Trystan blinked away from his thoughts and attempted to listen to the words spilling from Sage’s lips. But her nose was scrunched, and that seemed to be a confusing source of distraction for him.
“Are you listening?” she demanded, snapping him from his imaginings.
The tip of my sword appears to be a fine place to rest.
Empirically speaking, his assistant was beautiful. It would be inaccurate for him to even attempt to deny it. He’d thought it the moment they met in the forest, the sunlight spilling over her shoulders and the sharpness in her eyes softened by misplaced kindness. But beauty was inconsequential to him. Well, it usually was.
The women he allowed himself to be intimate with, when he did seek out such things, possessed a jaded view of the world that was familiar to him. He looked at sex like taking care of an intrinsic need, like eating or sleeping. He saw no sense in affection or admiration, though he felt a panicked twinge of both things when looking at his assistant’s face.
Even though now she was still looking at him like he’d kicked her.
And that, for some reason, was…intolerable.
“Excuse me.” He cleared his throat. “There was a bee, and it distracted me.”
There was not a chance in the deadlands, where most spent their afterlife, that she would believe him.
“I’m sure.” She squinted, and Trystan began to feel a bit weathered by her stare.
He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair…and gave in. “The story between King Benedict and me is a long one. Only my family knows it in its entirety. It is not that I do not want to share it with you. I simply do not think I know how.” It was honest, something he endeavored to be, if nothing else.
Her expression softened, and it felt as if it connected to a thread in his chest, pulling it tight. “I have things like that in my past, too. I understand.”
Now that sparked a flare of curiosity so strong, it nearly knocked him off his feet, but he merely nodded. “Do we have a truce between us, then, Sage?” He held out a hesitant hand toward hers, and she smiled in a way that sent off warning bells in his head. The warmth of her hand distracted him, however.
She leaned in a bit, a twinkle shining from the blue of her eyes. “Now where would the fun in that be, sir?” she said in a pseudo whisper before releasing him and turning away.
Suddenly, he was more afraid of exactly how his assistant would exact her revenge than the traitor he’d been hunting. Although both would likely be the death of him soon.
Chapter 19
Evie
She was going to fall.
She arched her feet up onto her tiptoes, holding an arm out to steady herself. Her other hand was outstretched, trying to knock open the vent above the boss’s desk. She growled in frustration when she was short by only a few inches. The ventilation system throughout the manor was meant to heat and cool each room to a comfortable temperature, all vents leading back to the deepest parts of the stone structure.
But they were rarely used or opened because of how unpredictable the fire-and-ice wand was, a magic-ingrained wand they’d smuggled from the merfolk. They were meant to cool and heat as needed, but the object seemed to be cursed to shoot out whatever temperature pleased it, which was rarely the right one.
So the wand was locked up, and the vents remained closed. Except for this one; this one, Evie needed open. When scanning the architectural layout of the manor, she’d seen that the vent above the boss’s desk was connected directly to the one where most of the other workers took their midday meal. If she could just get the damn thing open, there was a chance the information they needed would float directly onto the boss’s desk.
Literally, since she was still standing on it.
The boss was nowhere to be seen when the idea struck, and since most of the workers had cleared into the mess hall, this seemed like her only chance. In hindsight, a ladder would’ve been wise. Something Kingsley reminded her of when he’d watched her climb on the desk from the other side, holding one sign that said Bad and another that said Idea.
“I don’t like that negativity,” Evie said to him, and, with a determined jump, her stockinged feet left the surface of the desk. She felt the vent give under her fingers, and the flitting of voices began to spill through as her feet landed back on the desk.
“Whoa. I can’t believe that worked.”
“Nor can I.”
The dry voice stalled her moment of victory, and Evie whipped around to the open office door, where the boss was now leaning against the jamb, a brow raised.
“I opened the vent,” she announced, pointing to it like that wasn’t already very clear.
“I can see.” His eyes shot to her discarded shoes on the floor and then to her stockinged feet on his desk before landing on her face again.
“I didn’t want to put the bottoms of my shoes on your desk. I thought that would be rude,” she explained sensibly.
“Yes, one must observe the proper etiquette when standing on other people’s furniture.”
Evie nodded and pretended to take his sarcasm seriously. “Exactly. As for the vent, now we can hear what the workers say about you when you’re not in the room.”
“All bad things, I hope,” he said as he walked toward her. He must have cleaned up since this morning, as his loose black shirt was tucked into his functional leather breeches, emphasizing his trim waist. Coughing, Evie tilted her head up at the vent, stretching onto her tiptoes to try and make out the voices.
“It’s too muffled.” When she glanced at him again, he was watching her with an unreadable expression. “You should get up here; you’ll hear better because—” But she was cut off by her foot catching on a loose piece of parchment, and then she was falling.
She let out a little yelp, waiting for the impact of the ground to hit, but the boss dove forward, attempting to break her fall. Instead, of course, she took them both down. When they landed, The Villain was on the ground, taking most of the impact, and Evie was on top of him.
Mortification was so palpable, it was like she could touch it. Her hands landed on either side of his head, pushing herself upward. “Whoops.”
“Indeed. Whoops.” His words sounded like they’d been dragged across gravel, but he didn’t look injured. He sighed, and his head landed back against the stone floor beneath him. “Are you unharmed?”
“Yes, you broke my fall.”
“Lucky me,” he said flatly, hand coming up to brush back his hair. Evie had seen him mess with it quite often. Almost as if it was a nervous habit, but he didn’t seem the type to have those.
“Is that a bald spot?” Evie asked innocently, tilting her head to the side and rubbing her chin as she sat upright.
“What?” he barked, looking so panicked that Evie didn’t have the heart to keep up the jest.
“I kid, Evil Overlord. Your perfect hair is intact.”
“It’s just hair; it doesn’t matter.” But the childish grumble in his voice made Evie smile, and a sudden warmness filled the room that had nothing to do with the open vent. They stayed still for a moment before a crooked grin pulled at his lips and Evie smiled so wide that her cheeks felt like they’d split open.
“Sage?”
“What?” she said, slightly embarrassed by the breathless tone of her voice.
“Could you, umm, dismount me?”
“Oh, of course!” she yelped, throwing herself off him quickly and rising to her feet to retrieve her discarded shoes. She giggled nervously. “I almost forgot I was on top of you.”
The Villain rose slowly, gripping his desk to hoist himself all the way up. He was facing away from her when he said, “How nice for you.”
“I should’ve asked before I opened the vent.” Evie winced. He was obviously very put out with her.
“No,” he said, surprising her. “It was a good idea. I’m just distracted by…the past, I suppose.”
Evie’s chest squeezed tight, and she walked around the edge of his desk so she could see his face. “You can talk about it if you want to.” She held up her pinkie. “I’m sworn to secrecy anyway, remember?”
His dark gaze held hers, lowering to her smile, then back up to her eyes. “I suppose I could tell you…”