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“From the beginning, I sensed something different in him. He claimed to be my son, however he could not remember things my son would easily recall. At first, I thought it was the injury from the fire which stole his memories, but the more he spoke, the less convinced I was of his sincerity.” Vivienne came alongside Crispin to face Francis. “He may resemble my son, but his scars hid enough of the difference to shield his true identity and allow us to reconstruct the memory of Francis to fill in the missing pieces.”
Vivienne’s words vindicated Crispin, but they also surprised him. He never anticipated this man to be an imposter. He merely assumed the fire affected his mind, twisting and warping it into the devious villain who stood before him.
“You knew my son well.” She spoke directly to Francis, as though attempting to lure him into a confession. But he stood tall, watching her with a shrewd glare. “But not well enough it seems.”
Crispin’s mind churned at the possibilities. Who could have possibly known Francis and resembled him close enough to convince the whole of Meradin that he was the golden prince returned from the dead?
“From our first conversation, I harbored my doubts as to his claim. Francis, while not a pious man, was a good man. ’Tis true, God works in mysterious ways, but had he truly been my son, he would have returned the moment he realized the truth of his birth.” Vivienne’s gaze narrowed. “But ’twas when he returned with Ruby claiming Crispin had turned on him. I knew beyond a doubt he was not the man he claimed to be.”
Vivienne turned to Crispin and cupped his cheek. “You may have had your differences, but your brother loved you. He wanted you to succeed and prosper. He would never have branded you a traitor or stolen that which you so obviously treasure.”
Crispin swallowed the rising emotion and instead embraced the implication of her words. Francis was never his enemy. His brother loved him. A world of regret threatened to pull him deep into a sea of misery, but he fought against the tide and focused it into the rage burning hot beneath his skin.
“Then who would?” He pressed the tip of the blade to Francis’s throat. “Your name, villain, before I end your miserable life.”
Wicked laughter bubbled up from the imposter’s throat. His eyes grew manic and wild as the laughter consumed him. The scarred flesh around his mouth pulled tight. Then Crispin saw it.
“Simon.” There was no question in his mind. How had he completely missed it before? He had been so convinced this scarred bastard was his brother, it never occurred to him that it could be anyone else.
“Did you miss me, Crispin?” Simon sneered. Gone was the meek and humble scarred monk playing king. A monster rose from behind the familiar mask.
“But we thought you died in the fire that night.” Crispin shook his head to free the last remaining doubts in his mind. Then it all fell into place. They had been trapped together. Everyone assumed they perished together. Memories slid into place connecting the actions of then to what was unfolding now. Crispin hissed in a breath. “You left him to die.”
Simon scoffed, ignoring the press of the blade against his skin. “I dragged him to safety but ’twas too late. By the time the monks found us, Francis was already dead, burned beyond recognition. I barely survived.”
Crispin ignored the murmurs rising from the crowd. “So you lied to the monks who saved you.”
“I did what I had to do.” Simon’s smirk grew. “I could not return to the castle. Not when such a prime opportunity lay like a banquet before me. So I recovered in secret and used my time to wait for you to whore your way into an early grave. But when I stumbled across you drunk and bitter, begging for someone to kill your father, I knew my time had finally come.”
“You son of a bitch.” Crispin poised himself ready to finish Simon with a single stroke of his sword.
“You wanted him dead, and you offered gold coin to ensure it happened. I know, because I was there. I took that coin and purchased what I needed to bring my plan to fruition.” His laughter grated against Crispin’s restraint.
“God’s blood, teeth, and bones! I was angry and my pride injured. We were not on the best of terms, but I did not want him dead!” His hand trembled on the hilt as the consequences of his rash, impulsive actions came to light.
“I needed him dead, and then I needed you to fail spectacularly.” Simon’s gaze shifted to Ruby. “But I never anticipated her.”
Crispin stepped between them, shielding her from Simon’s view. “I should kill you for what you have done to her alone. You deserve a fate worse than death for the misery she has endured at your hand.”
“I could not have asked for a more perfect opportunity. When I realized she harbored such conflicted emotions for you, how could I not use such knowledge to my benefit?” He chuckled as though divine providence had graced him with such a blessing.
Simon did not need to reveal every detail of his twisted plot. Crispin saw the pieces slowly come together in his mind. From their time training together to their current situation, knowing Simon was at the core of the scheme made much more sense. Simon always harbored a deep-seated loathing for the court because of his standing as a bastard son of a prestigious lord.
“Why?” Ruby’s question startled him. She stepped from behind Crispin and faced the man who lied to her, tormented and betrayed her. Crispin’s grip on the sword tightened in case the bastard attempted to harm her.
“’Tis what I am owed,” Simon hissed, vehemence resounding in his biting words.
“You are owed nothing. Not even mercy.” Ruby held his gaze steadily. Pride filled Crispin at her strength. Her voice dropped low. “I once trusted you, but now I know how Eve felt in the garden of Eden. May you burn in hell for the pain you caused. For the lives you took.” She turned away in disgust.
As Crispin drew back the sword to deliver a killing stroke, Ruby’s hand gripped his arm. Their eyes met, and he saw the heartache in their depths. He lowered his sword to his side.
“Take him away.” Crispin conceded with a wave of his hand. He wrapped a protective arm around Ruby and watched as the guards dragged Simon and his men from the great hall.
A tug on his tunic, and Crispin found himself in a passionate embrace. Ruby’s lips held his, drawing him into a kiss so tender it brought tears to his eyes. He nearly lost her, and the thought of such a gem being shattered at the hands of such a monster left him adrift in the darkness. But her touch, her kiss brought him into the light. Hope blossomed in his heart once more.
Cheers and applause filled the great hall. Crispin reluctantly broke the kiss and lifted his hand in acknowledgment of his people. His gaze came to rest on his mother, whose joyful tears spilled across her cheeks. She cupped his face and embraced them both.
Crispin breathed deep savoring this moment of victory. He lost so much to reach this point. If it had not been for his mother, Simon would have fooled the whole kingdom. He owed her a debt of gratitude, as well as an explanation. But that could wait.
