Page 66 of Adversary to the Villain

“You think you can traipse around the kingdom doing whatever you please with no consequences to anyone else?” Greta continued. “Dragging this poor man along, keeping him trapped in your clutches?”

“Have you and the voice in my head been having meetings?” Sage asked with genuine curiosity that made a laugh catch in his throat.

“I’m quite fond of her clutches,” Trystan interrupted, patience thin and as tumultuous as the vein throbbing in his neck. “We would appreciate you pulling the door open for us,” he started politely, pausing to lean toward the wall and sniff. “And your gingerbread recipe.”

“The frosting, too,” Sage whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“I will not allow you to leave until I’m confident you will be safe.”

The humor left Trystan swiftly. “I don’t know what crock news pamphlets you’ve been reading, but King Benedict is a master manipulator and a liar. Don’t let him make a fool of you.” Trystan folded his arms, but he felt more assured by Sage, who seemed to be regaining her passion for being painted dangerous.

Thank gods.

“Or else we may need your head for home decor,” Sage offered pleasantly, and Trystan slapped his forehead.

Greta put her hands on her hips, dubious. “What about you? If she’s The Villain, what do you think that makes you?”

The corners of his lips pulled, pleased and menacing in his reply. “Her muscle.”

He could feel Sage’s eyes burning into the side of his head. “When I get to three, follow me down the hall,” she said through her teeth.

“When you get…”

But she didn’t actually count, just yelled, “Three!”

His life was sincerely…outrageous.

Sage broke for the open hallway, and he followed right behind her. Because of course he did.

She opened the last door, clearly hoping it would be a back-door exit, and he threw the metal latch closed behind them. Then stared at the closed door, in disbelief that hardly ten minutes ago, he was atop a horse.

Now he was locked in a house made of baked goods.

But, he supposed, if this was the way he’d go…at least he’d die surrounded by who and what he loved.

Sage…and sugar.

“Trystan…”

“Oh, what now?” he groaned. “No windows?”

When he scanned the rest of the room, there were indeed no windows, but that’s not what had snagged Sage’s frightened eyes.

It was the large pot in the middle of the room, sitting over a small fire.

Sage tapped her finger against her chin, drawing the same conclusion as he.

“I think I know one of the ingredients in the gingerbread recipe.”

Wonderful. Greta the gingerbread lady was going to cook them.

Chapter 31

Lyssa

Lyssa and her older sister had rarely come to blows over the years. They fought, of course, in the way of all sisters. But their true arguments, the sort that rattled the foundation of their relationship, had happened less than five times.

She supposed they were due for a sixth.