Page 65 of Assistant to the Villain

Problem number two: Her boss was also the most hated man in her kingdom.

Problem number three: Someone wanted her boss dead—which would severely affect problem number one.

“You are a fool with attachment issues,” she muttered.

“Are you talking to the tree or yourself?” a familiar voice questioned.

“Sir?” Evie said, jumping to her feet, heart racing. “You can’t be here!” she hissed, shoving him behind the tree, then feeling surprised she was able to move his large form.

“Sage, what are you doing?” He raised a brow but continued to move back until they were both hidden.

“Have you finally lost what was left of your evil little pea brain?” She pushed him again, and he caught her hands, gently halting her. There were no gloves separating their skin, and the burn of his palm against the back of her hand sent shivers through her. It didn’t help that at the angle he was holding her, she was at eye level with his lips.

Lips that seemed to tilt and move just a bit closer.

But all too quickly, he was releasing her and stepping a good two feet away, flexing both hands like her touch was offensive to him. “I haven’t lost anything. I’ve been to your village before. Why the gross overreaction?”

He adjusted his shirt collar, the cloth obviously well tailored. Nothing audacious, but the black leather of his trousers and the pressed, clean sheen of his shirt said he had money, enough to be comfortable.

“You don’t think King Benedict has connected that Trystan Maverine and The Villain are one and the same? He knows it’s you, doesn’t he? He’ll know where and who to look for, and I’m sure he wouldn’t hesitate to let every Valiant Guard within riding distance tear you apart.” How could he be so incredibly careless and startlingly calm?

He merely stood there, staring at her, his dark eyes giving nothing useful away. “If Benedict wanted his people looking for me, he wouldn’t be allowing posters to go about with false names and inaccurate portrayals of my appearance.” Her boss pulled out the poster she’d been given earlier, somehow taking it from her satchel without her noticing.

Evie bit her lip to keep from grinning. “I don’t know, that seems a pretty accurate likeness. I’d hoped to frame it.”

His face went flat and unamused. “Very humorous, Sage.” He crumpled the poster and tossed it aside. “Benedict wants to keep whatever games he’s playing between us. So I’ll follow the bread crumbs, will play the fool just long enough for him to think he’s won.” His smile was sinister. “And then I’ll take him down for good.”

Somewhere above her head, a bird chirped, with no idea of the melodrama playing out below it. “You make dismantling a well-beloved monarch sound alarmingly easy, sir.”

“Well, there is a very distinct difference between King Benedict and me.”

“What’s that?” Evie asked cautiously.

“I don’t care about being beloved, and I don’t care about doing things the right way. I will blacken whatever parts of my soul I must to keep my business running and to take down my enemies.” Were there thunderclouds ominously appearing behind him or was that Evie’s imagination?

Leaning back against the tree again and sliding down, putting her head between her bent knees, she sighed. “I just don’t understand. You’ve been doing the evil thing for a decade. Sabotaging the kingdom, working as an enemy against him for almost ten years. Why is it that only recently, he’s decided to send someone on the inside to take you down?”

“Perhaps I’ve finally come to be enough of a nuisance, or perhaps since the entire continent knows me to be a vicious, horrid monster, the esteemed king thinks that serving the public my head on a platter when it finally suits him will make him something of a hero.” Trystan sat down hard beside her, yanking a bit of grass out with his fist.

“Or it took him ten years to find someone willing to go undercover against you,” Evie guessed. “Someone who was willing to take the risk you’d find them out eventually.”

The Villain nodded in agreement. “Whoever it is has had an extremely careful method of sharing information with the king. I’ve had a few of my guards keep eyes on some loose ends, but so far, no one has stepped out of line.”

Unless they found a coded way to share the information.

“What could he have done to cause this war between you?” she asked almost to herself. “I have no loyalty to the crown, obviously. Look who I’m working for.” She gestured to him before continuing. “But King Benedict is well-liked, even loved by some. From what I’ve read in the news pamphlets, he spends his days arguing with his council to make magical education more accessible to the rest of the kingdom. He’s the reason women are evenallowedemployment at all. I heard that he’s now petitioning the council for women’s business rights. I’m not saying you’re wrong for targeting him, as he’s clearly targeting you back, but what started it? What could he have possibly done to deserve such wrath?”

“He stepped on my foot once. Never got over it,” Trystan deadpanned.

Evie laughed and shook her head.

Trystan stood once more, reaching a hand down for her. Lightly pulling her to her feet and turning to the path leading back to the village, he said, “Now I would like to go meet with your village’s blacksmith, and I would like you to introduce me as your employer who is interested in a rare sort of blade.”

The blood in her veins froze, locking her legs in a vise grip. “The blacksmith?” Her hands shook so hard, she shoved them in the pockets of her skirts. “Why do you want to meet with him?”

“Otto Warsen?” The Villain said, pulling a slip of paper from his front pocket. “Blade found the name etched into the bottom corner of the dragon’s collar. Lots of craftsmen do it as a way of marking their work. An advertisement of sorts, so that anyone who admires it knows where it came from and might perhaps want one of their own.”

Evie swallowed a large lump, her legs finally working again, and followed him back down the path, feeling a sickly cold slithering through her. “And whoever requested the collar’s creation, in person, had to have given the order to include the engraving.” She concluded, “Or at the very least, the blacksmith took a bribe to carve it in by another party. It could be our traitor.”