Evie

The crystal shattered in every direction.

Unfortunate, since one of those directions was right at Evie’s head.

Her stomach hit the floor as a large shard embedded itself in the wall directly above her, so close she could feel a whoosh of air brush her hair back as she dove.

More unfortunate still, since the candles from the chandelier had scattered and were currently catching on the drapes.

Don’t be an arsonist, Evie!

She frowned. That was a new one.

But she was snapped from her inattentive musings when the boss’s voice boomed out, closer than she would have expected. “Sage! Where in the deadlands would you get such a dangerous idea?”

She blinked up at his obscured face. “A book.”

A Valiant Guard entered his path, but it didn’t slow him a wink. With both hands, The Villain tossed the knight away like a piece of furniture, not breaking stride until he was right in front of her.

He was breathing heavily, not from the strain but from anger. “It is fiction for a reason, you menace. By the gods, what if you carried out every impossible act you read about?”

It was a rhetorical question, but she couldn’t resist the urge to slip into the normal ease of their cadence, like no time had passed. “Oh, I suppose that I would need to become very, um—flexible.”

An inarticulate sound left his throat, his eyes on the ceiling as he likely prayed for patience before responding, “I beg you not to elaborate.”

But when his eyes came back down, there was nothing but intensity in them. He scanned every inch of her face, and she scanned what she could of his. Suddenly, she hated the scrap of fabric of his mask; it was merely a

means to keep him from her. She reached up a hand but halted—there were still guards in the room, even a few stray nobles, some watching them from their hiding places.

She couldn’t reveal him here; they’d have to wait until they were— “Do it.”

His words were so resolute, her eyes widened in shock, her mouth gaping open like a fish.

“You think I would allow you to reveal yourself to the public in such a way and not do the same for you?” he asked.

Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession as she desperately tried not to read into the words. “Sir, really. There’s no need to feel guilty—I’m a nobody; my name means nothing. Come, we must leave at—”

His words were angrier this time. “Do it. Or I will.”

She knew his threats well enough to know when they were sincere. Which meant there was no point in arguing any further.

He urged, “Unmask me, Evangelina.”

It was impossible to not be moved by the low caress of his voice, like fingers gliding up her bare back. She was human, she had a pulse, and it beat in the worst way for someone it very much was not supposed to.

Slowly, she reached up, fingers nearly stilling when she felt his body tense at the brush of her touch. But instead of stilling, she was spurred to move faster. She removed the mask, letting it slip through her fingers until it landed soundlessly on the floor, his face bare.

Familiar and beautiful.

Relief and comfort eased the tightness in her chest. A warm tear tracked down her cheek as she smiled shakily and said, “Hello, evil overlord.”

The Villain did not cry; she knew this. But she also knew that for the rest of her life, if she got to grow old, wasting away in a bed, recounting her adventures of working for the darkest figure in the land, she would swear to herself, even then, that she saw The Villain’s black eyes glisten.

His words finally came on the turn of his lips that, if stretched up any further, she knew would reveal…one singular dimple.

“Hello, little tornado.”

More screams cut through the space. Fighting and destruction surrounded them. The room was on fire, literally.

She made to step away from him, not noticing the large shard of glass until her foot was nearly upon it. With a gasp, she was swept up atop The

Villain’s shiny boots. His large hand splayed against her midsection, and the mere sight of it caused a jolt of excitement that made her cheeks flame. His other hand fell to the curve of her hip.

She angled her head back toward him, and he took her wide, panicked eyes as a sign of confusion, which was preferable to explaining that his hand felt as if it was burning through her clothes.

He spoke gruffly. “I did not think you wished to be impaled.”

She couldn’t help it—she snorted, clamping her lips shut to keep the inappropriate response in. But he saw, shaking his head and sounding annoyed.

“You are unbelievable.”

But his hand tightened on her waist. And for a moment, it was only them.

Until Blade appeared in front of them, cheery and joyful amid the chaos. The sleeves of his fine shirt were torn, revealing his large, muscled arms. Evie pulled away from The Villain, and then Blade was gripping her by both shoulders and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Thank the gods you’re all right, Evie! We thought—” Blade suddenly cried out in pain, leaning down to grip his shin, then turned accusatory eyes on The Villain. “Nice to see you, too, boss. Might I ask why you just kicked me?”

He continued to stare, expressionless. “My foot slipped.”

Becky appeared behind Evie’s shoulder, causing her to jump so hard, she almost gripped the woman for balance.

“Hello,” Becky said flatly before glaring at Blade. “We’re off schedule, Mr. Gushiken.”

Blade saluted her, already disappearing into the crowd. “Can’t have that, lovely Rebecka! I’m on it!”

The Villain furrowed a brow. “On what?”

“We need to leave, sir—there are more Valiant Guards coming.” Becky did a double take when she looked at Evie. “I am…glad you are not truly dead.”

Evie put her hand to her chest, absurdly touched. “Oh, Rebecka, I didn’t realize you were so sentimental.”

“I take it back,” she said with a huff before following Blade into the crowd.

The screams were dying, the room was sufficiently destroyed, and the boss had a weary, shadowed look that made her heart twinge. There was no

telling what nightmares he’d endured. There were no words sufficient to express how she was feeling right then, so she simply clasped their fingers lightly together. The jolt of electricity at the contact was like a shock to her heart. He looked at her, startled.

She softened as she said, “Let’s go home.”

His throat bobbed, his eyes darkening as his hand relaxed in hers. “Sage, I

—”

“Leaving without saying goodbye, my boy? And without your companion? I thought I taught you better than that.” The voice chilled her as The Villain dropped her hand, the gentle look on his face replaced by a scowl.

Companion? What companion?

King Benedict stood there, a far cry from the glorious picture he’d made at the beginning of the night. His crown was gone, along with his fur-lined cape. A furious vein pulsed at the top of his forehead, which matched the fevered look in his beady eyes. But what made them both pause was the small green animal Benedict had gripped in his fist.

Kingsley.