Chapter 22

The Villain

" Wait. I know you," Trystan uttered in absolute astonishment at the man before him. He rarely forgot faces, and though this one had lost the final dregs of adolescence and now angled out into that of a man in his mid-twenties, he was still recognizable.

"I'm honored you remember! It was my first week as a knight when we met in that corridor. Right before you were, uh…"

"Imprisoned?" Trystan offered sardonically.

"I wasn't going to say that part," the knight muttered quietly. The man had been a recruit when Trystan was apprenticing for the king ten years ago—they'd chatted for a bit, all small talk; he'd never even gotten the youth's name. But it had been the first time in weeks that someone didn't skitter away from him, frightened for reasons he didn't then understand. He'd liked the boy.

The knight's eyes fell to Sage, soft and grinning.

Not anymore.

"And who are you?" Tatianna asked, narrowing her gaze on the newcomer. The knight's expression turned to one of interest when his green eyes found the office healer.

"Someone who'd like to know you," he said.

Tatianna scoffed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "I could break you in two."

The knight gave her a crooked grin. "Do you promise?"

Trystan watched Clare's eyebrow twitch before he noticed her reaching for the leftover orange ink in her pocket. He gripped her wrist. "Don't," he warned.

That was, until Sage nearly knocked Trystan out of the way, throwing her arms around the knight and burying her head in his neck.

"Okay, Clare, go ahead," Trystan said, waving her on.

Tatianna grabbed Clare's hand when it moved to her belt. The healer looked a little like she was herding two rabid racoons. "Stop it, you two! Good grief."

Kingsley landed on Trystan's boot, eyeing the hugging pair.

Trystan looked at his frog friend. His frog friend looked at him.

A sign slowly crept upward that read: Uh-Oh .

"That's helpful," Trystan hissed, rolling his eyes before scooping up his little nuisance and placing him on his shoulder.

Sage separated from the man— finally . But Trystan's pulsing anger worsened when she began fussing over him, putting all her caring attention into brushing back his golden-brown locks, wiping a dirt smudge from his cheek.

This was what Trystan wanted. He wanted her to develop affection for someone else; it would be easier to not care for her, easier to not think of her as his. But there was a rather primitive part of his mind—and magic—that did not care about any of those things. Just wanted to take the knight's discarded helmet and beat him over the head with it till it dented.

The comforting thought calmed his heart rate.

"You were supposed to meet us right after the unmasking! What happened?" Sage cried, shoving the knight's shoulder. Trystan's head spun. She'd done it; she'd flipped a hero to their side. Next she was going to ask the sun and the moon to host a dinner party together…and she'd likely be successful.

"I was waiting for the right moment to slip away without arousing suspicion. Then, when I heard the king order the men here to steal the stardust from you, I saw the perfect opportunity for a grand entrance." The knight held his hands out in a flourish.

Sage rolled her eyes, but there was affection in it. "You and your theatrics."

The vein in Trystan's forehead was about to break skin when she dragged the knight toward him—unwise of her, but Trystan kept his face impassive. She wouldn't know he was planning the man's death, that he hated him with the fire of a thousand suns, that he thought the knight a reckless ingrate who needed to be put down and—

Sage presented the knight proudly. "Sir, I'd like you to meet my older brother, Gideon Sage."

What? Oh.

The impassive mask cracked into stupefied shock. "Th-That isn't possible. Your brother is dead." But then he saw them—the similarities between the two: the same tick in Gideon's lip, the same high cheekbones, the same mischief in the eyes. Her godsdamn brother .

I am pathetic.