Page 11 of Apprentice to the Villain

Another hint of a smirk dusted the king’s lips before it disappeared, though not before Becky committed the small movement to memory.

“Our kingdom will cease to exist.”

The crowd erupted.

Chapter 6

The Villain

“Look at me!”

Arthur Maverine was calling to Trystan, but he pretended not to hear. The blur of his black mask obstructed his peripheral vision, leaving him only the view of the audience throwing food at his feet. Everything felt slower, duller, like time had faded the world into something he no longer recognized.

“You swine!” a member of the gentry yelled, lobbing what appeared to be a cream puff at his feet.

He frowned at it. “What a horrible waste of pastry. I’d rather they throw rocks.” He said the words, emotionless, in an attempt to ward off Arthur’s insistent prodding.

“Trystan, we must get you out of here before you are unmasked.” There was pleading in his father’s voice, but it did not touch him—nothing would. He’d numbed his emotions so completely at this point, he wasn’t sure he could feel anything anymore.

Sage is gone. What does any of this matter?

He sniffed, frowning again at the desserts discarded around his shiny-booted feet. Benedict had had him dressed for the occasion, likely wanting him to look formidable instead of tattered and weak. It wouldn’t do for The Villain to have the audience’s sympathies.

“It is fruitless to worry for the Maverine name, Arthur. I’vealready quite readily destroyed it.”

Arthur sputtered beside him. “Th-That is hardly my concern at present, son! Nor should it be yours.”

Trystan lifted a brow beneath his mask and finally looked at his father. “My concern is for the poor cream puffs, actually.”

Arthur glared at him, all the while fighting against his own chains. “Be serious, Trystan. Your future is at stake.”

Trystan scoffed, fists clenching behind him. “What future?”

Arthur must have followed as Trystan’s eyes were drawn to the coffin; he couldn’t look away, wouldn’t. “Oh, my son,” Arthur said sadly. “She’d want you to—”

“Do notdaretell me what she would want. Do not speak of her at all.” The few nobles still throwing things at him halted at the venom in his words, smartly lowering their hands and backing away a few steps. The rest of the crowd was already parting, leaving room for Benedict as the king, in his jewel-encrusted crown and expensive fur cape, made his way to the dais.

Trystan stiffened when Benedict passed Sage’s coffin, running a hand over it with feigned sympathy. Trystan’s chains rattled as he pulled against them, a snarl behind his lips, and all his mind knew then was anger.

“For too long, I have failed in bringing The Villain to justice, in stopping the horrors he’s committed against my people!” the king bellowed out. “He is a danger to us all, his magic made to hurt, tokill.” All eyes were on the king, even those of the guards inching away from their posts to get a better view. “He’s terrorized noble families, stolen goods, and made Hickory Forest—a once beloved place—too fearsome for travel.”

In a different time, a different place, the flattery might have gone to his head.

“And the worst of his offenses—one I’ve endeavored to spare you all from.” The king sighed, like the words were painful, and Trystan had a strong desire to lob a tomato at him; his acting wasthat bad. “An atrocity committed ten years ago.”

Trystan’s head snapped up, his shoulders straightening at the hint of a reveal…but of what?

What is your game, man?

“Because of The Villain capturing and keeping Fate’s precious guvre for the last decade, the citizens of Rennedawn were made to suffer in nature’s act of revenge.”

Trystan’s subconscious cleared his despair-driven haze as he realized with shock what Benedict was accusing him of.

“The Villain is the cause of the Mystic Illness.”

Fucking damnation.

The crowd cried in outrage, yelling vulgar insults—nothing he wasn’t used to; in all honesty, some of them were quite creatively colorful—but his verbal lashings were usually for atrocities he’dcommitted.