And there it was—the deed that encircled his heart with a bitter cold that he could never escape. A wild look came into her eyes, and he saw himself as she must see him—as a cold-blooded murderer. He closed his eyes to shut out the condemnation. “Not a day goes by that I do not regret what I did,” he said quietly.
“I shall never forget it.”
They stood there looking at one another—two mountains so close in their proximity yet they would never meet for the rushing river between them was too treacherous to cross.
“Was taking Norman not enough for you? And now you want to take my son? I will not stand by idly this time. So help me, Aalexander, if you harm so much as a hair on his head, I will kill you myself.” A single tear rolled down her cheek.
He could tell she meant every word. A chill ran up his spine, and he was reminded of something that he often overlooked—Wisteria was a very dangerous woman. “A trial will be held. You and Rushton will have the opportunity to defend yourselves.”
“And how will you go about trying to prove our guilt?”
“I am not trying to prove thy guilt, I am only attempting to do my duty.”
“I do not give a hog’s breath about thy duty! I want to know how you plan to prove our guilt.”
“That, I cannot tell thee.”
She placed a hand on his arm. “Please, Aalexander, I need to know.”
His eyes met hers, and he felt the chinks of armor falling away. What would it hurt to tell her? It was her son’s life … and hers that was at stake. She would be confined to the West Wing. There was nothing she could do at this point to impede the trial. “For old time’s sake,” she implored. The softness in her voice evoked a yearning that was at once familiar and cutting.
It was no use trying to resist her. She always got her way in the end. “We have possession of a letter that Rushton wrote to Cinderella, imploring her to meet him in the woods. The maid, Millicent, will testify that upon receipt of the letter, Cinderella’s demeanor changed. She became agitated and hostile.”
“Is there anything else?”
“The vial of potion that was found on his person … and Cinderella’s testimony. She will swear under oath that she was indeed under the influence of a spell.”
“So in essence, Rushton’s fate rests on the shoulders of a girl.” She put a slender finger to her lips, pondering the situation. “Let me ask thee, Alexander—what would happen to Cinderella if she admitted that she was in collusion with Rushton? What would happen if she were to admit that she was not under the influence of a spell? Would you let her walk away?”
He rubbed his forehead. “You know I could not let her walk away.” The day’s events washed over him, and he felt weary to the bone.
“‘Tis as I thought. My son’s life hangs on the testimony of a girl who is being forced to testify against him in order to save her own skin. If she testifies against Rushton then she’ll marry Edward and become a princess. If she tells the truth, then she’ll be killed. Does that seem like a fair trial to thee?”
“Do not forget the vial of potion. My chemist is in the process of examining it to see if it is indeed a love potion.”
She made a face. “Chemists know nothing of magic!”
“Are you admitting that it is magic?”
Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “Only a fool would pass such a ridiculous law, banning magic. A hypocritical fool.”
He clenched his fists as red blazed up his neck, filling his face. “Are you insinuating—”
“Magic is what helped put thee on the throne! Merek, thy most trusted advisor is the most skilled wizard of us all. Magic is the foundation of the entire kingdom!”
“Enough!” he roared. “I will not listen to such idle talk!”
“And I will not allow thee to murder my son in the name of thy so-called justice!”
“Rushton crossed the line. He had a dalliance with the fiancée of the crown prince. If it were simply a case of Edward versus Rushton, then we could let the girl choose, but the honor of the kingdom is at stake. We accepted her as a princess. She was written into The Grimm Laws. Rushton has insulted the throne, our way of life. This has to be answered. Without law and order we are nothing.” He reached for her hands and cupped them in his. “I cannot save him, but I can save you. Please let me help you. Please.”
Her mouth twisted. He tried to ascertain what she was thinking but was unable to read her expression. “You are offering me a deal?” she finally said.
Hope sprang in his chest. Wisteria was no fool. Surely she could see that a deal was the only option.
“My son’s life in exchange for mine,” she mused. “Is that what you are saying?”
“I know ‘tis horrible, Wisteria. Please understand, I would change it if I could, but I see no other way.”
Red blotches made their way up her throat. “You loathsome, spineless snake!” She withdrew her hands from his. “For years, I have purposely stayed out of thy way. I resigned myself to singing in thy miserable minstrel, entertaining thy feather-brained wife and her obnoxious friends. I have subjected myself and my son to thy rule, never asking for anything in return.”
How quickly she could raise his temper. “Is that so? You act as though you had a choice in the matter.” He balled his fist. “I am the king, and you are my subject! Do not forget who paid for thy home.”
“Do not forget who helped put thee on the throne! As for the house, ‘tis blood money,” she spat. “You paid for my home out of guilt. And I let thee for one reason only—Rushton! In fact, Rushton is the sole reason I have allowed myself to be subjected to thee. Do you really think that I would allow thee to take my son’s life in exchange for mine? If you insist upon going along with this ridiculous trial, then our treaty will be over.”
“We do not have a treaty.”
The fire raging in her eyes was so fierce that he had to fight the desire to shrink back from it. “Oh, we have a treaty—an unspoken one where you stay the hell out of my way, and I allow you to keep thy little kingdom intact.”
Blood rushed to his head, and he wanted to wring her skinny neck until her head popped off. He clenched his fists and shoved them down by his side. The woman was insufferable! An atrocity to her kind! She sat down in the chair and motioned for him to do the same. His first impulse was to refuse, especially considering that she refused to sit earlier, but he felt foolish standing in the presence of a lady, so he sat.
She started strumming her fingernails on the arms of the chair. “What news have you from Ruben as of late?”
His eyes widened as alarm pulsed through him. Wisteria hated Ruben as much as he, perhaps even more so. In the old days, Wisteria was his greatest ally—an extension of himself. They had joined forces to ensure that Ruben could never hurt them again. His tunic was starting to feel tight around his neck. He pulled at it and started turning his neck from side to side. “What are you getting at?”
“Our protective shield is growing weak, Aalexander. It was constructed from our love—our common will. The further apart the two of us grow, the weaker it will become. Eventually, it will fail altogether, and the kingdom will be left vulnerable—a helpless lamb surrounded by ravenous wolves. There are whispers. Whispers that Ruben is no longer content with Briarbane Forest.” She leaned forward in her seat, closing the distance between them. “We both know that Ruben is the one behind the thievery on the roads. ‘Tis Ruben who dismembered thy guards and left their appendages on the castle steps. At present, they have contented themselves with plundering the villages in the outlying areas. But …” she paused, keeping him waiting for the next part.
“But?” he prodded.
“There are rumors that Ruben is close to forming an alliance with Tristian the Butcher.”
He drew in a breath. So, the rumors were true. For years, there had been murmurs of an alliance, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Ruben hated him enough to join with the bloodthirsty criminal that had long ago been banished to the outer was
teland. He glared at Wisteria. “And how did you come by this information?”
She smiled, but her eyes remained guarded. “You underestimate me, Aalexander. As I was saying, Ruben has not succeeded in his attempt to form an alliance—at least not yet. Tristian is a finicky sort, hard to reach, nearly impossible to reason with—unless one has a certain skill set that he desires.”
“Magic,” Alexander uttered. He gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles grew white. “Are you suggesting that you would join with that atrocity to mankind? After all we have worked for … and built together.” His eyes began to bulge like his tongue was wrapping around this throat and cutting off his air.
“You do have a way of jumping to conclusions, Aalexander.” Her voice lingered slightly on the sound of his name, and he was struck by the musical quality of it, almost as though she were singing when she spoke. She waved her hand in the air and chuckled, lightening her features. For a moment, it was if a ray of sunlight had entered the dark room. “I am simply suggesting that you and I work much better together …” her eyes met his “… than against each other.” She stood. “‘Tis late, and I must retire to my quarters. I will leave thee to ponder over what has been spoken.”
He stood and watched her walk away. His eyes trailed over her flawless neckline and how the flowing tresses of her hair shimmered against the soft flicker of the candles when she walked. When she reached the door, he spoke, “One more thing.”
She turned.
“If anything should happen to Cinderella prior to the onset of the trial, I shall hold thee personally responsible.”
She offered a curt nod. “And if anything should happen to my Rushton prior to the onset of the trial, I shall hold thee personally responsible.”
Their eyes locked.
“Point taken.” He paused. “Goodnight, Wisteria.”
“Goodnight, Aalexander.”
He caught something in her eyes—something that she’d tried hard to conceal from him, but in the blink of an eye he’d seen it. For mirrored in her eyes, was the same haunting expression he wore. A hurt that ran so deep neither of them would ever be whole again. “How marvelous we were together,” he uttered.
“Aye,” she murmured softly, giving him a sad smile. Then she seemed to catch herself. Her face drew into itself as her lips formed a hard line. “Those times are dead!” She shot him a look of pure hatred that turned his blood to ice. Before she sauntered out the door, she cast a parting glance in the direction of the large bookcase that took up the far corner of the room. “I am leaving now. Do tell Merek ‘tis all right to come out of his hole.”
* * *
The moment Wisteria was out of the room, Aalexander went back to his chair and slumped into it. Every inch of his body ached. He felt old and weary. Going head to head with Wisteria had drained all of his strength. The woman was an enigma to him, as fluid and elusive as flowing water. And like water, she was just as vital to his survival, though it gave him no pleasure to admit it. Merek strode across the room and sat in the chair where Wisteria had been. For a few moments, the two men sat silently, each lost in their own thoughts. Then, Aalexander could feel Merek watching him. He turned full attention to the older man who was sitting thoughtfully, stroking his long, white beard—his gray eyes seemed to be looking right through Aalexander and into his very soul. Merek’s bald head was as smooth as an eagle egg. His long thin face was etched with interconnecting wrinkles that were as fixed as carved stone. He’d looked ancient and wise from the moment Aalexander met him. But sitting here now, studying him, against the flickering light of the candles, he was struck by the sudden awareness that Merek didn’t appear any older now than he did twenty years ago, when he first met him. How was it that the man had the power to elude time?
Merek’s piercing eyes met his. Even though they held neither judgment nor condemnation, they had a way of stripping him to the bone and making him squirm. It was obvious that Merek was not going to speak first. The man never got in a hurry. If it were up to him, the two of them would sit here—staring at one another until the rooster crowed. He perched his leg up on the arm of the chair and picked up a silver candlestick and started turning it over in his hands. “I cannot imagine what nerve it must have taken for her to charge in here and threaten a king,” he mused. “Hardly anyone dares to speak against me.” He shot Merek a meaningful glance. “Except for you and Loreena, but that is beside the point,” he said dryly. “What kind of woman does that?”
“The kind that threatens thy guards and sends them running for the hills. The kind that threatened thy kingdom … possibly even thy life.”
Aalexander shook his head. “You do not know her as I do.”
“Aye, ‘tis true. She was a great woman once—thine equal in every way, but she has changed. Life’s events have made her rigid. I fear that perhaps you are mistaking the maiden you once knew for the woman she has become.”
Merek was wrong. He knew Wisteria as well as he knew himself, but it would do no good to argue with him. “Aye, you are correct, of course.” He paused. “But what to do about it.”
“She makes a good point about the trial. Cinderella will testify to save her own skin, but that will not bring us any closer to the truth.”
“Does the truth really matter?”
“It matters to Edward. He will never know for sure if Cinderella—the future queen—loves him. He will forever doubt his own worth. He has greatness in him—a capacity to become …”
“What?” Aalexander demanded.
Merek shook his head and looked away.
“A capacity to become the King I never could,” Aalexander finished for him. The king he might have been had he married Wisteria, the king he might have been had he not acted rashly and sent her husband to his death. “If Rushton is found guilty then Wisteria will never forgive me.” He shifted in his seat. “I would rather cut off my right hand than to hurt that lad.”
Merek gave him a searching look. “Because of her?”
Aalexander put the candlestick down. “Aye,” he admitted, “because of her.”
“She is dangerous.”
“Aye, I suppose she is …” He blew out a breath. “You might as well say it out loud. I know you disapprove of my relationship with Wisteria.”
“To which aspect of the relationship are you referring?”
Having a conversation with Merek was worse than playing a game of riddles. “You think I give her too much leeway.”
“So says you.”
Aalexander chuckled. “Must you always be so cryptic? ‘Tis late, and I am weary to the bone. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, I am retiring to my bed.” He removed his leg from the arm of the chair and sat up straight.
“There was a time—in the beginning—when I thought that perhaps she would be good for you. However, in light of all that has transpired, the situation has changed. She holds thee in the palm of her hand. If you will remember, I cautioned you against marrying another when thy heart belonged to Wisteria. Thy feelings for her have impaired thy judgment, making thee weak. Once thy strength, she has now become thy greatest weakness.” Merek stroked his mustache. “Is that blunt enough for thee?”
Blood rushed to Aalexander’s face. He jumped up. “You are out of line!”
Merek held out a hand to stay him. “My only desire is to guide thee.” His voice remained as calm as the still waters in the moat that ran so deep that the currents couldn’t touch them.
“You would do well to remain silent about that which you do not understand,” Aalexander said through gritted teeth.
“I understand that which I see. What will you do if the boy is found guilty?”
“He must face the consequences of his actions.”
Merek looked him in the eye. “And what if she is found guilty?”
“Then …” he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He sat back down and cradled his head in his hands. “Heaven help me! I cannot escape her! I do not know what I
will do if she is found guilty! I cannot bear the thought of a world without her.”
“Aye,” he said quietly. “I was afraid of that.” Silence settled between them until Merek finally spoke. “There may be another solution.”
Aalexander raised his head. “I am listening.”
“The path will not be easy, and there are great risks, but if it is the truth you seek, then there is only one sure way to find it.”
“What are you saying?”
“The three keys.”
Aalexander’s head spun, considering the possibilities. “Can it be done?” Could it really work? Would it give him the chance to make things right?
Merek seemed to read his thoughts. “This is not only about thee and Wisteria. ‘Tis also about Edward and Cinderella.”
“Aye, of course. ‘Tis what is best for Edward,” Aalexander said quickly.
Merek gave him a searching look. “And what of Rushton? Have you given any thought as to what might be best for him?”
He frowned. “What thought would I have for him? Only that he is the son of the woman who haunts me.”
“Have you no sentiment for the lad who grew up in the castle? The lad who has been forever at Edward’s side—like a brother to him? You have admired qualities that the boy possesses—his courage, his passion, his recklessness in the face of danger, his ability to love another heart and soul—qualities that you wish Edward possessed.” He held up a finger. “Do not deny it, for I know thy heart.”
The words were like salt on an open wound. A hot anger bubbled in Aalexander’s chest. “Aye, ‘tis true,” he admitted. “But why are you speaking of it now? To torment me? To make me wish my son was more than he is?” He gave Merek an anguished look. “‘Tis enough torture for me to look upon the face of the lad day in and day out, knowing that if I had married Wisteria, he might have been mine. I do not need a reminder from thee on the subject,” he finished, his voice quivering with indignation.
“I have no desire to torment thee. My only wish is for thee to see things as they are.”
“I see things the only way I can,” Alexander said quietly.
Love Spell: Book 2 of The Grimm Laws Page 18