A low, strangled sound halted her suddenly. Evie whipped around and gasped when she saw her boss crumpled on the ground. Tossing her heavy satchel away, she ran over to him.
“Sir!” His eyes were open, but his face was pinched in pain.
He gripped her arm, hard. “Run,” he rasped.
“What?” Evie shook her head, confused, but then the rattle of horses brought on the swift quickening of her heart. She put a hand on Trystan’s shoulder and leaned her body slightly over his to shield him. Six riders on large horses appeared, circling them, one of them with a hand raised toward The Villain.
“Stop!” she screamed, looking around for any weapon. But the only thing she had at her disposal was the dagger that she could barely be near, not to mention her satchel was outside of the little barrier within which they’d blocked her.
“Stay put!” one of them yelled. She couldn’t see any of their faces with their metal helmets on. A carriage rattled closer, with a large compartment linked to the back, and Evie felt panicked. She assessed every escape, every means of bribery or deceit. But she didn’t know what they wanted, and there was no telling what they knew.
She looked down to Trystan, still pinned by whatever power the knight closest to her was using. Her hand remained on his shoulder, and she squeezed tight when the carriage rattled to the middle of the circle, the horses that had moved reclosing the gap behind it.
The driver of the carriage, a large-set man dressed in silver and white, rushed toward the carriage door.
After opening it, he bowed deeply. All the knights dismounted their horses in a wave and dropped to their knees.
“Son. Of. A. Bitch,” Trystan gritted out, sitting up, wincing through the pain. His face was turning red, and the veins in his eyes and around his forehead were splaying.
Evie knew immediately, even though she’d never seen the man in person. So, it was technically just a guess when he descended the small steps of the carriage and Evie said in quiet horror, “King Benedict.”
Chapter 59
Evie
“Ms. Sage!” A wide, perfect smile spread across the king’s handsome face. He was certainly into his late forties if not his fifties, with sprays of gray through his thick, sandy-colored hair.
“At last we meet.” He walked toward her, tucking his fur cape behind him. “Chain up The Villain, would you?” The king nodded to one of the knights. “With the special cuffs.”
“No.” Evie threw her body in front of his.
“Sage, move,” Trystan gritted out, sounding strangled.
“No,” she said, panicking.
The king shook his head sympathetically, nodding toward another knight. “It would do you well not to struggle, my dear.” Such kindness in his voice. Evie would’ve trusted that kindness, in another place, when she was another person.
The knight reached down in a flash, gripping her by the waist and hoisting her off Trystan. “No! Get off me!” she screamed, kicking and flailing, swiping her hands out. The knight dropped her for a second and raised his arm high before backhanding her. She fell.
“Stop!” It was The Villain’s voice, not Trystan’s, that cut across the clearing. It was cold and deadly. “Step away from her!” he roared, the clinking of metal following his every movement as he pulled against his cuffs. Evie rolled to her side, looking at him, feeling a tear slide down her cheek.
She pulled herself up, blood dripping from her lower lip, leaves tangled in her hair.
“Yes, stop. The brutality is hardly necessary. He’s chained. He cannot hurt anyone, and if you cannot handle that woman without harming her, perhaps we should rethink your position as one of my guards,” the king said firmly.
Trystan didn’t look to be in great pain anymore, but he was obviously weakened. From that minute of torture or from the cuffs, she was unsure.
“I didn’t want it to come to this, really.” The king tsked. “I was hoping to keep this clean, but you’ve really left me no choice. You’ve simply interfered too much. I was content to let you play your little fairy-tale role for as long as you desired.” He walked closer to The Villain, the well-formed smile disappearing into coldness.
“But now you’re trying to ruin my plans. And that, I’m afraid, I cannot allow.”
Trystan was breathing heavily, nostrils flared, eyes glazed over with rage. “What…are you talking about?” he gritted out.
The king clicked his tongue as he looked down at her boss. “So much potential, yet how disappointing you were.” Benedict knelt beside him, putting a hand on Trystan’s cheek that he tried to shake off. “The guvres—I have a great need of them. To aid in Rennedawn’s very…bright future.”