“Oh, um. I suppose.” She listened to the coins clink together as she deposited the pouch into her father’s waiting palm. “Just please don’t—”
But she was immediately forgotten when her father dove into another one of his stories, making Lyssa and the group of men laugh boisterously.
Dragging her feet against the ground, kicking dirt and stones up as she went, Evie began humming to herself, imagining she was a sorceress with power those around her could not begin to comprehend.
And she’d also pretend that scenario wasn’t a loud cry for help.
Pushing a curl out of her face, she huffed in annoyance. She’d left her hair loose today, hanging low on her back, then immediately regretted it every time it brushed against her face. Sorceresses probably didn’t have to worry about managing their appearance; they probably looked polished and pristine with a snap of their fingers.
Did they snap their fingers?
Evie had never desired magic for herself. But sometimes when she saw the ease with which people used it, like it was a constant companion, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had it lying in wait. The way her mother had. Or if it would one day consume her as well.
She didn’t know if magic that was too powerful always turned on the owner or if it was just the wielder’s lack of control. What about The Villain’s magic?
She exited the main square, passing a lane of tall trees before she turned right into a giant field filled with daisies. She kept walking until she was standing in front of a massive tree in the middle of the clearing she’d climbed as a child. She leaned back against the rough bark, letting it hold her weight, and sighed.
She knew The Villain had a dark magic, darker than her mother’s, although she didn’t completely understand the logistics of it. But she did understand that it made him deadly. Did he struggle to keep it from overtaking him, too? Was that what ultimately made him choose such a deadly career?
Bending her knees until she was sitting, Evie rested her head against the tree and closed her eyes.
What had her boss been like before he’d become The Villain? What had happened to make him go down the path he was on? What trauma had evoked the magic in him?
Evie sighed again and shook her head. Whatever sad backstory she was building in her mind was just a distraction to keep her from thinking about the real issues.
Problem number one: She was growing emotionally attached to her boss.
Problem number two: Her boss was also the most hated man in her kingdom.
Problem number three: Someone wanted her boss dead—which would severely affect problem number one.
“You are a fool with attachment issues,” she muttered.
“Are you talking to the tree or yourself?” a familiar voice questioned.
“Sir?” Evie said, jumping to her feet, heart racing. “You can’t be here!” she hissed, shoving him behind the tree, then feeling surprised she was able to move his large form.
“Sage, what are you doing?” He raised a brow but continued to move back until they were both hidden.
“Have you finally lost what was left of your evil little pea brain?” She pushed him again, and he caught her hands, gently halting her. There were no gloves separating their skin, and the burn of his palm against the back of her hand sent shivers through her. It didn’t help that at the angle he was holding her, she was at eye level with his lips.
Lips that seemed to tilt and move just a bit closer.
But all too quickly, he was releasing her and stepping a good two feet away, flexing both hands like her touch was offensive to him. “I haven’t lost anything. I’ve been to your village before. Why the gross overreaction?”
He adjusted his shirt collar, the cloth obviously well tailored. Nothing audacious, but the black leather of his trousers and the pressed, clean sheen of his shirt said he had money, enough to be comfortable.
“You don’t think King Benedict has connected that Trystan Maverine and The Villain are one and the same? He knows it’s you, doesn’t he? He’ll know where and who to look for, and I’m sure he wouldn’t hesitate to let every Valiant Guard within riding distance tear you apart.” How could he be so incredibly careless and startlingly calm?
He merely stood there, staring at her, his dark eyes giving nothing useful away. “If Benedict wanted his people looking for me, he wouldn’t be allowing posters to go about with false names and inaccurate portrayals of my appearance.” Her boss pulled out the poster she’d been given earlier, somehow taking it from her satchel without her noticing.