the next head librarian on the upcoming Midsummer Day. The Library remained in danger.
And Benedict couldn’t breathe a word of the truth.
As the swordmaidens began to drag him away, he turned to Beatrice, who remained frozen only a few feet away. He met her gaze, trying to beg her with his eyes to believe him. “Please trust me. I trapped the person I intended to trap.”
Would she understand? Would she believe him?
Her eyes searched his face, her stance changing from furious to something he couldn’t quite define.
Then the swordmaidens marched him forward, and he was forced to look away.
As he was hauled past, his father gave a harsh sniff. “You betrayed me. You betrayed your family. You are no son of mine. I disown you.”
Benedict couldn’t hide his flinch. He hadn’t expected those words to hurt this much. As a child and adolescent, he’d done so much he now regretted because he was trying to earn his father’s love.
Yet his father was more than willing to turn on Benedict to hide his own treasonous activities.
No more. It was time Benedict fully cut those ties to his family and forged on alone. Perhaps he’d have less to regret in the future.
Not that he’d have much of a future. He would spend it sitting in the dungeon, hoping his Court didn’t crumble around him on Midsummer because he’d failed to stop Claudius.
Even when he tried to do the right thing, he still ended up with nothing but regrets.