Page 16 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

Joan dragged Nick back, angling away from the screen. Fear and fury washed over her, so intertwined that they didn’t feel

like separate emotions. The camera hadn’t caught them—she was sure of it—but she was trembling as if it had.

“My favorite Oliver,” Eleanor said to Aaron, her mouth curling in what might have been affection but Joan could only read

as condescension. She wore a plain medieval gown with the arrogance of a queen, and her voice was just as Joan had remembered

it—low and melodious and sweet.

Aaron had fallen into a straight-backed posture, chin up. From this angle, Joan could see his hands shaking behind his back.

The last time Joan had seen Eleanor, she’d been newly radiant with the power of the timeline, the glare so dazzling that they’d

had to shield their eyes from her. That quality was still present, although muted. Light emanated from her skin—a white glow,

with a shine of shifting colors that made Joan think of opals, of expensive silks. It was bright enough to obscure Eleanor’s

surroundings completely; there was no way to know where she was.

“Have I caught you at an inopportune time?” Eleanor asked, and Joan realized she had a perfect view of the rumpled bed behind Aaron, the pillows tossed to the floor. Combined with Aaron’s own disheveled appearance, the conclusion was obvious.

An almost imperceptible pause from Aaron. “No, Your Majesty. I serve at your pleasure.”

“Of course you do.”

Aaron allowed himself one slow blink of relief. He’d gambled on the address, the tone, and it seemed he’d been close enough.

Nick shifted—his first movement since they’d stumbled from the screen. He didn’t remember Eleanor murdering his family and

torturing him, but memories lingered in the subconscious from other timelines. Joan knew that some part of him must still

feel it.

He mouthed to Joan now: What does she want from him?

How often do they speak? Joan mouthed back. From Eleanor’s intimate tone— my favorite Oliver —it was too frequent for comfort. What if Eleanor figured out that Aaron had been replaced?

Aaron clearly had the same fear. His gaze was fixed on Eleanor like she was a venomous snake.

“I wanted to congratulate you.” Eleanor rapped her fingertips against the table. Her long nails ended in sharp points like

a cat’s claws, polished in the color of fresh blood. “You’ve done very well in our fight against the wolves.”

The wolves. Joan straightened. She found herself turning back to Nick. He was watching Eleanor, his expression dangerous, and Joan wondered

again if he had a counterpart here. If so, he’d surely be part of a resistance movement. He might even be leading it....

“I’m very pleased with you, Aaron,” Eleanor said.

Her tone turned Joan’s stomach. In the last timeline, Eleanor had used praise to bring Aaron to her side, knowing that he was starved of approval by his cruel father.

It seemed she’d used the same tactic on his counterpart.

Joan felt her jaw tighten at the thought.

“The wolves have been a problem for me.”

Aaron opened his mouth, and then stopped, apparently unsure what to say. There was some color in his face; he’d seen this

flattery for what it was, and Joan suspected he was humiliated it had ever worked on him.

Eleanor took the pause as a question. “We’ve spoken about this before,” she said, a little testily. “Even with all my power,

the Court can’t always anticipate incidents of human rebellion. Honestly,” she murmured, almost to herself, “I thought events

were clouded because of him . I was so sure... But he’s dead, and I still can’t see it all....”

Aaron wet his lips as if they felt dry. “These humans are so far beneath you, they’re hardly worth your attention.”

Joan only half heard the last part—her eye had caught on something. On the writing desk beside her, there was a black signet

ring with no shine. Nick had once worn one just like it on a chain around his neck—in the timeline when he’d been a monster

slayer. If Joan hadn’t known better, she’d have thought it was his ring; it had the same square, undecorated signet.

She reached for it and felt a jolt—like the snap of a static shock.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Aaron twitch, and realized it hadn’t been a physical sensation but a jolt from the timeline itself, as if it was suddenly paying attention to her.

She was surprised again when she lifted the ring and a roll of paper came with it, tied to it with string.

Something fell from the paper’s hollow with a soft clunk . A piece of plastic the size and shape of a bread tag.

Nick tilted his head and slid the plastic from the table. He’d recognized it—like Joan had. In the monster world, tags like

this were used to store and play holographic recordings.

Something nebulous and uneasy curled in the pit of Joan’s stomach, although she wasn’t sure why. She slid away the string

and unrolled the paper, smoothing it onto the table.

She jerked back in horror, and Nick gasped out a shocked breath.

It was a poster showing Nick, beaten almost beyond recognition. His cheeks were swollen, nose broken. Blood ran from mouth

to chin and stained the corners of his blackened eyes.

Nick Ward , it said. Executed for Treason . Authorized and carried out by... A distinctive stamp was pressed beside that line: a mermaid with a snakelike tail. The upper edge of the stamp read: Aaron Oliver, Head of Family. The lower: Fidelis ad Mortem.

Nausea washed over Joan as understanding hit her. In this timeline, Aaron’s counterpart had executed Nick’s. For a moment,

she thought she might actually be sick.

She dragged her gaze from the terrible image of Nick’s battered face, reaching desperately for her Nick’s hand, needing the visceral proof that he was whole and alive. He squeezed back, hard, as if he needed the physical

contact as well.

Aaron’s gaze flicked to Joan as if by instinct. His eyes widened as he saw the poster too.

“You did well to capture and execute their leader,” Eleanor said to Aaron now, and Joan shuddered. “I hear you had his body dragged through the streets after the execution.”

“I had to remind them who rules this city,” Aaron managed. Behind his back, his hands were shaking even more now.

Eleanor gave him one of her cold smiles. “Indeed.”

The floor creaked at the other end of the room, and the door opened. Geoffrey’s furious and flustered voice hissed: “You can’t

just barge in—”

Ruth’s curly head appeared. Joan hurriedly put a finger to her lips. Ruth froze.

Eleanor hadn’t heard the new arrivals. She was still speaking. “And I understand you captured another cell of the wolves this week.” Ruth’s eyes widened as she recognized Eleanor’s voice. “And you’ve requested the honor of

executing them yourself,” Eleanor continued. “A wise choice—to make a show of force. To put your hand on the ax.”

“I...” Aaron was still controlling his expression, but he couldn’t force out a reply. Joan could tell he was horrified

by the thought of executing anyone.

Eleanor’s eyes sharpened—and Joan realized that Eleanor had been watching him this whole time. Perhaps this was one too many

hesitations.

Joan’s heart thumped. She grabbed a notepad from the desk and scrawled: U can’t wait .

Nick snapped his fingers to draw Aaron’s attention.

Aaron’s eyes flew toward them and back. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said quickly. “I look forward to it.”

Eleanor relaxed. “I recommend vigilance tomorrow. There’s a possibility that the wolves will seek to free the prisoners.”

“Have you had intelligence to that effect?”

Another flicker of irritation from Eleanor. “I told you,” she said. “Their actions aren’t always predictable to me.”

By some superhuman effort, Aaron managed to hold a pleasant expression as Eleanor said her farewells and vanished from the

screen. Even after that, he didn’t move for a long, long moment. Finally, he raised his voice. “Geoffrey, allow them in.”

What the hell? Jamie mouthed as he and Ruth slipped into the room, Frankie trotting behind them. Geoffrey was already walking away, his steps

getting softer and softer, until the outer door shut with a distant click.

“What are you wearing ?” Ruth blurted to Joan.

Joan blinked down at her own oversize shirt, emblazoned with the Oliver mermaid.

“But more importantly —” Jamie prompted Ruth.

“Oh yeah,” Ruth said. “And what the hell is going on? Why did that guy call Aaron Lord Oliver ? And why were you talking to Eleanor ?”