Chapter 82
Evie
Evie Sage hadn’t gone by the name in as long as she could remember. At her home, Massacre Manor, she was the boss, the horrible harlot, The Wicked Woman. The crowds were ravenous for alliteration.
And it amused her to no end. This, however—having her wrists shackled by the disgusting knight at her back, his pungent breath hot on her cheek when he laughed? Her magic stirred at her revulsion, but the chains were imbued. With shielding magic.
Fucking Gideon.
Her brother had joined the Valiant Guards not long before she became The Villainess.
He’d never forgiven her for it, and she’d never apologized.
Theirs was a symbiotic relationship. But until now, they’d had an unspoken agreement to remain out of each other’s respective professions.
She would endeavor not to interfere in any of his orders from Benedict, and he would ensure he didn’t accept any missions involving her defeat.
Well, if he wanted to play the game this way, then she certainly would be willing to oblige.
She wondered if His Royal Highness would be willing to deliver a message to her brother, which in turn made her wonder if the two men were friends.
The thoughts came to a skidding halt when she realized she was in fact still in custody of the loathsome man behind her and she shouldn’t be wondering about the prince at all.
Ever. Even if his face was pleasing and his eyes were so dark she wanted to bury herself in them.
“She’s a tiny thing for such an evil wench.” There was a hard tug on her hair, and she bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
The prince had stood slowly, staring intensely at the hand in her hair, at the shackles on her wrists. His expression was inscrutable, but Evie imagined he was feeling triumph. What a boon this would be to his father, King Benedict. Pompous lout.
But the prince did not appear pleased when he took a step closer. “There’s no need for rough handling, Meenka.” His voice soothed her rigid limbs, and it alarmed her how quickly her body responded to the mere utterance of his words. “We’re meant to be men of honor, if you recall.”
The man he’d called Meenka tightened his hold on her, laughing. “It’s never necessary, Your Highness, but you’ll find it makes the job more enjoyable.”
Everything in Evie’s body went rigid at the comment.
“Release her. At once.”
The words were so incongruous, Evie’s head shot up, her lips parting in shock at the prince’s graveled order, at the flicker in his eyes that she now recognized as rage. “Sire. I don’t think you understand. Perhaps your father hasn’t properly educated you in the ways of—”
“Presume to explain to me how to conduct myself one more time, and I will ensure that you never serve the Valiant Guards again, Sir Meenka. I will ask but once more before my tether runs out. Release her. Now.”
And release her he did. Or throw her, rather, so hard her knees hit the ground with a shooting pain climbing her legs.
She angled her head back, examining the man now that she had free range.
“My goodness. You have such confidence for a man with…” She trailed her eyes up, giving him a thorough look.
She wasn’t searching for anything to critique.
Often, all it took to piss off a man was the insinuation that they were less than they acted, and Evie was so very good at tugging that thread until they crumbled beneath her polite, happy censure.
“Well…for a man like you,” she said with a smile.
It had the desired effect. Meenka’s nostrils flared, his face turning a ruddy hue that indicated she’d pushed her luck too far. He pulled his fist back, and she prepared herself to be struck, closing her eyes, wincing away. But the blow never came.
A sound of flesh pounding flesh was all she heard—that and a resounding thud before she dared open her eyes.
And deadlands was she glad she did.
The sight before her was not one she’d soon forget. The prince was disheveled, veins protruding in his neck, his back muscles rigid as he dragged Sir Meenka up and threw his unconscious body hard to the earth.
Before she could do anything else, his firm but gentle hands were on her arms, pulling her to her feet, and for a moment she just stared at the rigid jaw, the beautiful dips and hollows at his collarbones.
His dark eyes. She wasn’t certain what compelled her to do it, but it was as if something else overtook her limbs, as if her body wasn’t her own, when her hand floated up to his cheek, settling on it.
The bristles against her fingers sent a shiver down her spine that she promptly chalked up to the fear that was seeping out of her. The clank of the chains snapped her from the moment, as did his bewildered, terrified expression. “You’re touching my face.”
She tilted her head, unsure of how to respond to the very obvious statement, so she settled for simply, “Yes.”
The prince raised a brow. “Are you happy with that decision?”
She wasn’t sure why, but the question made her giggle, and before she could say anything else, her chains fell from her wrists, her magic awakening with a smoldering response.
But she couldn’t acknowledge her magic. She couldn’t acknowledge anything but the fact that she’d just been freed by the very man who was born to dispatch her.
Her questioning eyes met his, and she found only a mirror of her surprise, as if he couldn’t believe he’d done it, either.
The clomping of hooves revealed another brigade of Valiant Guards sailing in to the prince’s rescue, and the sound shattered the fragile illusion of peace between them.
His face twisted to disgust—or something akin to it—when he stumbled back.
His hand gripped hers before he shoved her behind a tree with a roughness that surprised her after how gentle he’d been.
“We will see each other again. Soon,” he murmured.
She wasn’t certain if it was meant as a threat.
But behind the tree she stayed when the Valiant Guards approached and asked after her whereabouts.
His eyes did not find her, but his jaw set, his hands clenching at his sides when he nodded to them with the deference a loyal prince would. “She escaped after dispatching Meenka.”
“Shall we continue our search, Your Highness?” a low voice inquired.
“No,” Prince Trystan replied immediately. “No, let us return with my father’s cargo.”
Evie clapped a palm over her mouth. Because his father’s cargo was already on its way to Massacre Manor in the hands of her Malevolent Guard.
The trotting of horses signaled that she was alone once again, free to return to her home with her spoils.
But the tug she felt in the direction of the man now riding off toward the castle, peering over his shoulder one last time toward the trees where she hid like he could not believe she truly existed, made her giddy.
Genuinely so. Not an easy feat these days.
Evie stumbled out, back to the dirt path, trying to ignore the clench in her chest when he finally disappeared across the tree line. It was only then that she felt the weight of something in her hand. Something he must have slipped to her before he shoved her away.
A key.
It was white. With purple flowers.
A loud whoosh and flap of wings made her smile before she could even see who it was.
“There you are, Fergus.” When she looked up, the guvre who had remained in her care since Benedict took hold of the animal’s family landed with a thud, his rainbow scales a most welcome sight after her near capture.
Patting his snout, she flitted her eyes over the mysterious scar on her dear friend’s belly.
“Shall we go home?” The animal let out a hum before shooting for the skies.
And the whole way to Massacre Manor, she didn’t stop looking at the white key in her palm.
Evie smiled down at it like it was a precious gift and privately, patiently, couldn’t wait.
For The Villainess and Prince Trystan to meet once again.
The Beginning
of the End.
Until we all…meet again.