Page 6 of Adversary to the Villain

“I couldn’t sleep any longer, and I saw a light on,” she answered, walking toward him and seating herself in the large, cushioned chair, tucking her feet up beneath her, hugging her legs to her chest. “What is this room’s purpose? Library or study?”

He didn’t turn to look at her, but she watched the muscles in his jaw jump, the pinch of his brow as he focused on the act of pushing another log. “Both, I suppose. When I first found the manor, this was one of the few rooms left undisturbed by the sands of time. Just some dust and debris that were easily cleared. I found solace here when my thoughts and anger became too riotous.”

Her heart hammered in her chest when she whispered her question, hating the vulnerability in her words. “How come I’ve never seen it?”

He placed the poker down, his hand flexing at his side as he stood, finally facing her. She wished he hadn’t. The hard planes of his beautiful face were devastating to look upon, her greedy eyes taking in every subtle shift of emotion when he gestured to the rest of the curtained-off room. “It was under repair for the last several weeks. It’s just been finished by the magical builders.”

A tug at her memory pulled her away from the room and back to a day of work she’d not soon forget. The ticking. The running. The bomb. It had hit this tower. The books she’d seen exposed by the crumbling wall.

She’d thrown the explosive right into his sanctuary.

Nothing in there was worth anything, not as— It wasn’t important.

He’d used those words to assure her when she cried for the damage she’d wrought.

“You lied to me,” she accused, standing without ceremony and poking a finger against his chest, ignoring his stare of warning.

“I did not,” he rumbled, appearing angry at the accusation, then ran a hand through his hair and stalked for the sheets, ripping them off to reveal the newly repaired furniture, books in the process of being preserved after the pages had been singed by the flames.

“You said whatever was in here wasn’t important.” The angry tears burning behind her eyes were unwelcome and infuriating. The magic curled up, hopeful at her flash of emotion, but using it was like grasping a silk ribbon—it slipped through her fingers the second she touched it. “You never said I’d unintentionally destroyed your safe place.”

“Itwasn’timportant,” he argued, earnest eyes roving along her face. “Not when the alternative was losing you.”

“Maybe that was your mistake.” Something raw and ugly was unraveling inside her, forcing irrational fears and anxieties to the surface. “Maybe fate was trying to correct what had been done and we’ve only been staving off the inevitable.” It wasn’t the emotion in her voice that frightened her; it was the lack of it. “Maybe The Villain is meant to die, and the prince lives on for his happy ending.”

He moved so quickly, Evie didn’t have time to so much as gasp before he gripped both her arms, shaking her slightly. “Enough! Don’t ever say that again!” His anger was clear in the set of his eyes. The cool veneer he so often displayed was gone, and what was left was…

Intoxicating.

He noticed the change in her immediately, and he dragged his hand down the side of her body as he leaned closer, eyes shut tight. Was her proximity painful? It wasn’t an outlandish assumption. They were predestined enemies, opposing archetypes in the same story.

She’d been born to bring him pain.

The valiant prince, tormented by the evil villain.

All the times she’d bothered him, caused him discomfort when she got too close. Was her persistence innocent? Or was she feeding an impulse that was woven into her soul, an impulse to hurt him?

By the gods, what if she did hurt him? The thought swarmed and stung, leaving open wounds behind.

You can’t be happy.An insidious voice that sounded too much like her own stated it. Like a fact.

That’s why everyone’s always leaving you behind. That’s why no matter how hard you try to remain bright and positive, it will always end. It will always go wrong.

The loop of her thoughts became unbearable.

Her lips parted, and her chest moved as rapidly as her breath, heat pulsing in her blood when his eyes flicked down to her mouth, staying there while he spoke again. “I know you’re hurting. I know you’re confused. But by the gods, you will not minimize Arthur’s sacrifice by insinuating you should have died that day—or any other.”

The reminder of Arthur’s death, of his body now on its way back to Trystan’s home village—it wrecked her.

And Trystan watched with horror as her face crumbled and she fell to her knees. The magic swarmed around her, heavy sobs racking her whole body. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant to—to do, and I don’t know how to—”

She was in his arms before another word could be said, his hands clasped to the back of her head as she sobbed into his shoulder, gripping his shirt. “I’msorry.” The rumble of his chest against her cheek made her sigh, burrowing farther into him. “Love, look at me.”

The term of endearment was so shocking, she flinched out of his grasp, staring up at him with bewilderment. “What did you— Did you just call melove?”

“I feel out of all the revelations we’ve encountered, that should be the least shocking,” he replied flatly.

She blinked at him, speechless, and he pressed his eyes shut, sighing in exasperation. When they finally opened, they were filled with begrudging amusement. “I want to show you something.”