The distant sound of cheering echoes from the town square. The parade for Bob is in full swing. There’s confetti, jugglers, and at least one bard singing an off-key song about how great Bob is. The Chosen One. The Savior of the Kingdom. The guy who once tripped over his own cape.
Meanwhile, Dave and I are at the gate. Same post. Same boring duty. No confetti. No jugglers.
Dave leans against the stone wall, looking like he couldn’t care less about the parade. “You think they’ve got pie at the festival?”
“Definitely,” I reply, scanning the horizon. “Probably whole carts dedicated to it. Apple, cherry, that weird meat one no one likes.”
We fall back into a comfortable silence, the kind you get when you’ve spent years standing in the same spot next to the same person. The parade noise fades a bit, replaced by the distant hum of castle life. Somewhere, a chicken squawks.
“You doing anything tonight?” Dave asks, not bothering to look at me.
“Define ‘doing,’” I say.
He smirks. “Anything that’s not staring at your wall and eating bread that’s one step away from being a brick.”
I squint at him. “Why?”
He shrugs like this is no big deal. “My wife said to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner.”
I blink at him. Of all the things I was expecting him to say, this was not it. “Your wife?”
“Yeah.”
“And she’s suddenly okay with me coming over?”
“She told me to ask you.”
Now I’m curious. “What’s the occasion?”
“Just dinner,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I stare at him. “How long have you been married?”
“Oh, about… 142 years,” he says casually.
“You’ve been married for 142 years. And you’re 36.”
“Yep.”
I cross my arms. “How does that work?”
“Legendary time artifact,” he says without missing a beat.
“Ah, of course. Legendary time artifact.”
“The Chrono Sphere of Eternal Convergence,” he clarifies, as if this is a normal thing to say. “We got stuck in it while saving the village. Time’s weird in there. She went a little crazy.”
“And you… don’t look older because?”
“Side effect,” he says, shrugging.
“Right. Makes sense.”
Dave looks at me, grinning like we’re talking about the weather. “So, you coming?”
“Sure,” I say. Because at this point, why not? “What time?”
“After shift,” he says, taking another bite of the apple. “Don’t be late. She hates that.”
***
Dave’s house is exactly what I expected: small, neat, and perfectly normal. The kind of place where nothing weird should happen. Which means, of course, that something very weird is about to happen.
The door opens before I can knock, and there she is.
Sintra.
The Evil Sorceress of the West. The Scourge of the Seven Kingdoms. Wearing an apron.
She smiles at me like we’re old friends. “Greg! Come in! Dinner’s almost ready.”
I step inside, taking off my boots because, for some reason, I know she’s about to say—
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Shoes off, please. I just mopped.”
Called it.
Dave’s voice floats in from the kitchen. “Honey, is Greg here yet?”
“Of course he’s here,” Sintra calls back. “I told you he’d show up.”
Dinner smells amazing, which is, frankly, the most confusing part of this entire day.
Sintra is setting a roast chicken on the table with the grace of someone auditioning for “Perfect Homemakers.”
Dave is already seated, a casual grin across his face like this is just another Tuesday.
Meanwhile, I’m still standing in the doorway. I can’t process the fact that the person who tried to kill me a week ago is now wearing an apron that says “Kiss the Villain.”
“Greg, sit down before your food gets cold,” Sintra says. Then, because she can’t help herself, she adds, “Not that I care if you starve.”
“Sure, yeah,” I say, dropping into the chair across from Dave. “Wouldn’t want to insult the chicken.”
She rolls her eyes but says nothing as she starts ladling some kind of creamy sauce over the chicken. It smells amazing, which feels like a personal betrayal.
Dave picks up his fork. “See? Isn’t this nice? Just good company and…” He pauses, squinting at the sauce. “What’s this one?”
“It’s a roasted garlic aioli with a touch of lemon,” Sintra says, sitting down. She gives Dave a warm smile that’s completely out of character for the Sintra I know.
I stare at her. “You’ve gone from kidnapping heroes to perfecting sauces? That’s your redemption arc?”
She glares at me. “Some of us like to grow as people, Greg.”
“And some of us like to not get obliterated while eating chicken,” I shoot back.
Dave chuckles. “She’s been working on sauces for months.”
Sintra’s cheeks turn red. She shoves a basket of bread rolls toward me with more force than necessary. “Eat your bread and shut up.”
I grab a roll, deciding to save my sass for later. The sauce is as good as it smells, which annoys me even more.
“Okay, what actually happened?” Dave asks. “You two keep talking around it.”
I sigh, tearing off a piece of bread. “It’s not that interesting, really.”
Sintra raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “You mean after you held up the Amulet of Total Destruction like a toddler showing off a shiny rock?”
“It was dramatic,” I argue.
“It was stupid,” she counters.
Dave nods wisely. “Classic Greg.”
“Anyway,” Sintra continues, waving her fork like it’s her staff, “you were all, ‘Oh no, I’ll end you if I have to.’ But then you realized that killing me would mean endless paperwork.”
I groan, setting my fork down. “Do we have to relive this? It was painful enough the first time.”
She smirks, leaning back in her chair. “So, instead of killing me, you made a deal. I retire, and my minions do your paperwork.”
Dave raises his eyebrows. “Wait. You outsourced your paperwork to her minions?”
“Look, Dave, when life gives you an evil lair full of unemployed goblins, you make do,” I say, defending my genius.
Sintra laughs, a sound that’s way too genuine for her villain persona. “They’ve been very efficient, actually. Turns out goblins are great at filing.”
“So what do you do now?” I ask, gesturing at her domestic setup.
“Sauces,” she says simply, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. “And occasionally knitting. Oh, and I’ve started a garden.”
I blink at her. “A garden.”
She nods, smiling at Dave again. “He built me a trellis for my tomatoes. Didn’t you, darling?”
Dave shrugs, grinning. “Anything for you.”
The disconnect between Sintra-as-villain and Sintra-as-wife is giving me whiplash. I take a long sip of water to process.
“So,” I say, setting my glass down, “what happened to Aggie? I noticed my sarcastic sword was missing.”
Sintra’s eyes light up with mischief. “Oh, Aggie? She’s Bob’s weapon now.”
“What?” I sputter. “Aggie’s a snark machine! Bob can’t handle that.”
“Oh, he’s handling it,” she says, biting back a grin. “Aggie’s aggressive-aggressive. Perfect for a noble hero.”
Dave chuckles. “Bet she’s telling him how bad his cape looks.”
Sintra nods. “Last I heard, she’s been critiquing his battle stances and suggesting he switch to decaf.”
I lean back, laughing. “Bob and Aggie. What a disaster waiting to happen.”
“More like a disaster already happening,” Sintra says, smiling despite herself.
The conversation flows into an easy rhythm. We talk about the deal we made, the absurdity of our fight, and how ridiculous it is that we’ve ended up here. Every so often, Sintra throws in a comment about how close she came to destroying me. And I counter with how I was this close to activating the amulet.
“You wouldn’t have done it,” she says confidently.
“I was bluffing,” I admit. “But you didn’t know that.”
Her lips twitch, fighting a smile. “You’re so annoying.”
Dave chimes in, ever the voice of reason. “And yet here we all are. Sharing a meal. Ain’t life funny?”
Sintra looks at him with soft eyes. “You’re the only thing that makes sense, darling.”
“And I’m here too,” I say, raising my glass. “Thanks for the chicken.”
We laugh, the kind of laughter that feels easy and rare. For a moment, the craziness of everything fades, and it’s just three people at a table, sharing a meal.
As I’m leaving later that night, Sintra hands me a jar of sauce. “For your bread. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
“Thanks,” I say, then pause. “Wait. Is it poisoned?”
She rolls her eyes. “Just go, Greg.”
Dave claps me on the back. “See you tomorrow, buddy. Same gate, same time.”
As I walk away, the jar warm in my hands, I can’t help but laugh. Maybe this wasn’t the epic ending I expected, but it’s perfect in its own weird way.
Life is messy, ridiculous, and full of surprises. Kind of like a good sauce.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The end.
----------------------------------------
I hope you enjoyed the story! Want more laughs? Get over 40 hilarious bloopers you won’t find anywhere else. Don’t miss out—grab your copy now and keep the fun going: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B0DSVSLQP5
----------------------------------------
My Other Books:
(Comedy on RoyalRoad)
+ MagicBeasts: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/96186/magicbeasts-fast-comedy-progression
(Self-Improvement on Amazon)
+ The One Question That Stops Anxiety—Instantly: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B0DTRYWY3M
+ How to Bend Reality: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B0DNLQ8CZZ
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------