Love Spell: Book 2 of The Grimm Laws (18 page)

A
alexander stood
when Wisteria entered the cabinet room. He motioned for her to take the chair across from him.

“I prefer to stand.” She crossed her arms over her chest and jutted out her chin. He’d seen that look many times before—the one she gave right before she ripped her adversary to shreds.

He sat down and stretched out his legs. “Suit yourself.” He wasn’t the least bit surprised when she jumped to the heart of the matter.

“I want to know the identity of Rushton’s accuser, and I want to know NOW! I demand that you tell me—”

His laughter cut her off short.

“Pray tell me what it is that you find so amusing, your royal highness.”

“‘Tis only the two of us, Wisteria. You can dispense with the mocking titles.”

“But Aalexander, how can I possibly see the man when it is the king that keeps getting in the way?” Her eyes grew hard. “‘Twas the king that exerted his authority and sent two guards to my home to drag me to the castle. ‘Twas the king who accused me of practicing magic. ‘Twas the king who had my son thrown into the dungeon.”

He held up his hand. “I was only doing my duty.”

“This is not duty, Aalexander, this is madness, and you know it.”

“Are you asserting that you did not assist Rushton in casting a love spell over Cinderella? Is that your official position?”

She let out a harsh laugh. “These questions are insulting and demeaning.” She stopped and gave him a shrewd look. “I know what you are doing. You got me off topic. I want to know the identity of my accusers.”

His face reddened slightly, and he shifted in his seat.

“‘Tis her, is it not? Loreena! Aye, you just confirmed it, I can tell from the way you shift your eyes and pucker your lips.”

He looked at her in amazement. “Do you really think you know me so well?”

Her eyes met his for one long moment. “Aye, Aalexander, I know you. I know you better than you know thyself and certainly better than that simpleton you call a wife.”

He came out of his seat. “How dare you insult my wife! I could have you hanged for less!”

She took a step closer to him, her face right up in his. “But you won’t. I didn’t start this, Aalexander. You might ask yourself why Loreena hates me so much.”

She was so close that he could feel her warm breath. He marveled at the color of her violet eyes and the thick eyelashes that shrouded them in mystery. Every inch of him yearned to throw common sense to the wind—put his arms around her and pull her close. She was the itch he never could satisfy, the thirst he could never quench. His need for Wisteria forever burned in his veins. “Hate you?” He scoffed. “She barely knows you exist.”

“Do not talk to me the way you talk to her. You know better.” They eyed each other, a lifetime of memories falling in pieces around them.

“Why?” The ragged question forced its way out of his lips before he could call it back. He reached and touched a strand of her hair.

Her jaw went slack, and he saw a slight shift in her eyes—something he could not quite pinpoint. Regret? Tenderness? Then leaned back out of his reach as her anger took hold. “Do not touch me!”

His hand dropped to his side. He had crossed the line, but he could not bring himself to apologize. For so long, he had dreamed of touching her. She was the last thing he saw when he closed his eyes at night, the first thing when he opened them. He longed to be free of her. A part of him hated her for the control she had over him. A part of him hated her for what she had done to him … to them. “You did this to us,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What? Are we back to that again?”

“Aye!” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “If you had not gone behind my back … married another while I was gone—”

Her voice rose to match his. “‘Twas you who destroyed all hope of us. The day you sent my husband out to die!”

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 wasteland. 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.”