The Knight
“Evie Sage is dead.”
The knight’s words echoed through the airy entryway of the king’s study, rebounding off the opulent walls like a cry of mourning.
King Benedict’s face was tipped down, his unblemished hands flat against the pages of an open book. The sunlight from the large window spilled over the silver-lined pages, its heat making the room stifled and cloying. The knight fidgeted beneath his tight armor, but when the king’s head tilted up, he went deathly still.
This was a mistake.
King Benedict shut the book, and the light from the sun dimmed a little, like it was disappointed. He stood slowly, a sympathetic smile tipping at his lips.
“A pity,” he said, rubbing a hand through his sandy-colored hair. There were only a few small streaks of gray in it, which was surprising for a man of the king’s advanced years. “The poor girl was corrupted by The Villain. I suppose, though, in its own way, it was a merciful death. There’s no saving someone who has tread so close to the darkness. Now she can be at peace.” It was self-satisfied, the king’s smile.
I hate you.
The knight’s fist tightened at his side, but he released it before the king could notice. He nodded. “You are ever merciful, my king.” The words burned on his tongue.
Benedict’s eyes narrowed as he gestured to a cushioned chair. “Please have a seat. The journey back to the palace must have been strenuous. How does Sir Ethan fare? He remained with you to see the job done, did he not?” The knight moved carefully toward the red velvet chair; the cushion gave as he lowered to sit. Only his green eyes were visible beneath his helmet as
he gently corrected, “Sir Nathan, Your Majesty.” “Ah yes! Sir Nathan.” The king chuckled.
The knight said bluntly, “Dead.” “Oh?” The king’s brows shot up.
The knight said the words exactly as he’d practiced. “Otto Warsen, I’m afraid, became a bit lustful for blood. I dispatched him myself after he turned on Sir Nathan and me.” He was proud he kept the shaking from his voice at the lie.
The king did not appear saddened, a shock to no one—well, at least no one in the room. “Very well. The fewer loose ends, the better. I trust that you took care of Warsen’s corpse?”
The knight’s lips twitched beneath his helmet, remembering exactly how Mr. Warsen’s head had been…taken care of. “Yes, my king.”
More sweat began to build at the back of the knight’s neck. He knew what the king was about to ask him.
“And Evie Sage’s body? May I see it?”
Stray light from the window slid against the back of the knight’s hands, now covered by a fresh set of gloves. No blood splatters. The light gave him a sense of peace as he said, “I’m afraid the healers need time to repair her wounds and make her presentable, as you requested. They ask your benevolence in not being disturbed while they work.”
Silence followed. The knight held his breath lest the king notice his rapidly moving chest. Keep it together, he ordered himself, sure his heart was pounding so loudly the king could easily hear it.
The king smiled; it did not reach his eyes. It never did. “I suppose I can oblige them. Just be certain she’s prepared for the unmasking at the end of the week.”
The knight nodded, slowly exhaling. “Yes, my king.” He didn’t need to ask about what this “unmasking” was. The king was rather good at boasting about his achievements.
I give it three, two, one—
“Come the week’s end, we are to unmask The Villain in front of every notable noble in the land.” Huh, I thought he’d only make it to two. But His Majesty was eager. Something manic shone in his eyes as he boomed the news.
“A true accomplishment, my king.” The knight squinted to fake a smile. “Congratulations.”
The king stood with a flourish, his fur-lined cape flying behind him as he tossed a book from his desk onto the small tea table in front of the knight. It jarred the wood, rattling the silver chalices with mere drops of wine left inside. He could use a cup. Or several.
“It is only the beginning of a new era for Rennedawn.”
The knight’s brows shot to his hairline. That sounded…ominous.
The king kept speaking. “Presenting Evie Sage as the perfect victim will solidify the kingdom’s hatred for The Villain. Finally, proof of all his wrongdoings—” He gestured to the book, the cover an opulent array of shimmering colors. “Rennedawn’s Story.”
The children’s fable? Rennedawn’s Story was the epic tale of how Rennedawn came to be and the enchanted rhyme that would save its fading magic, supposedly handed down by the gods themselves—though more often heard from the mouths of parents chastising children. Each of the magical kingdoms on the continent of Myrtalia held its own origin story, many equally outlandish or nonsensical. The knight had never seen a published version of Rennedawn’s before today, but the colorful cover did little to proclaim the text’s legitimacy. Was the king having trouble differentiating between fiction and truth?
Perhaps his crown is a little too tight.
Though there were whispers, rumors, that Rennedawn had truly begun to fade into the earth. If the story were true…
Could there be merit to those rumors?
The king sighed. “I’m afraid that to ensure we remain the strongest of the magical kingdoms, I need you to do me a great favor.”
The king had asked the knight for many great favors, and every time, without fail, his reply was, “Yes, my king.”
“I need you to go to the Sage family home and retrieve Nura Sage’s letters. Return them promptly by the day’s end.”
The knight proceeded cautiously. “Whatever His Majesty commands. But might I ask what need you have of them?”
“I’d been hopeful that the older Sage girl might possess the same powers as her mother, but despite Griffin’s best efforts, the girl was useless.” Benedict tapped his chin and gave a mock frown. “Well, useless alive.” The knight remained impassive. “In any event, the letters will help us find Nura’s location. She hasn’t been seen in years.”
The knight’s voice barely leveled above a whisper. “And the younger
Sage girl?”
The king waved a hand. “As good as dead. Taken by The Villain’s horde.” The cloying heat had become so suffocating, the knight felt dizzy. “And what of the guvres, sire? The venom of one of their lets? I was of the understanding you need them, too. Starlight and Fate, or something to that
effect?”
A vein pulsed in the king’s forehead, but his face remained blank. He reached down, retrieved the book, and placed it gently in a crystal-paneled case by the windows. His clear, almost melodic baritone rattled the walls with his disdain.
“Fortunately, I have in my possession just the man to help with that.”
The knight knew who he meant, but a shiver still cooled the heat in his blood.
The Villain.
