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August 5 - August 10, 2025
“Tatianna, I need you to look in on Bradley in our finance department.” Tatianna pouted and folded her arms. “Why?” “He fell down the stairs.” She gaped, tucking a braid behind her ear. “How?” “I pushed him.”
Detonating pumpkins—imbued
Killing by accident was a terrible thing. It was far more gratifying when done on purpose.
“You’re taking me hostage? How boring,”
“Why, Sage, the sun’s nearly down, the workers have gone home, and it’s time.” Evie rubbed at the sore spot on her head. “For?” He smiled, his dimple peeking through. “For you to try your hand at torture.”
She closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.
Trystan could’ve had the most perfect self-control, but after two weeks keeping away from her, after stolen moments peeking around corners and pressing his ears to doors, walls, and at times windows to hear her voice, there was only one possible response to the gentle press of her lips against his. And it was, naturally, to lose his ever-loving mind.
“Yes, Sage. I have you.”
When he looked up again, Sage’s eyes were narrowed on him. “Are you planning on sacrificing me or something? Because if so, I have objections.” She gestured to her trousers, the ones that clung to her thighs. He allowed himself two seconds to admire the shape and remember how good they’d felt gripped in his hands. And then those two seconds were over and he mentally splashed ice water over his head. “Because of your…pants?” he asked, hoping his flat tone would hide his curiosity about the answer. “No, Mr. Literal. Because if I’d known I was going to be sacrificed today, I wouldn’t have worn
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Remember when you used to crave quiet? No.
Trystan grabbed the ingrate’s throat. “You will treat my lady with respect, you damn cad!”
“‘The.’ I meant the lady. Not ‘my.’ She’s not mine.” His magic took great offense to this, it seemed, as it snapped into his back like a rubber band. He rasped, “Slip of the tongue.”
Sage was looking at him like he’d lost all his marbles. He had suspicions she was collecting them in her pocket to keep his reasoning skills as a trophy.
Is my heart…swelling? Vile.
“You’re lying. That smile is fake.” Riding ahead of him, she scoffed. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe you to be an expert judge on that subject, Sir-Frowns-A-Lot.” He grabbed her arm again, and the intensity of his stare, of the seriousness… The tears nearly came again. “It’s. Fake.” This time, the smile on her face was real, but she could feel it stained by sadness. “So what?” He blinked at her. “So what? What do you mean, so what?” “Who cares if it’s fake?” She attempted to urge her horse away again. But he tugged her back once more, and her horse seemed more loyal to him, as the beast
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I can’t protect you if my magic isn’t cooperating when we get too close. I can’t lose—” “To Benedict. I know,” she snapped, shaking off his hand. “You!” He spun her around, grabbing her face, and bent, pressing his forehead against hers, inhaling deeply as if to breathe her in. He whispered, “I can’t lose you. I will not survive it.”
Evie was no doubt glaring. Her face would be red, her nose probably scrunched, and there was a high chance she was about to slam one of her booted feet against the ground. Trystan would be watching her, looking impassive to the casual observer, but a trained eye could see how his friend came alive when he was sparring with his apprentice. How The Villain leaned into the act of being challenged, how utterly besotted he was with the woman who was brave enough to do it.
It was too late, because Evie was laughing into her palm. And Trystan Maverine watched her, utterly, properly, and near hopelessly in love with her. “Oh, that’s amusing, is it?” he said accusatorily, looking a little predatory as he backed Evie into the wall. “You take enjoyment in how I turn into an ill-spoken nincompoop every time I talk to you?” Evie’s back hit the wall, and she grinned. “I love that word.” Trystan’s eyes smoldered, but his lip curled enough to show his dimple. “I know.”
“I didn’t realize you felt that way. That you’d felt the need to hide things from me.” “Because I made sure you didn’t know,” Evie said, swiping angrily at the tears running down her cheeks in an endless flow. “I made sure that I was always pleasant because I couldn’t bear to add to your burdens or to Papa’s. Do you know how silly that makes me feel now? How awful it is to sacrifice integral pieces of myself for others and they don’t even care enough to notice?”
“I do not have a crush. I have an infatuation—they are entirely different things.” Tatianna blinked. “In what respect?” “Crushes are for children.” “I have crushes all the time,” Evie objected. Becky waved a hand at her. “See.”
“You have a sense of humor. My nervous system nearly gave out in shock,” he wheezed.
He leaned in and whispered, “Have dinner with me.” Her brown eyes had little flecks of gold in them, and he was distracted by them as she squeezed his hand. “Ask me. Don’t order me.”
Her laugh could cure anything. Blade was convinced of it as soon as it left her lips.
“You have to put weights in my shoes,” Blade said absently. “What?” Rebecka looked down, then back up at him. “Why?” “I’m going to float away,” he said, touching the spot on his cheek her lips had brushed.
“Is this how it’s to be done?” he said to no one in particular. He wasn’t looking at her. “Is this my downfall?” His face was no longer in that funny expression, but it was incredulous. That much, Evie could identify. “Death by sexual frustration?”
“You’re carrying me like I’m a sack of potatoes.” “Everyone likes potatoes,”
“How is it going?” “Oh, well, you know my theory. Can’t be scared if you’re dead.”
any ailment of the heart could be ignored, or at the very least forgotten for a little while, when an open book sat before you, pages lined with nothing but new possibilities.
Please don’t give up on me. My pathetic, tortured soul is in tatters, and unfortunately, it’s yours.
“Do you want the couch or the bed?” she asked, turning away to consider the room. “You,” he whispered. “What?” Sage’s head spun around, eyes wide. “You,” he repeated, stalking toward her slowly, giving her every chance to back away, even as his hand buried itself in her damp locks, tugging her head back as she gasped. “Me?” she asked, the vulnerability in the question cracking what was left of his reserve, his conscience. “You,” he said one last time before he crushed his lips to hers.
“Gods, you have driven me to madness, Sage. Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I knew you would be the source of all chaos.”
“I want you. And you want me. But for tonight? Forever? And what is it that you want? My lips? My body? My heart? My soul?” He shuddered, every muscle tensing. “Sage—” “They’re yours. All of them. Whether you want all of them or none. I gave them to you that first day along with that old wool scarf.”
The greatest power was bestowed to those who were brave enough to feel emotion and to do so thoroughly.
She glared at it. “And I hate that I can’t destroy this stupid plant because I’m biologically wired to care about all living things that grow, so I cannot rip it apart without hurting myself, and I am tired of hurting myself!” The flower leaned over and wrapped around her finger again, one petal tapping in reassurance. Reassurance. From a plant. “See?” Becky squealed. “How can I destroy something that’s holding my finger like that?” She exhaled in frustration, and Nura laughed, glowing a little. “Oh, my dear.” She chuckled warmly, and it was the sort of sound that Becky remembered from baking
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“What else could it have been? I loved you.” Her voice cracked. “I love you. I have since before I was even old enough to know what that meant, but you were the one thing I’ve always wanted, the one person I want to be with every second of every day. Those years without you were”—she swallowed—“the worst of my life.”
Tatianna’s gaze hardened. “It’s about your mother, isn’t it?” Clare stood so quickly she knocked a glass from the side table, leaping back as it shattered hard against the stone floor, just missing a woven rug. “Why—why would you ask that?” “Because she was the problem, Clare.” Tatianna stood, using her healer magic to sweep the glass pieces to the side the same way she used it to extract objects from beneath the skin. “For you, for Trystan, even for Malcolm. She was cold and cruel and forced you all to earn an affection she never had. Arthur was the only one who showed true devotion to any of
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“My mama says scars are signs we’ve lived bravely.” She stood and curtsied. “You are a valiant guard to me.”
“I’m so happy to finally be able to commit a crime with you!” He removed his bright hat, which had a few feathers stuck into it, and held it to his chest. His face was handsome and graced with age lines, his head completely devoid of hair, brown skin glistening with sweat from the heat. Tatianna groaned. “Daddy, you’re not committing a crime.” Tatianna’s father winked at the rest of them, holding up a hand, mock whispering, “But I’m at least an accessory, right?”
“She’s my accomplice.” He shoved the pirate half off the ship, holding him by only one hand as he said in a hushed voice, “She is mine.”
“Little tornado,” he grumbled, taking her hand and tugging her toward the makeshift dance floor. “Chaos demon. Siren.” “Add accomplice to that,” she said cheekily, smiling wide at his eye twitch. “Two promotions within the month. Happy birthday to me.” She laughed, her hand settling on his shoulder, and then his came to rest lightly on her hip. The touch was a perfectly gentlemanly one, but it made her whole body shiver. His fingers tightened against her waist, holding her like she was a lifeline, and her body heated in response, wanting more, wanting him. Everything in her was softening.
The difficulty with feelings was you could manage them, keep them at bay, but eventually they would return, and they would demand penance. Evie feared the day they came to collect on all the times she had shuttered them away.
“All I did was read a letter, Sage. It wasn’t so very difficult.” Her lips folded inward. “Wasn’t it?” “It was merely drivel about how he was proud and how no matter what, I’d always be his son.” Scoffing, he planted his hands on his hips as he made for the railing overlooking the water. “Hardly anything groundbreaking.” She could feel his defenses rising, the hackles going up, every barrier he had built to protect himself from others coming to the warfront. “No,” she said quietly. “There is nothing groundbreaking about someone loving you. It doesn’t surprise me a bit.”
“One day in the future, when I am telling this story, I want to say that on my twenty-fourth birthday, I spent the evening on a ship that was pinker than a tulip, I danced with The Villain, and then I told him that he was easy to love, despite how much he wanted it to be difficult.”
“When you tell this story, you can also say that the moment The Villain read that letter, the first person he wanted to tell was you. The first person—” He swallowed, struggling with the words. “The first person he wants to tell anything has always been you.” Her smile was big and bright and honest. Real. Trystan must have known, because he answered it with one of his own. So big and beautiful, his whole face changed into someone gentle, someone tenderhearted and open. And Evie made a simple vow to herself.
“Sage. I meant to ask—who exactly are you planning to share this story with?” Evie flung her arms wide in a dramatic curtsy, faking exasperation. “Our children, obviously. Girls, I think. Two of them.” She was joking, of course, but that did not mean she didn’t enjoy the way he paled, looking seconds away from fainting. “Girls. Two of them,” he repeated slowly, like it was happening, like she’d currently summoned the children just by mentioning it, like she was conjuring gremlins.
“Be quiet, you little urchin!” she said smugly. Be quiet, you little urchin, or you’ll get us both killed. The first words he’d ever spoken to her. Thrown back in his face. Lesson learned—next time you find the most infuriating, beautiful, and life-altering woman you’ve ever encountered… Leave her behind to die.
The memories just lived as ghosts in the walls, built into the foundation of a now-haunted home.
Oh…is this sympathy? I hate it.
“Happiness is a fruitless endeavor. I make a point to avoid it at all costs.”
“I LOVE HER!”
