Page 147 of Adversary to the Villain

Within each other.

“Come back soon, bonehead. We’re due for a family dinner.” Clare smiled sadly. “I would hurry, though; she’s quick.”

Trystan threw his arms up. “Naturally, she’d develop that skillnow.”

Sage moved unreasonably fast for a woman with such short legs.

“You’re walking with such purpose because you came up with a plan…yes?” he called out to her.

She stopped, allowed him to catch up, then continued walking again. The sun still shone high in the sky, gliding over her, giving him a beautiful thing to gaze upon.

“You must be so hurt,” she said, still looking forward as they walked. “Because of Kingsley. I can’t believe he would—”

“I can.”

Sage’s eyes sharpened at the comment. “Wait, were you lying to him? Did you suspect him? And you didn’t tell me!”

Trystan stared. “You suspected your father of being the traitor, and you didn’t tellme.”

Her mouth was open in preparation for more yelling, but she stopped walking, her lips slowly closing. “I forgot about that,” she grumbled. “You really knew? Is that why you had Fowler waiting?”

“No, I didn’t really know; not until I saw him holding a knife to your throat did I allow myself to believe it. But I knew something was different. I knew I needed to send a raven for Fowler in case the king made any wrong moves. But no, Sage, I didn’t know the wrong moves would be from Alexander.”

And it really fucking hurt. Because he still cared. “I can’t totally blame him. He was so convinced the cursehadto happen. And he was stuck in the body of a frog. What did he have to lose?”

“You.” Sage’s voice broke over the word. “His home.”

Something unraveled in his chest, something that had been like a vise grip since he became The Villain. Because he was mourning, and it was painful, but she was still here.

“I don’t think I realized it,” he said in wonder, brushing a curl from her eyes.

“What?” she asked, staring at him strangely, probably because he was doing the same.

“When my home stopped being Massacre Manor”—he kissed her lightly, savoring it, like it was the last time he’d get to do it—“and began being you.”

A low rumbling sound echoed his sentiment; he tried to ignore it. Until it grew louder—and closer. “What is that?” Sage asked, pushing against his chest, her face twisting in an adorable scrunch.

“I don’t know. It sounds like— Gods damn it all. Really? Now?”

“Can the world stop ending for a moment so we might have at least one to ourselves,” Sage grumbled, bouncing beside him, grabbing his shoulder to move around him. “Move your big head! I cannot see.”

“My head isnotbig.”

“Very well.” She scoffed. “Move your adequately sized head so I can see— Oh my. Is that an angry mob?”

Indeed. He knew the sight well. The pitchforks swinging, the torches held high despite the daylight clearing their path, the raucous yells for The Villain’s demise.

But then he heard a call that stilled him.

A call for Evie Sage.

“They’re after…me? Mespecifically?” Sage squeaked, and Trystan knew the sound now, knew that he wouldn’t find hopeless tears when he looked upon her face.

“A milestone moment for you, and here I am without a portrait artist to capture it,” he muttered dryly in response to the beaming smile on Sage’s face.

“I realize you are being sarcastic, but I’ve never had an entiremobof people after me. It’s very flattering.” She drummed her fingers against her lips, observing as the group came closer. “What do you usually do when a mob is after you?”

“I chop their heads off.”