the Villainess they took for granted

Chapter 39: Chapter 39: The Worst Possible Recovery

"I like you."

Silence.

Complete.

Utter.

Catastrophic silence.

Marian stared at Cassian.

Cassian stared at Marian.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped.

Marian hated that bird immediately.

Because apparently even wildlife had decided to witness her humiliation.

The realization that she had actually said those words arrived slowly.

Then all at once.

Oh.

Oh no.

For one terrible moment she considered pretending she hadn’t spoken at all.

Unfortunately, Cassian had ears.

A deeply unfortunate character trait.

"I mean—"

Marian stopped.

Because every possible explanation sounded worse.

An impressive achievement.

She had not realized there were levels of disaster.

Apparently there were.

Cassian remained silent.

Watching her.

Waiting.

The patience was infuriating.

"I mean," Marian tried again, "you’re not intolerable."

Silence.

Then:

"Thank you?"

Marian closed her eyes.

Briefly.

Because that was, without question, the worst recovery in recorded history.

Possibly in all of human civilization.

When she opened her eyes again, Cassian looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh.

A dangerous decision.

A very dangerous decision.

"If you laugh, I’ll push you into the nearest lake."

"We’re nowhere near a lake."

"I’ll find one."

The answer came immediately.

Cassian’s mouth twitched.

Traitor.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

Then another.

And suddenly he was laughing.

Not loudly.

Not mockingly.

Just enough.

The low sound settled somewhere inconveniently inside her chest.

Marian immediately ignored this.

A strategy she was becoming quite skilled at.

Unfortunately, it was no longer working as well as it once had.

The laughter faded slowly.

Leaving behind something quieter.

Something more dangerous.

Awareness.

Because the words were still there.

Unspoken now.

Yet present.

Hanging between them.

Cassian looked away first.

Toward the trees.

Toward the path.

Toward literally anything else.

For the first time since she’d met him beside the lake, he seemed unsure.

The realization startled her.

Cassian was never unsure.

He was confident.

Composed.

Amused.

Infuriating.

Yet now—

Something had shifted.

And somehow that made her more nervous than if he’d laughed.

The silence stretched.

Then Cassian exhaled slowly.

"You know that’s not what I meant."

Marian immediately seized the lifeline.

"Good."

A pause.

Then:

"Because that’s not what I meant either."

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Cassian looked at her.

One dark eyebrow lifted.

Marian immediately felt defensive.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The answer arrived too quickly.

Which meant it was definitely something.

The infuriating man.

For a while neither spoke.

The path around them remained mostly empty now.

The rest of the guests had moved farther ahead.

Or farther behind.

Giving them more privacy than either probably wanted.

Marian found herself staring at the trees.

At the sunlight filtering through the branches.

At literally anything except Cassian.

Because looking at him suddenly felt dangerous.

A ridiculous thought.

Yet there it was.

Then:

"I don’t think you’re using me."

The words caught her off guard.

Marian looked up.

Cassian’s expression had become thoughtful.

Serious.

Too serious.

The teasing had disappeared completely.

"I thought you did."

"I did."

The honesty startled her.

Then he shrugged.

"Now I’m not sure."

Marian stared.

Because somehow that answer was worse.

Not sure.

Not guilty.

Not innocent.

Just—

not sure.

The uncertainty settled heavily between them.

And for the first time, Marian realized Cassian didn’t have all the answers.

The realization was strangely comforting.

Humanizing.

Dangerous.

Because it made him easier to like.

Marian immediately rejected that thought.

Unfortunately it returned.

Persistently.

Like most inconvenient truths.

"What changed?"

The question escaped before she could stop it.

Cassian looked toward the trail.

Thoughtful.

Then:

"You."

Marian blinked.

An answer.

A very short answer.

An alarmingly effective one.

"What does that mean?"

"It means."

A pause.

Then another.

As though he was choosing his words carefully.

A dangerous sign.

"It means I think you’re trying to convince yourself this is about Adrian."

Silence.

The words landed harder than expected.

Because they struck too close.

Far too close.

Marian looked away immediately.

The trees suddenly became fascinating.

The leaves.

The sunlight.

The bark.

Anything but that conversation.

Unfortunately, Cassian continued.

"I think Adrian is part of it."

The reasonable answer should have relieved her.

It didn’t.

Because he hadn’t finished.

"And?"

The word escaped quietly.

Cassian looked at her.

Directly.

Steadily.

Dangerously.

"And I think you’re enjoying yourself."

Silence.

Complete silence.

Because that was the problem.

Not Adrian.

Not Elena.

Not even the fight.

The problem was that she was enjoying herself.

Enjoying the conversations.

Enjoying the arguments.

Enjoying the laughter.

Enjoying him.

The realization arrived like a physical blow.

Marian hated it.

Immediately.

Because enjoying him was not part of the plan.

Except there was no plan.

Which somehow made everything worse.

Neither spoke for several moments.

Then voices drifted toward them from farther up the trail.

The spell broke.

Instantly.

The awareness retreated.

Not gone.

Just hidden again.

Safer that way.

For everyone involved.

Cassian stepped back first.

A small movement.

Yet Marian noticed.

Of course she noticed.

The distance felt noticeable now.

That was new.

And she disliked it.

Also new.

"Lady Marian."

Formal again.

Safe again.

The change disappointed her.

The realization was alarming.

Deeply alarming.

Cassian inclined his head.

Then turned toward the path.

And left.

Just like that.

Marian watched him go.

Longer than necessary.

Longer than appropriate.

Then forced herself to move.

The walk back to the lodge passed in a blur.

Dinner arrived.

Guests gathered.

Conversations continued.

Life moved forward.

Marian participated automatically.

Smiling when required.

Speaking when necessary.

Listening when expected.

Yet her thoughts remained elsewhere.

Dangerously elsewhere.

Across the room, Adrian said something to a visiting noble.

Marian looked up automatically.

A habit.

An old one.

For the first time, Adrian looked toward her at the exact same moment.

Their eyes met.

Only briefly.

Then Adrian frowned.

Not because he was angry.

Because something seemed different.

Marian couldn’t tell what he saw.

Or if he saw anything at all.

A moment later another noble addressed him.

The connection broke.

Just like that.

Adrian turned away.

The conversation continued.

And somehow Marian found that she didn’t care quite as much as she should have.

That night, lying in bed, she replayed the afternoon.

A mistake.

A terrible mistake.

Naturally she did it anyway.

The conversation.

The argument.

The silence.

Then:

You don’t even like me.

And her answer.

I like you.

Marian buried her face in her pillow.

Because the worst part wasn’t that she’d said it.

The worst part was that it had been true.

And for the first time in weeks—

for the first time since Elena arrived—

the thing keeping her awake wasn’t Adrian.

That realization terrified her.

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