Evie
The threat of death followed them down the terrace steps, through the palace gardens, and right to the edge of Hickory Forest, as did the familiar sounds of arrows cutting through the air. Evie moved briskly in the dark, creeping around the tree line and through hedges, and The Villain followed closely behind her the entire way.
She might have found that sweet, even intriguing, but he wasn’t moving the way she was used to, like the world would bend and mold around him. Rather, it seemed like he was dragging himself through it, as if his time in the king’s custody had beaten him down so thoroughly, the only way out was to throw himself into the open air and hope for the best.
The realization caused a surge of protective anger, so strong she nearly turned around just so she could take a metal rod to their esteemed ruler’s head.
I could dent his stupid little crown, she thought maniacally.
“Cease whatever trickery you’re planning. You’re terrifying the shrubbery with that look on your face.” He huffed, straightening, Kingsley clinging to his shoulder for dear life. They kept moving at the forest’s edge, their steps quiet and voices low so as to not alert the guards to where they were hiding in the shadows. “It was unwise to taunt the king like that, Sage. You’ve put a target on your back.”
“Do you think that’s what the archers were aiming at?”
It was meant to be lighthearted, to relieve the line of tension pulsing in his neck, but it was a very large, very dangerous mistake.
She could make out little of his eyes, but she could see them flare as he took two strides toward her, towering over her as he hissed sharply, “Threats to your life are not something to jest about. Ever.”
Her lips parted, and all she could do was blink, wariness and confusion
swarming around her like killer bees. Their buzzing rang in her ears as she asked, “Why?”
The intensity in his wild gaze was shuttered out, so quickly morphing into a neutral indifference it made her head spin, and—just like those killer bees
—it stung.
She shook her head. “Never mind. Forget I asked. That was silly.” Her strides became longer, more determined. She’d wasted too much time.
“Sage,” he whispered. “Where are you going? The manor is that way.” “I’m going to the ravine.”
He stood right next to her, his face impossible to read. “Has working for me become that bad?” he deadpanned.
She snorted, shouldering past him, stumbling over her skirts for what felt like the millionth time. She glared at the hem and then stared at him. He arched a brow in question as she lifted it with a frank grin.
“Rip it off.”
The Villain’s and Kingsley’s mouths opened in tandem, so comedic a view that she bit her lip to keep from chortling. Composing herself—poorly
—she said, “I cannot continue back to the manor with the hem tangling about my feet.”
He choked out, “Could you try?”
She folded her arms, arching a brow. “What are you so afraid of, evil overlord?”
“Afraid?” His low voice was like two stones rubbing together.
Kingsley hopped from Trystan’s shoulder, sensing the danger—or perhaps just the awkwardness. In the dim light of the moon, she could just barely make out the lock of his heavily shadowed jaw as her boss dropped to his knees in front of her. The sight of his dark head made her stomach pool with warmth.
With a grim, businesslike determination, he took the thin fabric and wrenched it in two so the hem brushed the tops of her knees. She gasped as cool night air kissed her skin, wishing a little that he would do the same.
Don’t wish for the boss to kiss your skin, Evie! Even if that sounds…entirely too pleasant.
His large hand was warm against the bare skin of her legs, his fingers resting around her thigh a little longer than could be reasonably explained away. “There.” His breathing was labored—she could hear it. It matched hers.
She backed away before she did something completely mad like grab his hand and return it to her thigh. He’d probably reel back, appalled. Whether their attraction was mutual or not, the boss was clearly too weighed down by professionalism to act on any lurid thoughts, and she’d just have to live with that.
The way one lived with a fork through a lung.
“Right, um—thank you.” She continued toward her destination, moving easier when he came up beside her, scoping out the area for threats.
“Here’s a good spot to head into the trees.” He nodded toward the forest. “I can get us home from there.”
“As I said, sir, I’m going to the ravine.” She kept walking, stiffening her back. “I have a plan. Trust me.”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “A terrifying prospect. Sage, I must insist that—” But he stopped, obscenities leaving his mouth in rapid succession as he shoved her ahead, scooping up Kingsley. “Run! Now!”
“There they are!” The guards burst from the trees, but she was already moving, quicker without the threat of her hem tangling about her feet.
She kept going, sprinting faster, her hair whipping around her, some pieces sticking to her face as grass stuck to the bottom of her thin slippers. The ravine’s edge appeared on the horizon. So close. Blood pumped hard through her veins as she pounded against the soft grass, surprised when she turned to find the boss doing the same beside her. His legs were longer, his body lither; he could move faster if he wanted to.
But just like the first time they met, he slowed to keep pace with her.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, grabbing his hand as they inched closer and closer to the edge. There was only the merest hint of hesitation in his voice as he said, “Are we going over, then?”
He would follow her off a cliff without question.
And Evie knew she was in love with him. Right then, right there. She could only hope the final piece of her plan was still in place…
They reached the edge, not stopping as she screamed, “Don’t let go of my hand!”
His only response was the tightening of his fingers, and then they were airborne together, for just a moment, her heart bottoming out as she swallowed a scream. She felt the loom of death as wind brushed her cheeks, suspended until—
They both landed on the back of something scaly and purple.
“Fluffy!” He was here. They’d done it.
Evie laughed as they soared out of the ravine and into the skies. Blade was at the helm, all the others safe and sound on Fluffy’s back. He steered the animal over the guards as the group of them waved to the confused faces below.
“So long!” Tatianna said, fluttering a pink handkerchief at the knights shouting beneath them.
“Gentlemen!” Blade saluted.
Becky didn’t say anything, just quirked a brow and dropped a large rock over the side. Blade and Arthur both chuckled, the latter being fussed over by Clare.
The echoes of the guards’ shouts faded as they soared through the night sky, every star twinkling brightly around them.
It almost didn’t seem real, as if nothing was between the large expanse of night and them. Her relief was so palpable—we’re all here; everything’s all right—she couldn’t help but laugh again as the wind whipped through her hair, tugging pleasantly on her scalp.
She breathed, “It’s so beautiful.”
Her boss had been silent beside her, but now he replied hoarsely, still gripping her hand, “Yes, it is.” And when she turned, he was looking at her.
Her wide smile faded into something softer, her once fragile heart now strong and bursting at the fact that they were all together, that they were all safe. A separate exit strategy had been in place for the Malevolent Guard— one involving tunnels, disguises, and maybe some fireworks—and she could only hope they had made it out without casualties as well.
Blade yawned and stretched. “I think after that, we all deserve a well- earned holiday.” He waggled his brows at the boss. “A paid one.”
The Villain released her hand, and she frowned at him.
“There will be no holidays,” he said grimly. “Not until we figure out what we are to do about the guvres.”
Becky straightened, her glasses wobbling on the tip of her nose. “What do you mean? They are happily contained.”
The Villain shook his head. “That’s precisely the problem. We don’t know what natural consequences will occur should we keep them that way for much longer. The Mystic Illness could only be the beginning.”
Gods, it wasn’t a dream. That was real. Evie had heard the king’s speech
when she’d awoken in the coffin, had hoped her recovering poisoned mind had conjured the terrible lie. Mystic Illness, Rennedawn’s Story, fading magic, cease to exist. It made her head spin so hard her stomach lurched.
“At the very least, we need to separate them again.” The boss kept speaking, not realizing the apprehension creeping into her soft smile. “If they are together too long, nature could take its course, and we can’t risk the consequences of imprisoning one of their hatchlings should the female fall pregnant.”
Blade’s shoulders stiffened.
Tatianna shifted, patting The Villain’s arm. “Oh, mother hen. Do we have bad news for you.”
