“Yes, Your Majesty,” one of them said.
Evie watched as the rest of the knights dragged Trystan away and threw his body carelessly into the cart. And Evie knew, with a certainty that flooded her with ice, that this was the last time she’d ever see him. That her last memory of him would be him lying limp and broken, alone in a carriage.
It was too tragic, too unfair. And all because she wanted her ridiculous notebook, with her ridiculous dreams inside. Dreams that would never come true.
The carriage rattled away, and Evie said a quiet goodbye to the man who had become the focal point of her heart. The one who’d changed her whole world—a world she would no longer be a part of.
When just she, the knights, and Mr. Warsen remained, she stayed stock-still, part of her merely awaiting the inevitable. She had truly never felt so low in all her life. Once again she was trapped under the control of someone stronger, someone who took. And took and took and took. This man had robbed her—of her comfort, of her security—and she was now to be robbed of her life.
Do the right thing, Evie. Do the kind thing, Evie. Be good, Evie.
Otto held her there, chuckling quietly in her ear. And something about the sound galvanized her, made fire stir low in her belly.
Where the fuck did being good ever get her?
What would The Villain say? Make this man pay, little tornado.
And so she did.
Evie moved her foot, jamming her heel into his shin, similarly to how she had with her father, except this time she gave a rough elbow to his middle as well. When Otto doubled over, loosening his grip as he reached for his stomach, Evie slipped out and ran as fast as she could. But the other two knights surrounded her, clearly trying to follow orders and not get involved but also loath to let her leave. And she knew she was sorely outnumbered.
I’m sorry, Trystan, she thought. I tried.
Suddenly Mr. Warsen was upon her again, red-faced, clearly still in pain but recovered enough to let his rage take over. He picked her up and slammed her against the ground.
He held her there, pinning her arms down with his knees and wrapping his hands around her throat. This was it, she knew. She struggled and tried to move her arms, but she was overwhelmed by a wave of pain that had nothing to do with her rapidly depleting air supply.
She moved her eyes over and saw her satchel spilled open, the box with the dagger in it turned on its side, the dagger lying there on the ground, so close it could kill her.
Except it hadn’t killed her. Not yet.
Looking up at Mr. Warsen’s face, one that used to cause her so much fear, she knew she didn’t want to fear him anymore…
She wanted to be feared.
The blacksmith loosened his grip for a second, smiling above her with yellow-stained teeth. “I’m serving the kingdom by ridding the world of you. You don’t belong here. After debasing yourself the way you have, this death is a mercy.”
Evie narrowed her eyes, and Mr. Warsen did not notice her right hand slipping free. He kept his grip around her throat as he leaned in close to her face. “What could be better…for The Villain’s whore.”
Evie closed her palm and her eyes, feeling the burn of pain in every pore, feeling it pulse in her blood.
“Actually,” she rasped out.
She opened her eyes.
“I’m. His. Fucking. Assistant,” she whispered and smiled, before whipping the dagger up and slitting his throat.
Chapter 60
Evie
Blood sprayed her face as he fell, eyes wide. She stood up, soaked in blood, breathing hard, an ache in her neck.
The dagger pulsed in her hand. But the pain was gone.
She smiled in relief, staring at the weapon like a lost friend, and it almost seemed to answer her.
“You witch!” one of the two remaining knights yelled, sprinting for her. Evie held up the dagger to fight, ready to destroy him, but the knight halted when a large sword was shoved through his middle.
Evie gasped as the sword was tugged out and the knight fell. The other knight behind him stood there with the dripping sword.
“What the— Why did you? I mean, I’m not complaining, but why would you help me?”
The remaining knight, her unlikely hero, did not say a word. Merely stood there for a moment, assessing her, his whole face covered by a silver helmet, save for his eyes. Evie took a careful step closer to him, but the move seemed to startle the knight into action. Grabbing the reins of his horse, he quickly hoisted himself up, giving her one final glance before riding away.
What in the deadlands was that?
But she didn’t have time to ask more questions. Not when she spotted a strip of Trystan’s torn shirt laying against the grass.