Here's a scene from book two where my villain reveals some information about himself and our protagonist/heroine:

The moon shimmered, bright in the evening sky. After all this time, Hartley watched and still wasn’t used to it. It looked lonely and forlorn, so solitary. How he longed to see the three moons of Scythia, blood red and vibrant, against the velvet background of the night sky. Though the last time he’d seen those orbs, many years ago, the crimson color was gone. The two outer moons faded to pale pink while the one in the middle, also called the anchor, glowed orange. The color changes caused much upheaval in the realm. The moons represented the three sisters, goddesses and members of the Tuatha De Danaan, ruling family and lifeblood of the land. The folly of the sisters, especially the youngest, had set his current mission in motion. Bring them back to where they belonged, or dispatch them to the shadows so that the moons could seek a new source.

Hartley moved away from the window and towards the table. He tugged his waistcoat into place and smoothed his jacket. In the smaller, private dining room, the servants had followed his instructions to the letter. The porcelain utensils and place settings along with the crystal stemware gleamed against the tablecloth. His guests shared the same need to avoid metal utensils, specifically iron, that he did and thus the table was perfect. The servants thought their master “particular” and did what they were told without question. But, they also carried tales of that proclivity to the other servants at the surrounding estates in Surrey. The gossip provided a ready explanation whenever he was obliged to dine elsewhere.

Petr Davidsson had come from the realm within the last hundred years at Hartley’s suggestion. There was also a need for someone to watch for MorRhiogan’s armor, which had yet to be recovered. The magical and bejeweled breastplate, sword and helm would surely mesmerize the mortals and hopefully, would also entice the goddess to show herself. Who would not want to retain such armaments? The war goddess’s ability to wield the power of the stones, as well as her skill and prowess in battle, were the reasons the Sidhe wanted the betrothal alliance with her people. While Petr infiltrated the scholarly mortals at the British Museum and with his own vigil as a physician, they were sure to find her. The Sidhe seers had foretold her contact with these human professions and so, they had watched and waited for her to appear.

“Your guest has arrived, sir.” The footman announced. Hartley had left instructions to be alerted the minute the carriage passed through the gates. He crossed the room and opened a small leather case, similar to the one used to ply his profession. He checked the clasp before opening it and withdrawing a small amount of wood shavings. He crossed to the fireplace and placed the shavings upon the hearth. A sharp knock drew his attention and he looked up as Davidsson entered the room.

“You may bring the courses now, Henderson and then that will be all.” There would be no need for witnesses to their conversations. Not mortal ones anyway. The footman hurried away to do his bidding.

Davidsson crossed over to him, his red hair perfectly coiffed and green eyes glittering and hard. “You have news.” Made as a statement instead of a question. He’d never have summoned him if there hadn’t been news.

“Yes.” He raised his finger in a gesture asking for patience and silence as the servants brought in all of the courses and loaded them onto the sideboard. Once the task was completed, they departed and closed the door behind them.

“Come here to the hearth.” He returned to the fireplace with Davidsson hard on his heels. Facing each other, they both raised their hands over the wood shavings, a combination of ancient trees and an herb reagent—Rowan, Alder, Ash and Mugwort. The shavings glowed, turning blue before burning to ash. The strong, acrid smell permeated the room and Hartley blinked to stem his watering eyes. A popping sound preceded a great draft of air. The smoke cleared and the Sidhe prince stood before them, tall and majestic in his raiment. Hartley bowed and Davidsson did the same.

“Lord Deninn, welcome. ” Hartley raised his eyes to meet his sovereign’s green-eyed glare.

“I pray for your sake that you have summoned me here because you have news.” Deninn’s sneer sparked contempt for his prince. Did the ones still safe in the realm imagine that he preferred the company of the mortals and this forsaken land instead of his own home? In place of resentment, he presented his obedience.

“Yes, my lord. I have seen her. ” he said.

“Where? Is she here?” Deninn stepped away from the hearth and clasped his arm, his impatience radiating in tightly coiled waves. Hartley understood the craving for news of the goddess. That hunger would increase tenfold once his prince saw her himself.

“Please allow me to share a meal with you, my prince, and I will share the news of her.” Hartley hoped that Deninn would not break protocol and refuse his hospitality. Especially before he could tell him what had happened when he’d finally realized that Raven LeFevre and MorRhiogan were one and the same person.

Okay, here's a second excerpt with the protagonist and the antagonist of Book 2

Just a little bit closer and she’d have him trapped. Raven heard the swish of his coat and the quickening of his steps as he raced to catch up with her. Another few yards and she would have her prey.

She flattened herself against the wall and waited. Just as he crossed the threshold into the elevator, she hit the button that closed the door. The heavy wrought iron screen clanged shut and immediately, she could smell his sweat and fear.

“Why Mr. Hartley. Fancy meeting you here.” She edged closer where the light bathed them both in an eerie glow, watching his eyes flicker from green to amber to blue. She’d remembered her mother’s words from long ago about inflicting pain with iron, which explained luring him into the elevator. But she didn’t know what the changing eye color meant.

He sketched a quick bow. “Miss LeFevre or should I say Your Highness?” Shallow breaths escaped from his mouth.

Raven narrowed her eyes, ignored his question and took a step that brought them face-to-face. “Last time we met, I believe I promised you a bloody and terrible end if ever our paths crossed again. Why did you follow me? Didn’t you believe me?”

His chest heaved as he tore at his neckcloth. He dropped to his knees as his eyes swirled with color and his voice came out as a rasp. He grasped the sides of her coat. “Please. Please help me. If I offer a prayer to the Goddess will you release me from this iron chamber? I mean you no harm and only do as I am commanded. You too, are of the Fae. Will you not help me?”

Raven sneered at him because if she was sure of anything, it was that he most certainly meant for her to come to harm. But he hadn’t answered her question and she wondered. Should she be looking elsewhere to find the source of the danger? What if she could use Mr. Hartley to find out more information? She grabbed his cravat and dragged him toward the elevator door. She hit the button and once the door opened, she tossed him out and followed. She couldn't risk losing him to the iron just yet. 

No more mistakes. He would tell her what she wanted to know or suffer her wrath.