Page 128 of Triumph at Pemberley

From across the clearing came a clash of metal where Jasper was dueling one of the guards. His face was alight, his sword and dagger moving impossibly fast. Two other guards lay crumbled on the ground, one moaning and writhing with a chest wound and the other lying still in a pool of crimson blood.

Beside him, another fae soldier held Frederica pinioned. She was fighting like a wildcat, kicking backwards and biting at the hand over her mouth. Beyond her Granny huddled in her chair.

And Georgiana stood unmolested between them.

The Wicked King studied Darcy and drawled, “Did you not consider the ramifications before you opened an unwarded Gate inside your boundaries? How foolish of you.” Then, in a mercurial shift, his thin mouth twisted, and he spat out, “Almost as foolish as killing my best tool. Did you think I would not notice his life winking out? Decades of work, wasted! He would have brought the mortal world under my control. You will pay for that, all of you.”

His tool. So it was true, what they had suspected. Napoleon had ravaged Europe on the Wicked King’s orders.

All this time they had been fighting a puppet, and now they faced the true puppet-master, more powerful and dangerous than any human or dragon. And he was furious.

They were outnumbered, Darcy was held powerless by the fae guard, and his Talent was already drained. Just when they faced the battle of a lifetime.

It was hopeless.

A flash of white moved past him. Georgiana ran directly to the Wicked King. She flung herself to her knees in front of him. “Dearest father, glory to you!” she cried, her voice full of joy and pride. “I am so glad you are here. I have news for you; I have discovered the name of your enemy, and how he may be found!”

Darcy gasped, horrorstruck. Georgiana. She had betrayed him. Was this her revenge for leading her to the tower, straight to the Wicked King?

She must have been working against him ever since. He had been so certain he could trust her, that she would never turn on him, even when she changed from the frightened girl who had depended upon him for everything. But that year in Faerie had changed her.

Now she no longer needed him. She had the High King’s support instead. Darcy had been a fool, a simpleton who had been taken in. It had all been his own wishful thinking.

“Have you indeed?” The Wicked King laid his hand on Georgiana's head, pushing back her bonnet. “That is well done, child.”

“May I come back to Faerie with you now? Please? You will not make me stay here any longer?” Every excited word tumbling from her mouth broke Darcy’s spirit more.

“Indeed, once I have dealt with these miscreants,” he said indulgently.

“Oh, Father!” she cried.

And then she lunged forward, up from her knees – and the dagger that had suddenly appeared in her hand jerked upwards. Up, under the Wicked King's ribs, plunging into his chest. In the very move Jasper taught his students, the easiest way to ensure a kill.

The Wicked King's inhuman face registered only surprise at first. “What...” he gasped.

“It is iron, cold, hard iron,” Georgiana said, her voice fierce, holding the dagger firmly in place. “You will never harm anyone I love again.”

Rage burned from the Wicked King’s eyes. He grabbed the handle to wrestle with her, but a barrage of throwing knives flew at him. The first hit his eye, the next his shoulder, and then his hand.

Jasper. No one else could hit targets like that.

Georgiana stood her ground despite the flying knives, pushing the High King back against the Dragon Stone as flames began to flicker out of his wounds.

She had not deceived him at all. Relief fought with fear for her. And guilt for having betrayed her in the first place.

And then the Wicked King slumped back, his face gone blank and still. His body slid to the ground.

Darcy gaped. Had his little sister truly killed the ancient king of Faerie?

The guard holding Darcy abruptly released him. He could see the soldier behind Frederica do the same, turning to stare at Georgiana. Darcy tensed, fearing they would attack her, but nothing happened.

Then the Wicked King’s body began to move again.

The dagger fell from Wicked King’s body as he slowly lifted his head, then struggled to his feet. Crimson blood still trickled from his wounded eye. “You,” he hissed at Georgiana. “I am not so easy to kill, and you will learn the price of your treachery. You will die slowly, ungrateful thing!”

Georgiana went pale, but she drew her sword in the fighting stance Jasper had taught her. Jasper himself slid in beside her, more throwing knives at the ready.

Suddenly both Georgiana and Jasper vanished. Had the Wicked King sent them to Faerie? Now both would be lost forever! Darcy’s chest ached with impossible loss.