Evie’s little situation with her former employer was no more than what many young women experienced from leering employers who made inappropriate propositions. If she weighed it overall, she’d been quite lucky to escape that altercation with only a magical scratch to show for it.
That thought alone, that she should feel lucky for only a minor injury, not to mention that any woman should feel that way, was so horrifically ridiculous and unfair, it was like watching someone steal something precious from you and thanking them for it.
Anger pulsed through Evie so fast that she had to suck in a breath to keep from screaming. Cool afternoon air kissed her cheeks as she tilted her head back, calming her. She’d tell Tatianna when the wound was less raw, and her emotions as well. It was silly to feel embarrassed that she’d left herself in a vulnerable position. This was not her fault. And maybe it was time she asked for help.
Shaking her head, she pushed the wound from her mind and looked around for something else to focus her attention. The sleek, open black carriage they trotted down the road in was simple in design, not needing extra ornamentation to be striking—much like her boss.
The chirping of birds and other unfamiliar creatures sounded different from her morning walks to the manor—the forest was fully awake now.
After Tatianna had healed her ankle, berating Evie with a million questions, the boss had escorted her down to the front gate, where the carriage and horses awaited.
They hadn’t spoken since.
It usually took Evie about an hour each morning and each evening to take every hidden shortcut off the regular pathways to the hidden veil of The Villain’s castle. But they were taking the long way, down the dirt path, and Evie wanted desperately to fill the uncomfortable silence.
She hated quiet.
It was quiet the last time she saw her brother. It was quiet the day her mother left. It was quiet when her father got sick. The quiet had brought her so much pain. An instinctual part of Evie shrank from it, waiting for the next blow.
She distracted herself with the pull of the leather reins in his black gloved hands. He handled the vehicle with grim determination, his face focused on the road before them and the fast-setting sun.
Evie pulled her eyes away to look at Kingsley, who sat perched on a small stand that she was certain had been put there solely for the frog’s use. “Do you bring Kingsley for carriage rides often?” she asked.
Her boss didn’t look at her or their web-toed friend as he said, “Even I am not so evil that I won’t allow him a little…sunlight.” He paused, almost choking on the last word. “Anyhow, the more freedoms I give him, the fewer escape attempts the little nuisance makes.” There was a pointed look between The Villain and the frog. Kingsley broke first, turning his tiny body back to the scenery.
“Thank you for doing this, but my ankle is fine now; I could’ve walked.” Her braid was nearly undone, loose wisps of her black hair tickling her neck.
“I didn’t realize you don’t ride.” He didn’t look at her, and his grip on the reins tightened.
“I have. Once or twice, but there’s no way my family could afford a mount. Let alone a place to house the poor creature. Besides, I like to walk.”
He nodded, seemingly to himself. “Of course. Who doesn’t enjoy a two-hour jaunt every day.”
Evie couldn’t think of an appropriate response to that, or even an inappropriate one, which meant the situation was truly dire.
But he seemed to find the silence as intolerable as she did, because he spoke before she could blunder through another sentence. “Do you still keep that dagger in your boot?”
It took her a moment to process what he was asking and how he could possibly know about her one and only weapon, but then she remembered all those months ago. “Yes…I do, though not the same one. I never picked it up after—”
He was nodding before she finished. “Good. You shouldn’t be walking these woods alone, unprotected.” The Villain finally turned his head in her direction, a sly smile on his lips. “You never know what kind of menacing characters you’ll find.”
She’d meant to make a lighthearted joke, but the words came out far more serious than she’d intended. “Oh, I don’t know. It worked out well for me the first time.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
The smile slipped from his lips, and any levity between them was suddenly weighted with the events of the day. “I would hardly call nearly dying ‘well,’ Sage.”
With a light clicking from his lips, the horses trotted into a canter. He was eager to be rid of her.