Apprentice to the Villain (Assistant to the Villain, #2)

by Hannah Nicole Maehrer

And for all of you, this is what I think it would be like to be the morally gray fantasy villain’s apprentice.

It was an ordinary day for The Villain, aside from his body being on fire.

But even a body on her desk didn’t make her or her wretched smile falter.

He could sense her standing off to his side, practically glowing with heat, like an array of flickering light. Light he had to fight to stop himself from looking at, like it was physically tugging at his attention, his mind. But he wouldn’t let her distract him.

It was decidedly less so when the source of friendliness was a mere five feet away, smiling and…dear gods, was she humming?

A corpse on her desk might not be the thing that broke her, but late-night paperwork had an honest chance.

The troublemaking frog’s crown currently was slipping precariously to the side as he held up one of his signs. It read: Pretty. “You think I’m unaware of that?” Trystan grumbled, taking the sign from the precocious frog’s tiny, webbed foot, then slamming it face down on the desk before Sage could see it.

I won’t be commanded by a damned frog.

Don’t press. It matters not. “How old were you?” he asked. Damn it.

“Sage, I—” He halted his words. An apology tipped against his tongue. An apology? The Villain didn’t apologize. The mere urge to do so stunned him so much, he closed his lips.

In the last seven days alone, he’d heard the little liability speak more than any other human being of his acquaintance…and he alarmingly could recall every word.

My gods, the woman was like the sun. He needed tinted glasses just to look at her.

He swiftly called an order for someone qualified to follow Sage into the darkness, to make sure she arrived home in one piece.

The knight knew who he meant, but a shiver still cooled the heat in his blood. The Villain.

It was like death, the dark. Death without peace, a dark without light—the

“There. Now you can see me more clearly.” “The horror. Put it out.”

“My assistant is of great value to my business. If anything has befallen her, if she’s been harmed in any capacity…I will ruin you. And I will be sure to do it in broad daylight for all to see.”

How she’d yell at him, and then the flush would go all the way down her chest, dipping below her bodice, at which time, naturally, he’d be distracted by it and stop listening. She’d notice and yell at him some more. He couldn’t wait.

“I’m not wearing a mask,” the guard said. He sighed. “Pity.”

Of course, he knew it was irrational to wish, but as the star out the window twinkled, daring him to—as it had once before—he found himself doing it anyway. He wished to find Sage. He wished to tell her he was sorry. He wished to be better about revealing how he felt, bit by bit. And perhaps, most importantly—he wished to have a godsforsaken tea party with her little sister, Lyssa.

Sage, Evie, the woman who owned the entirety of his blackened, tattered heart, was well and truly gone.

She didn’t answer, wouldn’t, and it occurred to Trystan then that he would never hear her voice again. Her excited yells, her infectious laugh, her melodic humming, her jokes, her candor. It was a piece of his world he’d taken for granted, and now it was gone forever.

There was a spell on this room—it was the only explanation for the disappointment she felt when he returned to the sunshine expression he gave to everyone. The intense one had oddly felt…like it was meant just for her.

“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.”

Sage is gone. What does any of this matter?

“My concern is for the poor cream puffs, actually.”

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

“Sh-She’s gone!” yelled a noblewoman.

There, with flowers falling from the length of her hair and a wicked smile on her red-painted lips, stood Evie Sage. Alive.

That shock thawed slowly as his eyes drank in every inch of her. He’d never be able to look away again.

His knees buckled as her blue eyes caught his, and her smile pushed even wider still.

Her choice would always be him.

The sound of Trystan’s voice was lovely, too. The loveliest.

Trystan was fighting, thank the gods. He’d looked defeated in the moments before she appeared, but no longer.

Was it hope for escape that had caused this change in Trystan? Or was it…her?

Why do men take pain as well as ice takes heat? “You wicked bitch!” She took a bow. “At your service.”

She was afraid, but she knew now: fear usually meant you were standing on the edge of something new, something self-altering, something potentially good. Fear was not something she would shy away from ever again.

“I would never make the mistake of underestimating a woman like you. It would be a fatal one.”

his starving eyes took her in. Rosy cheeks, bloodred lips, wild black curls. Mine.

She was human, she had a pulse, and it beat in the worst way for someone it very much was not supposed to.

Relief and comfort eased the tightness in her chest. A warm tear tracked down her cheek as she smiled shakily and said, “Hello, evil overlord.” The Villain did not cry; she knew this. But she also knew that for the rest of her life, if she got to grow old, wasting away in a bed, recounting her adventures of working for the darkest figure in the land, she would swear to herself, even then, that she saw The Villain’s black eyes glisten. His words finally came on the turn of his lips that, if stretched up any further, she knew would reveal…one singular dimple. “Hello, little tornado.”

He spoke gruffly. “I did not think you wished to be impaled.”

Blade suddenly cried out in pain, leaning down to grip his shin, then turned accusatory eyes on The Villain. “Nice to see you, too, boss. Might I ask why you just kicked me?” He continued to stare, expressionless. “My foot slipped.”

But what made them both pause was the small green animal Benedict had gripped in his fist. Kingsley.

The stupid godsdamn frog.

“Sage, why is Kingsley here?” Trystan asked, attempting leveled calm. “He likes cream puffs.”

that it had utterly failed against her impenetrable ability to spin the ugly into something not only amusing, but worth loving.

Without warning, Sage’s hand slipped around Trystan’s middle, nudging him aside. “Kingsley! Remember what I taught you.” He watched Sage with horrified amusement as she opened her mouth and then clamped her teeth down. The tiny amphibian blinked in awareness, then opened his mouth and closed it…right around Benedict’s hand.

The entire kingdom will know your name before this night is through—and all of them will want you dead.” Trystan shrugged. “That isn’t so very different from every other day of my life.” Benedict raised a cruel brow. “I wasn’t talking to you.” Trystan’s entire body clenched at the words,

I could dent his stupid little crown, she thought maniacally. “Cease whatever trickery you’re planning. You’re terrifying the shrubbery with that look on your face.” He huffed,