After a moment, Beatrice shook herself and followed Queen Hippolyta and her swordmaidens. One way or another, Beatrice had to find out the truth.
Benedict pacedthe small room where he’d been locked, the door guarded by two swordmaidens.
At least he wasn’t in a dungeon. Yet. This appeared to be a small sitting room, complete with a comfortable couch and several plush chairs. Although, the room didn’t have any windows, making it an effective place to hold a prisoner until the exact charges could be sorted.
How could Benedict prove he wasn’t a traitor? He could vow to his king that he hadn’t intended to trap the Wild Fae Primrose. But that would only go so far, considering he couldn’t explain what he’d actually intended to do. The king would believe his vow was some kind of tricky wording rather than the truth.
Well, it was tricky wording, but because it was as much of the truth as he could say.
Benedict paced across the room yet again, his hands clasped behind his back. What would Claudius do once Father informed him that Benedict had tried to pass along the information? He likely wouldn’t step up his plan, given that whatever he was planning would have the most impact on Midsummer. But would he do something else in the meantime?
What if he targeted Beatrice? When Benedict had pretended to trap the Primrose, she had been the one to show up to stop him. Claudius wouldn’t overlook a detail like that, even if there was no way Beatrice was actually the Primrose.
How could Benedict stop any of it? He was likely going to end up in some kind of dungeon before morning.
Would King Theseus take the time to interrogate him before sending him there? So far, Benedict had been left here, as if the king had already decided his fate and had no need to learn more.
Right now, Benedict would take being strapped to a table for a torture session if it meant he would be given a chance to attempt to tell the king what he knew.
The lock rattled, and Benedict whirled to face it.
When the door opened, a swordmaiden stood there, wearing traditional chain mail over a blue dress. She carried a spear that was taller than he was, and he noted with a relieved breath that she wasn’t the cow-headed swordmaiden that Claudius had substituted in. At this point, he wouldn’t put it past Claudius to have Benedict assassinated.
She stared at him with flinty eyes and a solemn line to her mouth. “Come with me.”
Benedict’s stomach twisted but he nodded and followed. The other two swordmaidens who had been guarding his door fell in behind him. They didn’t re-shackle his hands, but then again, he was surrounded by three swordmaidens. Escape wasn’t an option. Not that he wanted to escape. He wanted a chance to tell someone loyal to King Theseus what he knew.
The swordmaidens marched him down the hall before the lead swordmaiden halted before a discreet wooden door set in the wall. “Go through there.”
Benedict swallowed, glancing from the door to the swordmaidens. What would he find inside? Surely they weren’ttelling him to walk to his own execution? King Theseus wouldn’t have him killed this quickly, would he?
Swallowing, Benedict opened the door and stepped inside.
The room beyond was bathed in shadows, and the only light came from a single faerie light set on the far side.
A figure sat in a chair partway across the room so that the single light cast deep shadows across his face. His elbows rested on the chair arms while his long fingers were steepled in front of him. Even with the shadows, Benedict could tell that he was a male fae with darkly blond hair tied back in a queue, chiseled features, and elegant clothing.
And yet he’d never seen this particular fae before, despite the fact that he looked like he could be a noble from the court.
Who was he? He wasn’t a noble of the Court of Knowledge, nor was he a noble from another Court who visited the Library frequently. He wasn’t one of the librarians nor was he dressed like one of the common fae of the Court.
“Shut the door.” The fae lord spoke, his gaze fixed on Benedict in a disconcerting way.
Benedict closed the door, plunging the room into even deeper shadows. After all this time, he was finally in the presence of the one he’d sought. “Are you the Wild Fae Primrose?”
“I am.” The fae lord’s gaze remained fixed on him. Perhaps it was a lie, but there didn’t seem to be anything but truth in the fae’s eyes. “I’ve heard you’ve been planning to trap me. Rather clumsily, I might add.”
“And yet it’s midnight, and here you are.” Perhaps getting snarky with the Primrose wasn’t the wisest course of action, but the other fae’s tone needled Benedict.
Prodding the Primrose into making contact with him in some way, shape, or form had been his secondary purpose for staging that trap.
“Indeed.” The fae noble peered at Benedict over steepled fingers, a slight smile creasing his angular face. “So perhaps I should be congratulating you on your cleverness. You wanted my attention. Now you have it.”
Benedict clasped his hands behind his back. Now that the moment was finally here, he struggled to know where to start. A strangling fear filled his chest as he opened his mouth. What if his vow still stopped him from talking? What if his loophole wasn’t enough?
Yet when he spoke, the words flowed from his mouth without being cut off. “When Claudius released me, he forced me to take a geas that prevented me from speaking of the things I’d seen and heard in his dungeon. I did as I was told, but I added that I would tell no one except for the person I apparently blamed for my capture and imprisonment.”
“Ah. Another demonstration of your cleverness.” The smile on the fae hero’s face grew a fraction. “That gave you a measure of control over whom you told. All you had to do was be very apparent about your blame. Yet why choose me? Why not the king?” The fae lord paused and gave a low chuckle. “Of course. If you went around blaming the king, you would have been arrested for treason long before now.”
