Chapter 52

Evie

Evie didn't knock when she entered The Villain's bedchamber, unless her shoulder slapping against the wood as she shoved it open counted. "Sir, you left before I could tell you about my lead! And now, to boot, I can't find Lyssa."

She definitely should've knocked, or whistled, or sent out a raven call at the very least, because what she was witnessing was…truly something. The Villain was holding himself like a plank over the ground, shirtless, his back muscles rippling all the way down to the top of his rear end as he lowered to the ground and pushed himself back up. He froze when he heard her voice, the motion causing the muscles in his arms to shake as he held his stance.

"Sage, I hope I didn't give you the mistaken impression that I enjoy company in my chambers."

She replied with teasing amusement, "Sir, you're doing push-ups alone at four o'clock in the afternoon. Nobody would get that impression."

He glared as he stood, unwinding the white canvas wrappings around his palms and dabbing sweat off his neck. He eyed her now-clean attire, the blood washed from her skin. "What of your father? What did he say? I fear your brother diverted my plans with his little confession."

My . Not our . It was a purposeful distinction. She could tell by the subtle shift in his face.

She wanted to blame her brother for her mother's disappearance and all the events that followed, for the revelation that seemed to drive a larger wedge between her boss and her, but it wasn't fair. Gideon had been a mere fifteen years old, just as much a victim of their father's and the king's machinations as she. And anyway, her brother was not the sibling she was most concerned about at the moment.

"Later. I can't do anything until I know where Lyssa is. I asked Edwin, Becky, Blade, and the guards. Edwin said she usually disappears around noon to write her stories in our bedchamber—she takes writing time quite seriously—but she's not there."

He frowned, crossing the room to open the armoire and retrieve a shirt, then shutting it quickly like he didn't want her to see inside. He slid the dark fabric over his head before speaking. "With Tatianna, maybe?"

"I can't find her, either." She gave him a suggestive look. "Or Clare."

"You're kidding," he said with a small grin. Suddenly, they were two old friends gossiping over tea.

She clasped her hands together, grinning. "Nope!" Her smile fell. "Wait. Focus. Lyssa. Lyssa is missing."

Trystan nodded, solemn, before pulling an amethyst from his pocket and ordering into it, "I need everyone searching for Lyssa Sage and reporting to me with any sightings of her." He put a reassuring hand on Evie's shoulder. "She's around here somewhere. You needn't worry."

"I'm not worried; I'm murderous."

"Don't be that, either," he advised, contemplating her. "Tati said that you stabbed your father in the leg."

She didn't deny it, merely shrugged.

"Are you okay?"

"Nope!" she said cheerily, then looked around desperately for something to change the subject while they waited for any reports.

His room looked different during the day. She could see more lines of detail along his quilted comforter, the million pillows on his bed. She turned around and flopped back onto it—it was brutally uncomfortable. Her boss was a sociopath.

"This is outlandish," she grumbled.

"I was going to say that about you lying on my bed," he said in a strangled voice, one hand on his hip, the other pressed over his eyes like he couldn't bear to see it.

Her sister was missing, likely up to gods knew what mischief—probably toppling an army or creating a potion that would turn her into a worm—but that didn't stop Evie from acknowledging the dragon in the room. "Okay, so are we going to talk about our kiss? Or is this a sweep-it-under-the-rug sort of situation?"

"Sage," he gritted out, looking up like he was hoping for the sky to tumble down.

"I don't see why you're so outraged. You kissed me first!"

"It was an accident!" he objected and then winced, probably realizing how silly that sounded.

An accident? She deserved a better excuse. With a raised brow, she looked him up and down. "A fairly long accident, if I recall."

His gaze narrowed on hers. " If you recall? It happened yesterday. Do you forget so easily?"

She looked at him boldly. "Do you?"

He went rigid, his muscles so tense he seemed like he was turning to stone. There was an intensity in his expression that she'd spurred, but now she glanced down at her hands instead, unable to hold his gaze with hers.

"A momentary lapse, perhaps. Like eating something spicy because it looks good and then it makes your stomach sick," she said, nodding succinctly.

When she looked up, he was staring at her hands, sounding acutely uncomfortable when he replied, "Spicy food would never make my stomach sick."

They weren't speaking of spicy food, but that hardly mattered. He looked haunted.

So she decided she'd give him the smallest bit of mercy. "I'll let it go if that's what you want. But I demand we revisit it after my mother's found. No matter the outcome."

He hesitated. Coward. "Fine," he finally agreed. "What did your father say? Who was in the painting?"

"Renna Fortis," she said, walking over to his drawers and starting to riffle through them. She pulled out an oddly colorful pair of socks. She held them up, biting her lip. "Polka dots?"

"Give me those! You're worse than a racoon," he griped, ripping the socks from her hands. "Renna Fortis is the matriarch of the Fortis family. If your mother is at the Fortis Family Fortress, that…could be a serious problem."

She frowned, wandering to the armoire. "Why?"

Next thing she knew, she was over his shoulder again, being gently flopped onto the bed like a rag doll. Though she had the sudden, foolish hope his body would land on top of hers, it didn't. Instead, he was already across the room, leaning against the armoire doors. There was something in there he didn't want her to find.

Which meant she wouldn't rest until she knew what it was.

"For one thing, the fortress is completely inaccessible to the public. And…"

She sat up on her elbows. "And what?" she prompted.

He looked uncomfortable, but it was a toss-up as to whether it was due to her presence in his bed or whatever it was he was hiding in that damn armoire. "It's not my place to say. Let me make some inquiries, and we'll go from there."

Suddenly, Marv stormed in the room, causing Evie to startle so badly, she fell off the bed. "Problem—big problem—huge problem!"

It was too much to hope that Marv hadn't seen her. And he couldn't keep a secret to save his life. Fantastic.

"A fire has been deliberately started in the courtyard!" Marv yelled.

The Villain furrowed his brow but otherwise kept his composure. "It isn't the first time, Marv. Use one of Sage's prized hoses and put it out."

"They're not prized," she said, affronted. "They're safety precautions!"

Marv shifted nervously. "Sir…I fear the Valiant Guards are behind this."

The blank expression on The Villain's face morphed into a determined set of his jaw as he sailed from the room, Evie following hot on his heels.

Marv could be right; there had been knights sniffing around the barriers of the manor. But Evie had her suspicions as well, and none of them were aimed at the Valiant Guards.

No, she had a terrible feeling the person responsible was someone else entirely.