Interruption One

Interruption One

Far away from the Desolated Lands, a real villain was busy plotting. Or, more specifically, his wife was.

“But, honey, it’s a royal wedding, the first one in years! We have to go!”

The Lord of Darkness, Prince of Shadows, Bringer of Terrible Evil, The Great and Powerful Cyril, only looked up from his paperwork because his wife had sprawled herself across his desk, giving him no choice. Her fluffy blue skirts and petticoats spread prettily around her, adding a splash of color to his otherwise drab office. “Cookie,” he said, softening his tone from his usual booming evil voice, “we don’t even have an invitation.”

“But you’re an evil mage," she pouted, “why can’t we simply crash the party?”

“We can,” he conceded, “but then it becomes work. And honestly”—he picked up the copy of the Town Crier she had shoved in his face announcing the upcoming nuptials in a faraway kingdom—“invading Woe simply isn’t worth the hassle. I’ve been there before, you know—nasty place. Food rotting in the fields, out of business signs on half the stores. They probably don’t even have a functional inn, which means we would have to camp.”

“I don’t care!” She rolled over and leaned forward on both hands. In this new position, her arms pushed her breasts together, plumping up her cleavage so it almost spilled out of her bodice. No doubt on purpose—she’d successfully used this tactic to earn his agreement dozens of times. “It’s all anyone is talking about at the marketplace!” Her lower lip quivered, and she widened her green eyes beseechingly. “The Soul Stealer took her wife and their apprentice to the last royal wedding! Meredith wouldn’t stop bragging for weeks! No one has been to the Desolated Lands in years—they’d all be terribly jealous."

The Soul Stealer was his biggest rival; making her wife jealous would be extra satisfying. Cyril stroked his pointy beard thoughtfully. “You promise not to complain? Even if it’s a barren wasteland and a cash bar?”

“You won’t hear a peep from me, I swear!" She could see him wavering and added, “There may even be a peasant revolt, perhaps a few beheadings if the monarchs are really nasty.”

She always knew exactly the right things to say.

“Alright, peaches, we’ll go!”

She squealed in glee and threw herself into his lap, kissing him all over his face, leaving perfect pink imprints of her lips behind. “But remember,” she said as she pulled away, “this is vacation, not work. If you decide to invade Woe, you’ll simply have to wait until afterwards.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he promised, knowing there would be nothing to tempt him there anyway.