“I remember,” she said flatly, keeping the tremor out of her voice. “I told him I wasn’t certain a collar of that magnitude would be something you were capable of, Mr. Warsen, but perhaps I am mistaken?”
He took the bait like a fish on a hook. “Of course I can!” The man’s chest puffed up, and he threw his arms wide. “Take a look at a few of my creations, my lord!”
They both did a full scope of the room, blades and metals hanging from the walls like trophies. “Very impressive,” The Villain said, walking back toward the two of them until he was standing beside Evie. His warm presence and the smell of cinnamon drove a relieved exhale from her lips. “So you think you’re up for the job? I don’t want to tax you, especially with such an unfamiliar type of restraint.”
“It’s not unfamiliar!” Otto objected before lowering his voice to a heightened whisper. “Between you and me, my lord, I once designed a collar for a real-life dragon.” Evie began to have a daydream of grabbing a wooden floorboard and whacking the smug look right off his face.
“Is that right?” her boss said, trying to mask his interest.
“It was a secret project, solicited by one of King Benedict’s Valiant Guards.” Mr. Warsen’s grin was superior, so full of esteem for himself that he didn’t realize her boss was playing him like a fiddle.
She couldn’t believe it, but she felt like laughing. Evie resisted a sudden urge to plant a kiss on The Villain’s cheek for making this moment easier. But he had a habit of doing that, making her float when she was feeling like she’d sink.
“A special agent?” she said lightly, acting awestruck. “I wasn’t aware the king had a dragon in his possession.”
Otto turned to her, but his gaze snapped right back to The Villain, wanting to keep his attention. “No, our esteemed ruler would never want any part of an animal like that.” The blacksmith’s eyes widened as he shook his head at her boss. “Not that there is anything wrong with harboring rare beasts, my lord!”
“It’s hardly a savory hobby for a leader as esteemed and benevolent as our King Benedict,” The Villain said, a look of deference on his face.
He was a fantastic play actor. If Evie didn’t know the subtle shifts of his expressions, she’d truly believe the respect and admiration he was showing for their kingdom’s ruler, his literal enemy.
But Evie spent an inordinate amount of time studying her boss’s face, so she did catch the slight tick in his jaw and the rumble of something dangerous behind his words.
“Perfect for a strong-willed nobleman like yourself, my lord!” Otto said, turning to grab a cloth hanging on the far side of the room and wiping the sweat from his dirty forehead.
“Maybe you should bend over so he can have an easier time kissing your ass,” Evie whispered to her boss in a low voice.
“That would ease things a bit, wouldn’t it?”
She gripped his arm, hard. “You can’t make jokes on top of my jokes without warning; I may faint from the shock.”
“Noted,” he said dryly, rolling his eyes. “Mr. Warsen!” The Villain called the man over with a smile on his face. “I have to know—what need of a dragon’s collar would King Benedict have without harboring the dragon itself?”
“It does seem a curious sort of request,” the blacksmith agreed before pausing and looking around them as though to ensure they were still alone. “If one doesn’t know the whole story, that is.”
“And how much might it cost for a person to learn the whole story?” The Villain dug into his front pocket, retrieving a heavy-looking pouch clanging with gold pieces.
Was that the glisten of drool coming down from Otto’s mouth?
“I think for ten gold pieces, I may be able to recall the tale in its entirety.” He pulled on his suspenders, waiting for The Villain’s response with a greedy glimmer in his eye.
“Five,” The Villain said, walking closer to the man, causing Otto to tilt his head back so he could look her boss in the face. “You will do it for five, won’t you?”
He asked the blacksmith a question, and yet it did not feel like one. It felt like a command, one that a person dared not refuse.
Clearing the fear from his voice with a cough, Mr. Warsen took a step back, holding out a hand. “O-Of course, my lord. So generous of you.”
The pieces clicked together when they hit the man’s hands, then deposited immediately into his pocket. “Have a seat, please, my lord!” The blacksmith settled himself onto a rickety stool, gesturing to another stool across from him.