Trystan found his chair and sat slowly, not letting another moment of silence step in. “Sage, I…” Tatianna must have poisoned his brew—that’s what it was. It was the only explanation for the feeling when he looked at her; it had to be.
Trystan’s distress only kept growing when he looked over to Kingsley, who was holding up a sign from across the room that said, Speak.
He stood abruptly again, and they both jumped, Sage quickly standing, too. He walked slowly around the desk, eyes never leaving hers. He wondered if there was a word for when you know you’re going to fail at something, one word to define that feeling where you know no matter how hard you resist that path, it will find you.
Evangelina Sage had found him.
“I’m sorry.” The apology came out fast, and he was almost certain his voice went up an octave, which was not only mortifying but enough to make him want to consider the window idea again.
“You’re…sorry?” Sage’s jaw hung so low, Trystan wondered if it would catch the dirt from the ground.
“Dispense with the dramatics. It’s not as if I told you I have a night-light.”
Sage’s gaze sharpened at his words, and Trystan cursed under his breath.
Her wicked eyes gave her away as she rubbed her chin like one of the older magical specialists. “Sir, do you have a night-light?”
Trystan shook his head and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, mumbling, “I don’t…not have one.”
The giggle she let out was loud and at a pitch that should call the birds to the window, looking for their brethren, but it was adorable, and he hoped she would do it again.
Fuck.
“You have a night-light! For what? Does it burn insects? Trying to lure something to its death?” Her words were coming out so quick, her mouth could barely keep up.
He sighed and shook his head, taking this as his penance. “I use a night-light for the purpose it was assigned, to make the night…lighter.” He winced.
Gods, that sounded ridiculous.
“This is the best day of my life.” Sage’s nose scrunched, and she chuckled as she began her little bounce of excitement, like her laughter was going to launch her into the sun. “Why do you need to ‘light the night’？” She mimicked his voice.
Placing one hand on his hip and another against his forehead, Trystan felt exhausted. “I find myself fearful of the dark, particularly when I’m alone or in my bedchamber…or both.”
Sage’s jaw seemed to find the floor again, shocked into silence. Concerning.
Trystan bristled. “Is that a problem?”
“No. Of course it’s not,” she said, amusement dwindling into softness. “How long have you been afraid of the dark?”
“I am not afraid of the dark, Sage. I am The Villain—the dark fears me.” He let his chest puff out to prove his point, which only made her giggle again.
“My apologies, sir,” she said contritely. “How long have you been afraid of the dark…particularly in your bedchamber?” The last part, she deepened her voice again to sound like his.
“Since I was a child,” he admitted but didn’t mention how it had worsened over the years or why. She must have sensed it, though, because she reached out a hand and placed it on his. He stiffened at the touch, the way he always did with human contact, his head whipping down to look at her small hand laying over his.
“I’m afraid of ladybugs,” she said, nodding seriously.
Trystan gawked openly, looking to the ceiling, wondering how on earth he’d gotten here. Apologizing to an employee—badly, he might add—because somehow the conversation had been diverted to insects.
When he didn’t say anything, she added, “The spots scare me.”
“Of course they do,” he said defeatedly. “Sage, I was attempting an apology?”
“Oh, right! Sorry, go on!” She looked embarrassed as she took a step back and gestured her hands forward for him to go on.
Sighing, he continued. “You have done nothing that would indicate to me you are incapable or unworthy of my trust. I overreacted to the letter, and it was very unfair of me—”
She interrupted quickly. “The letter wasn’t—”
“I know,” Trystan said, holding up a hand to stop her. “Blade told me.”
Sage’s mouth pulled down in a frown. “Sir… You didn’t… That is to say, is Blade…？”
“Still breathing.”