Hannah Nicole Maehrer, or as TikTok knows her, @hannahnicolemae, is a fantasy romance author and BookToker with a propensity for villains.
When she’s not creating bookish comedy skits about Villains and Assistants, she’s writing to Taylor Swift songs. Her biggest passions in life include romance, magic, laughter, and finding ways to include them all in everything she creates.
Most days you can find her with her head in the clouds and a pen in her hand.
BY HANNAH NICOLE MAEHRER
Assistant to the Villain
Apprentice to the Villain
Accomplice to the Villain
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First published in the United States of America in 2025 by Red Tower Books, an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC
First published in Great Britain in 2025 by Penguin Books an imprint of Transworld Publishers 001
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To my grandparents
Georgann, dearly departed Richard, Rosalie and James For so generously passing your love of stories to me I love you all dearly
And for all of you—
This is what I think it would be like to be the morally gray fantasy villain’s accomplice
Accomplice to the Villain is a laugh-out-loud, fantasy romance with severed limbs thrown off the balcony for fun and office pixies poisoning the cauldron brew. In addition, the story includes elements that might not be suitable for all readers. Blood, death, battle, serious injury, extreme pain, torture, familial estrangement, graphic language, sexual situations, child abuse, and imprisonment of an animal are shown on the page. Readers who may be sensitive to these elements, please take note.
Prologue
Once upon a time…
Evie Sage’s first month working for The Villain had been rather unconventional, though at least not cataclysmically shocking. A spilled cauldron brew here, a poisoned intern there. But there had been a few strange…incidents. The most recent being her summoned into work two hours early for a meeting she was almost certain could’ve been a short message sent through the ravens.
Find better things to complain about, Evie! Like the hand you found in the reuse bin last week!
Although that had at least given her the opportunity to ask the boss if he needed an extra set of hands. The frank horror on his face had caused her to laugh so hard, she nearly made herself sick.
It was mildly disconcerting that he was more offended by her harmless jokes than the foreign limb he’d lobbed in with the discarded parchment— Becky hated when they mixed anything in with parchment recycling—but she digressed.
Sighing and wiping the sleep from her eyes, she watched as the invisible barrier around Massacre Manor wavered underneath her fingers. Her attention flickered to the rising sun leaking color into the still-darkened sky. It looked as though someone had spilled orange and pink inks onto a darkgray tapestry—pretty, if anything could be so before eight in the morning.
Marv, the Malevolent Guard at the front gate, gave her a gentle wave, and she smiled brightly at him, blowing a kiss that pinked his cheeks. “Good morning, Ms. Sage! Early bird gets the worm?” His normally wild hair was contained underneath a red leather helmet while Evie’s was plaited to the side, a few loose hairs pulling free around her face as they swayed in the early-morning breeze.
She stepped back as the large wooden door slid open with a familiar creaking, the damp chill of the entrance hall cooling her cheeks and filling her senses with the smell of wood burning and musty walls. “More like the early bird doesn’t get fired…and knowing the boss, that would be literal, I’m afraid.”
Marv’s chortle sounded behind her as her heels clicked on the stone floor, the torchlight brightening the room and warming it against the morning air. A low groaning echoed from the other end of the large, open space, near the only corner that was shrouded in darkness.
Her brow furrowed as she waved a hand forward. “Hello? Whatever creepy sound you’re trying to make, can you kindly do it under the torchlight so I can see you? That way I can scream properly.”
“Sage?” The rasp of The Villain’s voice caused a tingle of sensation to move down her spine. “You shouldn’t be here,” he grunted out, his dark shape inching toward the edge of the shadows that cloaked him.
She huffed and quirked a brow, folding her arms and pushing her thick braid behind her shoulder. “On that, we agree. I should still be in bed, curled up with my favorite nighttime companion.”
She thought she heard him choke. “Companion?” There was an odd sound of warning in the word that made her shiver just slightly.
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “His name is Mr. Muffins.”
“Mr. Muffins?” She could see his shadow inching closer to the light, his voice gruff and laced with confusion. “You’re laying with a man called Mr. Muffins? Who in the deadlands is named something so ridiculous?”
She bit her lip to keep from smiling at his obvious outrage. “A teddy bear I’ve had since I was six.”
There was a long silence before a flat word broke it. “Oh.”
She snorted and walked closer, as did he, finally washing himself in the light of the torches and the colors seeping into the room from the rising sun. She halted a few feet from him, eyes widening when she saw his face, words falling off her tongue before she could think better of them. “Wow, you look… terrible.”
The cobwebbed logical part of her brain sighed and rolled over so it wouldn’t have to witness what came next.
The boss’s normally tailored stubble was overgrown into a near beard, his shirt untucked, his hair mussed, and his normally pressed pants wrinkled beyond reason. “I beg you not to shower me with compliments, Sage. I hardly know what to do with them.”
Worry wove itself into the bottom of her stomach. Even his dry commentary seemed off, almost guarded. Clearing her throat, she stepped closer to take in the rest of him. Purple under his eyes, flexed fingers, tensed
jaw, pulsing vein in his forehead.
She frowned and tsked. “Did one of the interns say good morning to you again? I told them pleasant greetings were strictly prohibited.”
He shut his eyes for a moment and flattened his mouth into a firm line, like if he pressed hard enough, he could crush whatever emotion was about to show itself on his lips. “As much as I enjoy blaming others for my mistakes, I’m afraid there is no one to blame for my unkempt appearance but myself.” His dark eyes roved over her soft orange day dress, the distaste at her color choice obvious in the tightening of his fists at his sides. “And you, I suppose. For having the gall to witness it.”
The door suddenly slammed closed behind them, and Evie jolted, clasping a hand to her chest and her racing heart. “I hardly think it’s fair to blame me for anything, when you were the one who requested me here so early in the first place.”
He frowned deeper—if that was even possible—which made him look even more beautiful—
If that was even possible.
Annoyed and tired, she lost her patience at waiting for him to catch up to her. “You sent a raven…”
When he stared blankly at her, she continued to bumble out words, her mouth eager to get every thought out of her head to make room for the new ones. “It showed up at my window at four in the morning and scared the living daylights out of me. With a note saying we had an early-morning meeting about something urgent?”
A low hum sounded from his closed lips. It cleared any remaining tiredness from her system, like cauldron brew but better, warmer. “I don’t recall writing or sending… My restraint is at a low this morning, Sage, and apparently my memory as well. I must have written it before I was fully lucid. Please disregard the raven.”
Clanging metal sounded from the back courtyard—likely the Malevolent Guards getting in some morning exercise with their lethal weapons. Fitting, as she was now imagining grabbing something sharp and stabbing her boss in the toe. “Disregard? You couldn’t have disregarded before your damn bird cut two and a half years off my life?”
“That’s an alarmingly specific number,” he said, planting his hands against his tapered waist.
“It was alarming for me, too,” she deadpanned, snickering as he glared.
“I keep a tight rein on my magic, and I think sometimes when I sleep, when my body relaxes, it stirs uncomfortably and makes it difficult for me to continue resting.”
A pang in her chest she identified as sympathy made her anger dissolve like shadows in the sunlight. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there any way I can help?”
His jaw went slack. “Help…with my death magic? The magic that sends most people running and screaming?”
She blinked innocently. “I can do that after I help if it’ll make you feel better.”
His incredulous expression could so easily morph into a laugh, if she just pushed him a little further…
But of course, as Evie’s calling card, disaster had to strike first.
Doubling over suddenly, The Villain breathed heavily into his knees. “Damn it all. My hands burn, and my arm…” He reached up to grip his arm, circling his biceps.
Her hand fell lightly atop his, trying for gentleness with a man she was certain was scarcely used to it. And sure enough, his response was violent and startled. So startled that he jerked away like she’d laid an open flame to his skin. “Sage, are you mad? I’m dangerous right now.”
“I know,” she said softly. “You haven’t had your cauldron brew yet.”
“You are not amusing,” he wheezed.
Evie inched closer, angling her body down just a bit to meet his face. “My goodness, but that’s nothing to cry over. I think you’re as amusing as dry wood, and you don’t see me bursting into tears.”
His face softened as he looked up, perplexed, then shook his head, but in a gentler way. “Sage. How on earth did you get here?”
She folded her arms. “I walked.”
“That was rhetorical,” he said, sounding almost unaffected, his voice losing its strain.
“Those questions are the most fun to answer.”
He sighed; it was one of defeat. She knew it well. “Why is that, Sage?”
Evie propped a hand on her hip to angle herself lower. “Because it annoys you.”
The harsh sigh out of his lips could almost be counted as a laugh if she was clever enough with her imagination. When he brought himself back up to full height, rubbing his knuckles in soothing motions, the last points of tension on his face finally smoothed back into his normal flat expression.
She couldn’t see his magic—nobody could, and likely nobody ever would— but she could feel something very dark moving about the room with them, smaller than it was moments ago, but still something that should’ve made her shrink away in fear. Instead, she felt settled in it, almost…comforted?
She stayed where she was. “Is it any better, sir?”
His head turned toward her slowly, dark brows slanted downward. “Yes. It is. How did you…”
She shrugged, eyes flicking up to the glisten of sweat on his forehead. “I find that it’s more difficult to focus on pain when you’re distracted, and I excel at being distracting.”
Pulling a yellow handkerchief from her pocket, she boldly stepped forward and began dabbing at his skin, leaning on his arm with her other hand for leverage. The man was taller than was sensible.
She made a note to start wearing a higher heel.
To make lecturing him more efficient. No other reason.
Gooseflesh rose on his exposed forearm, the chill from the room obviously setting in after the adrenaline fled his system. “Th-Thank you, Sage.” He pressed the bright cloth to his knuckles, the color contrasting harshly with his all-black attire. “I’ll return it promptly. Clean, of course.”
She shook her head, smiling gently. “Keep it. You need more color in your wardrobe anyway.”
He nodded, processing the words as if scribing updates to their inventory logs. “Very well.”
A small ribbit sounded from the other side of the room, and Evie’s eyes followed it until she caught the gleam of Kingsley’s shining crown and the glow of his golden eyes. The frog’s oddities had grown on her in her short time in the office, his charming little signs a darling addition to what was turning out to be rather bloody work.
Literally.
“Good morning, Kingsley. Aren’t you looking handsome today.”
Another ribbit followed her pronouncement, and her boss rolled his eyes in annoyance. Too many pleasantries, clearly. “He looks like he’s up to no good. What are you doing down here, Kingsley? Trying to make another escape attempt?”
“Maybe he was checking on you,” Evie suggested, the last word fading away slowly when the boss shot her a glare. She took a few careful steps back, veering closer to the stairs, closer to Kingsley, who was scribbling on his small board with a vengeance.
“Not likely,” the boss said flatly, moving around her and taking two large strides up the stairs, a creak following in his wake. Which, she mused, didn’t make much sense—there should be no creaking. The stairs were stone.
“What is that?” she asked, looking from side to side for the source. Foolish. She should’ve looked up.
“Sage!”
Before she could take another breath, she was being tugged forward like a
rag doll, a startled scream leaving her lips when a large crash sounded behind her. She coughed at the dust that was kicked up and the sudden stream of light coming in through the roof.
“Are you injured?” the boss asked, the low timbre of his voice pulling her from the adrenaline making her mind race. His dark eyes were scanning her, his large hands on each of her shoulders. It brought her back to their first meeting in the forest. She’d thought the shock of his touch would fade as time trickled by… No such luck.
She only managed to nod before he pulled his hands away, stalking toward the ruined slab of roof that had nearly clobbered her. “Shall I send for someone to repair the roof, sir?” she asked carefully, amazed at how steady her voice sounded when her heart was beating out of her chest.
“You were nearly crushed, and you’re asking about the roof?” He stared at her, mildly outraged.
She shrugged. “Still not my most life-threatening day on the job, believe it or not.”
Something went dark in his face, darker than normal. He stared at the hole in the roof for a few seconds, taking deep, steadying breaths. “You’re still new, Sage. Worry not. There’s time.”
She laughed, and his face pinched the way one would respond to eating a sour grape. “So, uh. What happened to the roof?”
“The manor is old. It was likely natural wear. Some rusty screws probably giving. I’ll have it looked over by someone in the office and get the hole repaired. This won’t happen again.”
She hmmed. “Too bad. Near-death experiences are a very efficient morning jolt.”
“Stick to the cauldron brew, Sage. Specifically, for me. Even more specifically, on my desk, in twenty minutes. But be careful getting around this mess.”
He kicked at the broken piece of roof like it had deeply offended him, and Evie took it as her cue that she was dismissed. She lightly skipped around the debris, coughing a bit when her feet kicked up extra dust. Something slid under her shoe, a tiny ringing from it as it slid across the floor. She nearly stumbled over another as she leaned down to pick them up. The metal glinted in her hand. Screws. Not at all rusty. In fact, they looked perfectly intact.
“I told you to be careful.” The words stopped her, and when she turned to look at him, he appeared older than she knew he was. Weighed down by some burden he’d never share with anyone but himself.
She smiled brightly, trying not to take offense when he winced. “I’m a terrible listener.”
“That’ll get you into trouble someday, I think.”
She scrunched her nose before spinning around, her dress swishing about her legs as she made for the stairs to get them both a cup of cauldron brew. Kingsley hopped beside her, expertly balancing a sign in one webbed toe, whatever word he’d been trying to convey earlier written plainly.
Danger
She smiled small. “Little late for that warning, Kingsley.”
Gently straightening his crown, she continued up the stairs. She called back cheekily, tossing the screws through the air, and the boss caught them with ease and frowned down at them. “I think my terrible listening will actually get you into trouble someday.”
She almost stopped again at a sound. It was as if The Villain was whispering something behind her.
Something that sounded an awful lot like…
“It already has.”
TChapter 1
Kingsley
here were severed heads hanging from the ceiling…and one of them belonged to Trystan Maverine.
Alexander William Kingsley awoke with his tiny heart pounding in his slimy green chest. The cushions on his small, gilded bed were pressed under his webbed toes, and he glanced down from his perched resting spot at the sleeping man on the bed, relaxing only slightly when he saw Trystan Maverine’s chest moving in a smooth rhythm, a slight snore escaping his best friend’s nostrils.
A horrid nightmare. That was all it was.
Alexander wouldn’t pay it any heed, lest he drive himself mad trying to communicate what he’d dreamed one bloody word at a time. It was morning, birds were chirping happily outside, and he’d awoken…
Another day in the body of a frog.
It was another nightmare entirely—or at least, he used to think so. Over the decade he’d spent mourning his life as a man, Alexander had come to find several useful things about his predicament.
1. There were no exhausting expectations of always being gallant and chivalrous (because who in their right mind would expect a frog to be either of those things?).
2. He didn’t have to fill silences with useless conversation. (He actually found that in most instances, a single word sufficed quite nicely.)
3. He was small enough to sneak around the manor to wherever he wished in order to keep a close eye on his friends (and it could not be overstated how much his friends needed keeping a close eye upon).
4. People often forgot that he was once human, leaving them unguarded in confessions, secrets, even feelings. (Every day was fresh entertainment!)
5. And finally, and certainly most enjoyable, was watching his best friend—
The Villain—a man who Alexander had never thought would open up his cold, closed off-heart, fall truly, deeply, and wildly in love with Evie Sage.
A screech sounded down the hallway, and Trystan startled awake as Alexander just had moments prior. “What in the deadlands? Who is screaming?” he grumbled gruffly, turning to Alexander with a flat expression. “It’s one of the Sage girls, isn’t it?”
It had been two weeks since the Valiant Guard had attacked the manor, since the pregnant guvre had been taken, and since Evie’s mother, Nura, had returned from being in hiding among the stars. Two solid weeks of Evie and Trystan not speaking—in part because of the erratic impact Evie seemed to have on Trystan’s magic, and in part, Alexander was certain, because the two would sooner knock their heads together than confront their unspoken feelings.
Or, as Alexander had begun referring to their silent avoidance of each other—torture for the masses.
Trystan grumbled, throwing back the covers and donning the shirt strewn over the chair by his new desk. Somehow, the movement was timed to near perfection with Lyssa Sage barreling through the door, giggling and skidding to a hard halt when she saw the scowl on Trystan’s face.
“Evie said if you make faces like that, it’ll get stuck that way, Lord Trystan,” Lyssa said, giving Alexander a tiny wave.
Alexander lifted his webbed foot and waved back. Lyssa Sage was a constant delight, as were all children who’d yet to be touched by the horrors of adulthood.
And the depravation of common sense.
“Good. I prefer my face this way,” Trystan grumbled, tucking the ends of his shirt into his loose trousers as Lyssa went to tug open the dark drapes over the windows.
The girl frowned at him as early-morning light streamed in. “You prefer it like that? Why?”
“I like to look angry and intimidating,” Trystan said, sticking a foot into each of his well-worn boots.
Lyssa pressed her lips together before muttering, “But you don’t. You look like you need to use the bathroom.”
Inwardly laughing, Alexander furiously jotted down a word on one of his signs—a difficult feat when Trystan had first presented him with the idea, filling the office area and every room with baskets of the little signs and chalk for Alexander’s use alone. The first few times, his handwriting had looked abysmal, but after ten years of practice, no one ever had trouble deciphering what he wanted to say.
He held up his sign proudly.
Yep
“I will throw out every one of those blasted boards right now!” Trystan bit out. It was an empty threat—one Trystan had thrown around countless times over the years and one Alexander knew his friend would never dare follow through on.
“Lyssa!” Another light voice echoed down the hall. “There’s breakfast for you in the kitchens!” Alexander identified the voice as that of Evie Sage, The Villain’s newly promoted apprentice.
If Alexander had not already recognized the person attached to the voice, he need only look at how rigid Trystan had become at the sound, like one more word would break him in two.
“Are you coming for breakfast, Lord Trystan?” Lyssa blinked at him, then gave Alexander a wide, innocent smile.
Trystan stared hard at the door, like he was willing Evie to stay far away from it. But Alexander knew his friend’s internal war well enough to understand that Trystan was simultaneously wishing her to walk through it. This had become, in Alexander’s opinion, a masochistic ritual over the past two weeks.
Admittedly, “The Villain” had been sneaking looks at the young woman all along; this wasn’t new. They’d started as curious glances, like studying a lab specimen, then begrudgingly moved to intrigued staring, and then to the current stage—pure agonizing, desperate glaring. The past two weeks, however, had taken the man’s self-inflicted torture to a new extreme. In the last fortnight, The Villain had crept around corners, lingered in doorways, and pressed his ear against any wall she was on the other side of.
All not especially different from before…
Except for the groaning.
“I’ll take breakfast in my office.” Trystan halted halfway to the door. “Is your sister…coming to retrieve you?”
Lyssa shook her head innocently. “No. She’s just returning from an errand.”
Trystan’s expression did not change, but his eyes became more alert, his gaze sharp on the little girl, though it gentled as he bent a knee to match her height. “What do you mean, little villain? What errand?”
Lyssa shrugged and gestured an arm toward the door where Evie’s voice had just sounded. “I don’t know. She just said it was off the property with Keeley and that I couldn’t go.”
Alexander was not surprised at the clench in Trystan’s jaw or the obvious worry shadowing his dark eyes. The manor had been located, and Evie’s face was plastered all over Rennedawn on a wanted flyer with a generous award attached. The only protection they had now to ward against the Valiant Guard was a grove of thorns planted by a black-market gardener, which had proved to be an efficient deterrent for the king’s men thus far, but outside the manor
doors…the danger was real. And it was great.
Still, Keeley—the head of The Villain’s guard—being present was an indication that Evie would likely have been in no serious danger. The young woman had been placed in charge for very sound, very violent reasons.
Logically, Alexander knew he need not worry. He suspected Trystan might know this, too, and though Alexander was a frog, not a mind reader, when you spent every moment of every day for ten years straight watching, you became somewhat of an expert observer. But that hardly mattered.
No expertise was required to look upon Trystan Maverine and know that the feeling boiling within him was the purest sort of anger.
But Trystan didn’t showcase any of that emotion to Lyssa, who looked at him with concern, her big brown eyes homed in. “Since Evie is so busy, shall we do our tea party today, Lord Trystan?”
Trystan looked relieved at the subject change as he nodded, a small movement upward tugging at the corner of his lips. “I suppose I can postpone my afternoon target practice.”
Lyssa squealed and made her way to the door—hopefully not knowing the target at said practice was the interns.
As both Alexander and Trystan watched Lyssa Sage’s dark head disappear, a somber mood descended upon the now empty and joyless space. Trystan sighed before moving to open the armoire and pulled out what Alexander knew was something of great import to his friend.
The scarf Evie had given him at their fateful first meeting sat in Trystan’s hands, and Alexander watched with a painful sympathy as Trystan brought the scarf up to his face and closed his eyes.
It was too sad even for a cursed frog to watch.
Alexander Kingsley turned his attention to the floor while his friend mourned a fate that Alexander swore he could prevent. If only he were human enough to stop it.
TChapter 2
The Villain
rystan Arthur Maverine took torture quite seriously, but the past fortnight was a newfound low even for him.
Attempting to stay away from Sage was akin to a horror spectacle he’d seen performed at a theater a few years prior: bloody, awful, and forcing him to question his ability to make sound decisions. The door was cracked open, and the morning buzz of the workers trickling in made an ache form near his temples. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to close it.
Because while Sage was on the other end of the wide office space—and though he had to strain to accomplish it—he could still hear her humming.
He couldn’t close the door…and risk missing it.
Even if the sound ravaged as much as it healed.
The low din of the office beyond grew louder, the telltale sign of some new tidbit of gossip that would be in Tatianna’s ear before the day ended. He didn’t care to know; his foul mood had plowed through any sense of social decorum he might have had. Not that much had existed inside him even before he’d extracted himself from Evie for their own good. Sage believed their separation was in the name of protecting his magic, but in truth, he didn’t care about that. He cared for nothing but preserving the fragile thread between them without destiny cleaving it in two.
Evie Sage is meant to be your downfall, and you her undoing.
Destiny monsters were rare; most considered them mere myths. Creatures that existed before the creation of the magical continent, watching, waiting for the gods to paint it in magic and color.
The destiny monster at the Fortis Family Fortress had announced the tragedy of their future as if it were absolute, but Trystan declared to himself he could avoid it…if he avoided her.
His chair screeched against the stone floor as he threw it back so far it slammed into the wall. Wood creaked beneath his fist as he gripped the door by the edge, but before he could slam it closed and bring himself the peace he desperately craved, the entry to the main office space opened.
And what he saw bent the knob beneath his hand.
Sage appeared at the entry, one shapely pants-clad leg moving in front of the other, giving him no choice but to pull the door to his office open wider, treading away from his safe haven, the same space where her desk had once sat.
The ice pixies were wafting cool trickles of air through the office vents to compensate for the cloying heat outside. It brushed against the skin at Trystan’s neck to chill him. But it made no difference. It all felt like it burned.
Sage stepped inside, the loud conversations lowering to mumbles as she began her walk down the middle of the office floor, straight for him. He tried to remain unmoved despite the purpose in her eyes as her hips swayed, and she looked directly at him for the first time in thirteen and a half days.
He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway, waiting, watching, trying for indifference. Meeting the challenge in her eyes with one of his own. Only wavering when Trystan noticed a few gazes from other workers— lingering on the way Sage’s pants clung to her or the way her hands clasped behind her back, on how she thrust her chest up at a soul-rendering angle, or on the small curl of her red lips as she was stopped by one of his finance men. She politely pushed past him when he leered down and whispered something in her ear that made her cheeks pink. It was only a flash of discomfort as she continued past the man.
That was enough.
Finally, he thought maniacally. An excuse to burn every arithmetic book within a ten-mile radius.
Sage’s laugh knocked through Trystan’s inner tirade as she bumped her hip against the finance worker gently. Too gently, if you asked Trystan. She needed to use more force…or a pickax.
Trystan made a note to have one left in her office later with a blue bow on it.
Keeping his distance from her didn’t mean he couldn’t gift her with weapons—that shouldn’t tempt fate or destiny or whatever fucking force decided that together they would be each other’s downfall and undoing.
As if she sensed the turmoil of his thoughts, Sage’s light eyes lifted back to Trystan’s. His practiced stoicism was well in place, if the answering ice in her expression was any indication. She hated when he was emotionless. Little did she know, beneath the blank expression was so much feeling it was practically
coming out his ears. It was horrid.
She stopped in front of Trystan, too close for comfort, too close for breath. “Good morning, sir.” Her curls were pinned back with little strands left out, teasing the sides of her face.
She hadn’t addressed him directly in a fortnight, and those three words had his black heart lodged in his throat.
“Good morning, Sage.” Trystan swallowed, almost wincing at the hoarseness of his voice.
Without standing on ceremony, she thrust a small page of notes wrapped in brown thread against his chest. It was then he saw why her hands had been clasped behind her back: it wasn’t simply to torture his senses. At least, that was what Trystan inferred, looking down at her gentle fingers with more curiosity than horror.
“I’ll ask about these documents you presented me with, Sage, but first I think I’d rather address the giant in the room.”
Gods help him, she looked confused as her brow furrowed and her nose scrunched. “What?”
“Your hands,” Trystan said wryly, gesturing at them. His patience was walking a tightrope with no net below.
Surely she knows it is obvious.
Sage looked down, her suddenly white cheeks the only indication of something amiss.
“What about them?”
Trystan’s eyebrows shot toward his forehead. “Is there any particular reason?” He scrubbed a hand down his chin.
“For what?”
“That they’re covered in blood?”
IChapter 3
Evie
n all honesty, Evie’d had more than enough time to wash the blood from her hands before returning to the manor.
But that would not have been half as satisfying as looking her boss in the eyes for the first time in two weeks, her expression even-keeled as he gazed upon her with alarm and concern, an awkward silence settling between them. That was fine. Evie was well acquainted with awkward. They were old, dysfunctional friends.
“Oh. This blood?” She made a show of examining her hands, turning her wrists, scanning them from all angles. Her acting was exaggerated, bordering on animated, but the goal wasn’t to fool The Villain.
It was to drive him out of his gourd.
She shrugged, privately relishing the twitch in his eyebrow. Brushing a curl away from her eyes, she tilted her head curiously. “Why do you ask?”
The twitch turned into a full-blown jerk of his head, and she nearly jumped with glee. Oh, how she had missed this—pulling emotional reactions out of him until he looked ready to combust.
Don’t torment the boss, Evie!
Unless you think of a super fun way to do it!
“You’re a menace,” he growled.
She smiled demurely as she dipped into a small curtsy. “How kind of you to notice.”
There was a pause as The Villain took a deep, bracing breath. He was hanging on by a final fraying nerve, and one more push could have him snapping like a twig beneath her boot.
She frowned inwardly to herself. What she was doing…it occurred to her that it was rather cruel.
Her frown turned quickly into a smirk.
This charming development in her character was enough to assuage her guilt at purposefully causing discomfort. Usually when she did it, it was an accident, one she made an honest attempt to rectify. Now it was as if the leash on her brain had been untied, and her mouth was all too happy to accommodate her new level of freedom.
This two-week reprieve was kind enough of her. The Villain’s break was over, as was his peace.
With a ragged sigh and locks of his unshorn hair falling into his face, he looked at her with world-weary impatience.
Woo-hoo!
“Sage, I have more pressing matters than cracking the code of whoever you have mutilated this morning. Spit it out.”
Instead of answering as he asked, she reached for the handkerchief sticking out of his pocket, the maroon fabric so deep in color that it masked the blood she was now staining it with as she began cleaning off her hands.
A gasp sounded at her actions, and Evie felt the eyes of every office worker on her back, even as they pretended to shuffle papers, using the low murmur of conversations to disguise their eavesdropping. She glanced at Trystan to see if he would reprimand them, but he was evidently too busy looking like a cornered animal, ready to snap at the next threat of attack. “Are you finished?” he asked with a bored drawl, but the slight twitch of his eyelid gave him away.
“Almost.” She smiled again but wider this time, baring her teeth. Then she finished swiping over each finger with a flourish, folding the handkerchief carefully and tucking it back into his open palm.
She waited several seconds to speak, just to see if she could make the vein in her boss’s forehead protrude any farther. Another moment of silent staring passed.
Mission accomplished.
She used her victory as a call to mercy. “I went with Keeley to the East End Slums,” she said, clipped and succinct, as if she was speaking of going for a jaunt about a meadow filled with daffodils and gumdrops, not one of the most fraught and dangerous sides of Rennedawn, where every manner of reprobate spent their time.
Her boss included.
His eyes went impossibly wide, his jaw clenching in a bite that looked like it might shatter his teeth into nothing but bone dust. It was delightful.
“And what, pray tell, were you seeking there?” He stepped closer, his gaze hard, and for the first time since Evie had entered the office space, she felt like
her control wavered. Because this was the first instance in two weeks where she was close enough to smell the cinnamon on his skin and see the depth of his black eyes as they saw right through to the heart of her.
“I—um…” Suddenly, she was at a loss for words. Which in and of itself should indicate complete and total disaster. She cleared her throat, banging a hand against her chest like a bit of dust had gotten stuck. “We were looking for leads on Rennedawn’s storybook prophecy. The waning magic is worsening. There have been reports of large gray patches of land leeched of color, like all the magic is folding back into the earth.” Evie worried her lip, and The Villain averted his eyes. “If we’re to have any hope of fulfi lling the prophecy before Benedict can, every lead counts. The Malevolent Guards got a tip this morning about an elderly gentleman spouting poetic nonsense about the lore. Apparently, his great-grandfather was one of the early king’s advisors and he’d read some of it as a child.” She gestured to the papers that were nearly crumpled in his hands. “We found him, and all it took was a few battings of our lashes and some helpless sighs and he was spilling everything he remembered. Which, granted, was sparse…”
Trystan’s eyes flashed to the blood on her hands once more, this time with an intensity that felt like it could touch her. “So you decided to punish him for it?”
She faltered, remembering the other men in the bar grabbing for her, the scar on her shoulder tingling in response to the dagger hidden at her thigh. “A few of the tavern’s regulars caught wind of who we were and attempted to turn me in for reward money.”
His arm tensed, and it reminded her that beneath the surface of his starched linen shirt lay a golden tattoo identical to the one circling her finger— the one that would’ve told him quite clearly if Evie had been in any mortal danger. He should’ve been aware that, an hour ago, she and Keeley had been circled like prey by a group of men. Perhaps he had known and just didn’t care…?
Her riotous emotions grasped for anything to cover the hole carving out the center of her chest.
“I stabbed one of them,” she blurted.
Perfect.
The Villain’s brows shot skyward, his gaze returning to her hands as he asked with lethal quiet, “Only the one? What of the rest of them?”
Closing the distance between them, her face tilting up to angle closer to his, she watched in satisfaction as his throat bobbed and his hand flexed at his side.
She pushed further, annoyed that he was brushing past her first true violent act since her promotion. “I stabbed him in the neck. Is that not enough for you?”
He shook his head, his face hard. “Not if he touched you. Not if any of them did.”
Her lips parted in surprise, and she blinked. “Does that matter?”
Anger flashed in his dark eyes but then winked out to nothing seconds later, and with a small sigh of defeat, he closed them. “Of course”—he said the words carefully, like if they landed too hard, they would shatter something— “it matters.”
Her head tilted as her hand brushed lightly against where his heart lay, an unwanted burn flaring where they touched. “Why?” she whispered.
He did not open his eyes, even as his head tilted closer, like he couldn’t resist the pull between them, like it was agonizing. His shoulders rolled in an apparent attempt to shake away pain. “Because, Sage—”
In a flash that knocked them both apart, his dark-gray death magic, the magic only she and Trystan could see, started to come off him in waves, swirling about her feet before extending out to the rest of the room.
“No!” Trystan hissed. “Come back. I did not call for you!”
But it was too late.
The dark magic swarmed about the room, enveloping everything in its path. Gray mist tangled around her ankles, gliding over her wrists and swirling through the strands of her curls so closely, the cool whisper of it tickled the sides of her face.
“Sage, get back!” Trystan bellowed, holding out his hands, his face straining in his attempt to regain control.
It should be noted that Evie’s first instinct was to resist the request, to stand beside him until the power calmed—but in a humbling turn of events, she realized that the only way to calm him, to calm his magic…was to stay away.
The cobwebbed chandelier swung under the force of the black mist, the framed wanted flyer of The Villain rattling against its place on the wall. “Okay. I’m backing up!” she announced to the magic, trying to stifle it. And failing.
Thoroughly.
The wanted flyer fell, crashing hard onto the floor, a horrible breaking sound echoing in its wake. The frame had cracked directly in half at the impact, the glass slicing the portrait in the same manner, tearing the parchment right through The Villain’s flaming head.
“What was that?” one of the interns cried as the mist swiped out several torches, casting even more darkness about the space. Accusatory eyes fell upon her boss, who was still grappling for an ounce of self-control.
“It’s a new Scatter Day method,” Evie said quickly. If she could not quell the boss, she would have to put herself to use some other way. By getting rid of the workers.
The boss’s voice was ragged as he ordered, “Be calm, everyone. Do not panic.”
“The boss has set a ghost upon the office. First person it possesses loses… their head!” Evie yelped and then closed her hands over her lips as if it had been someone else.
There was a moment of silence, followed quickly by shrieking, the workers tripping over themselves to get to the exit, pixies squealing as they fluttered past, a stampede of interns following them. When the last person finally stumbled out of the space, the silence was overwhelming. Her boss was staring at her, his face unreadable, as he started to saunter casually to one of the abandoned chairs across the room. The power was slinking back to him in slow ripples, some of it still lingering at her feet until, with something between a puff of breath and a tiny squeak, it abandoned her boots and returned to The Villain’s side. His eyes were no longer hard on her, but he was leaning back in the chair, his arms crossed like an indolent king as he sighed.
She flinched like there was accusation in it, forcing her defenses to rise. “I didn’t think they’d all run away.”
“You threatened them with a ghost,” he drawled, rubbing at his chin. “What were you expecting?”
“I didn’t threaten. I warned,” she corrected, walking over to the shattered wanted portrait, picking up the remnants of The Villain’s false depiction that had once brought her such joy. “Would you rather I announce to them that your magic’s out of control anytime you get too close to me? While I’m at it, I could mention that the entirety of Rennedawn’s magic is going wonky because the prophecy is nowhere near complete. Oh! Or I could tell them that if we fail to complete it ourselves, King Benedict will have ultimate power over the kingdom, probably forever. That ought to make for good break-room conversation.”
His eyes flashed dangerously, and she regretted her words as soon as she saw their impact. His magic edged closer to her again, the mist dancing around her feet until she felt the cool slide of it against the skin of her ankles. It was dangerous magic, it was what made her boss “The Villain” in the first place, but she couldn’t help but find the dark power delightful. Comforting, even. Like a home she’d never known.
“Sage. I think you should return to your new office. Since I’m so”—he swallowed—“out of control.”
Her heart softened, and her soul felt as tattered as the ruined portrait between her fingers. “You know I did not mean it that way,” she said softly. “Go.”
The word was hard and cold. Nothing of the man she’d come to love, no hint of him behind the walls he was rebuilding around himself.
She looked down at the flyer, clutched between fingers still pinkened with the remnants of her morning skirmish, and pulled it to her chest. Sniffing and straightening her shoulders, she walked toward where he sat and bent down to eye level. “No.”
His head shot up, and his lips parted, a sheen over his black eyes. “Sage—”
“Ms. Sage! Mr. Villain!” One of the newer interns burst through the door, panting wildly, arms waving. “It’s horrible!”
The Villain shot to his feet, exchanging a glance with Evie while they braced for the worst.
“We found the ghost!”
“I
Chapter 4
Evie
thought you didn’t believe in ghosts,” Evie said as they took long strides down to the office kitchens, where the apparent “ghost” was residing.
“I don’t,” her boss grumbled.
“Then why are you coming with me?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously as they rounded the corner, a flash of an open window gifting them wisps of warm breeze and the sweet smell of green grass.
“Because on the off chance there is a spirit haunting my kitchen, I hardly want you to be its first impression of the living. You’ll scare it.”
Evie huffed and shoved at his shoulder. His magic aided her and formed a line around his feet until he was stumbling headlong into the wall. “Sage!”
She shrugged innocently, spinning around and walking backward through the kitchen entryway, addressing him with wide eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I scare you?”
When Evie turned, however, she did in fact scream—in surprise. “Gods! Mama, what are you doing?”
Nura Sage stood before them, moaning over the kitchen sink with a cloth wrapped around her finger, buried in one of Edwin’s giant aprons. The garment was so overlong on her that she did appear spirit-like—haunting the oven, apparently. Her mother brushed her curls back behind her ears with one hand, her golden skin glistening with sweat. “I heard your office chef was taking a day off, so I thought I’d make one of your favorite desserts. But I think I was overly ambitious. I haven’t used an oven since Gideon’s fifteenth birthday.” Her mother smiled sheepishly. “I burned myself, and I’m afraid my moaning and hunching over may have frightened a few of your workers. I’d forgotten how clumsy I am in the kitchen.”
“That’s just as well, Mistress Sage,” her boss said dryly beside her. “Your daughter appears to be clumsy everywhere else.”
Evie glared at him, outraged. “I’m not the one who just tripped over my own magic.”
“Oh my,” Nura said quietly. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. Shall I excuse myself?”
“No!” they both yelled, proceeding to glare at each other again. Ironically, as much as she loved them both, there were two people in the world Evie would not want to be alone with, and both of them stood before her. At least not right now, when there were too many feelings tied up in every direction. She wanted to retain her calm claim to power, and she could not do that with Trystan when she felt a little like she might strangle him.
And Evie’s mother, well… Her mother’s presence felt a bit like it was strangling her.
“All right,” Nura said carefully, stepping away from the counter, a serene look upon her face. The calm woman before Evie was a stranger. She’d hoped that the past weeks would reacclimatize her to her mother’s presence as she’d done with Gideon, but this was different than her brother’s return. Granted, it had hurt to have her brother willfully stay away all these years, but it hadn’t started that way. He didn’t always have a choice.
Nura Sage, however, had a choice, and no matter what happy feelings surged at reuniting with her—and as much pain as Evie knew her mother had suffered—she couldn’t help but resent her for forcing Evie to suffer all those years, too. Alone.
Nura smiled at her; it was motherly and nostalgic. It upset Evie’s stomach to look upon it, but she smiled back anyway, praying her mother still couldn’t tell the difference between her sincere one and the false one. “Perhaps you could stay, then, Evie? If Trystan must return to work? We could attempt to salvage this dough together.”
Nura was so hopeful, and every inch of Evie’s soul was screaming at her to comply, to be agreeable, because surely she’d avoided this long enough. The past two weeks, she’d only seen Nura when she was also with Gideon or on the very rare occasion that Lyssa spoke with their mother. It wasn’t that Evie wasn’t grateful for her mother’s safety or the newness of Nura’s emotional stability. It was that she couldn’t trust it.
She wasn’t sure if she’d even know how.
When a childhood was ruled by the patterns of others, that child learned as an adult to heed them. And as was her pattern, anytime Evie’s mother had a good day, it was always followed by several bad ones.
“I would love to, Mama,” Evie started, feeling a little like a rabbit caught in a snare. “But I’m working. Perhaps another day? The week’s end, maybe?”
Nura’s smile faltered, a sadness Evie recognized behind her warm brown
eyes. “Oh. Of course, how silly. I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“I have no work to do,” Trystan said, folding his hands in front of him expectantly.
Evie and her mother stared at him, awaiting an explanation. “Are you bragging?” Evie angled her head as she took him in. Had the two weeks apart completely undone her ability to read him? What on earth was he doing?
He raised a brow at her before turning to address her mother. “I’m attempting to say that I would be happy to help you bake if you need a steady set of hands.”
Oh.
No cause for alarm.
He was merely attempting to turn her heart inside out.
That terribly warm feeling spreading through her chest only worsened when her mother’s face brightened and her eyes softened, hopeful. “Oh, Trystan, dear, I could not ask you to do that. I’m sure there’s much business you need to attend to.”
Her boss began rolling up his sleeves until they were tucked neatly at his elbows. Forearms—which she was sure weren’t meant to be a sensual part of the body, but at which Evie found herself staring anyway—were revealed, and she felt her face flush.
“No business,” Trystan said, sauntering toward the dough and looking at it like it might detonate. “The boon of being the boss is deciding my own schedule without complaint from my subordinates.”
Evie grumbled, “I wasn’t going to complain.”
The Villain gave her a pointed look as he pulled a significantly shorter apron from the small closet and handed it wordlessly to Nura, who smiled, busying herself with it in the corner of the room. “‘Subordinate’ implies I have some sort of control over you, Sage,” he said quietly, turning away to cinch the ties of his own apron at his back. “And I would say, by all accounts, you’re hardly below me.”
“Even if he’d really like you to be.” Blade grinned, appearing at Evie’s shoulder. At her eye roll, he slung a muscular arm around her, his green sleeves billowing from his copper vest all the way to his wrists.
A metal spoon soared through the air and knocked Blade square between the eyes. “Ow!” the dragon trainer yelped, releasing Evie as he rubbed at the spot with an accusatory look in his amber eyes.
“Evie’s mother is present, you disrespectful lout.” The Villain took a threatening step toward the dragon trainer.
Blade rubbed his forehead, glaring. “I’m not the one undressing her daughter with my eyes.”
The Villain’s nostrils flared, and Evie was between the two before her boss could take another step, holding a hand out, halting him. “I’m almost certain my mother would find violent murder more offensive than innuendo.”
“It doesn’t have to be violent,” her boss said dryly before turning to attend to the bowl of mangled dough. “Although this…”
Nura stepped forward, her bemused grin at the display fading into a wince when she looked upon her creation. “I know it’s hopeless. I thought it would help if I added that strange pink flour, but it seemed to only make the texture worse.”
“You used my pink flour?”
Lyssa stood in the doorway, her black hair now in two braids adorned with red ribbons, her dark eyes round and glistening with unshed tears and her fingers clenched into tight fists. “That was for my and Edwin’s tea scones.”
Their mother seemed to be unsure of what to do with her hands as she tried to grasp for something to say to the daughter who had been ignoring her almost entirely since her return. Lyssa had refused nearly every attempt at Nura’s attention, and Nura, for all her faults, had taken it in stride.
Until now.
“Lyssa.” Nura reached out for her youngest daughter and flinched when Lyssa stepped farther into Evie’s side. “I—I’m so sorry; I had no idea. Can you forgive me?”
Lyssa’s dark brows turned to a downward slant, and Evie felt her sister’s hands shaking against her waist. “No. That was mine, and you ruined it. You ruined everything.”
“Lyssa,” Evie said carefully, reaching for her little sister but catching only air when Lyssa stepped away and bolted from the room.
A long pause settled over the kitchen, no one moving an inch until Gideon poked his head in, his sandy-brown hair slicked back away from his face. “Everything okay in here? I ran into Lyssa, and she seemed upset.”
When Evie finally found the courage to look upon her mother’s face, she knew with a certainty that Nura’s good day was over.
And Evie braced herself.
For a bad one.
TChapter 5
Evie
he sun had barely risen the next morning when Evie sat upright in bed, clutching her chest, feeling a yawning ache, like someone had hollowed her out and left nothing but emptiness behind.
Lyssa snored quietly beside her, not even flinching when Evie sprang up and dressed, completing all her morning ablutions before gently shutting the large wooden door. Her sleep schedule had been abysmal as of late; she often woke several times during the night until she finally gave up.
The sunlight had just begun to show itself as she crept toward a window, leaning her arm on the ledge to peer out over the wide range of Hickory Forest. She was so lost in thought, she didn’t hear footsteps approaching.
“Good morning, Ms. Sage!” Marv called, nearly dropping a crate that was teetering too far to the left.
Evie rushed to grab the other side, helping Marv place the crate on the ground. “My goodness, Marv. Are you moving?”
Marv pulled at his collar, sheepish, shyly looking upon the box. “No, just taking the donations down to the entryway until they can be transported. Lots of treasures for the less fortunate! It was your sister’s idea.”
The box was filled with keepsakes—an oval portrait of a very pretty woman, a paperweight in the shape of a flower, a cluster of pens, a small toolbox, and a few other odds and ends.
Evie bent down and picked up a fresh pack of quills for writing reports. “Why don’t you place this in the storage closet just down the hall? There’s plenty of room in there, and you won’t have to travel as far with something so heavy.”
Marv blushed, fiddling with his fingers. “That’s most generous, Ms. Sage. Thank you.”
She patted his cheek and picked up the box, but she had overestimated her own strength. As the bin clattered back to the floor, the toolbox rattled out, and the lid cracked on the stone. Out fell a small hammer, a smaller screwdriver, and several shiny new screws.
Marv calmly went to his knees to pick them up, placing them back in the box. “Oh, my. Now I’ve made a mess. My apologies, Ms. Sage.”
Something about the screws looked familiar, and Evie wasn’t certain why…
Until she heard a creaking sound above.
“Ms. Sage! Look out!” Marv cried, tugging Evie to the ground just out of range of a collapsing air vent cover, falling down atop her and guarding her body with his own. The metal clanged against the stone floor with a ringing so loud that the door it had collapsed in front of swung open.
Trystan’s room.
“What the blazes was that?” Trystan roared, shirtless and disheveled, freezing when he spotted Marv atop Evie just a few feet away. “Marv.”
Marv looked skittish and frightened. “Yes, sir?”
“Get off her now. If you please.” Marv scrambled off of her, and Trystan was already at her side, tugging her to her feet.
“Don’t be rude to him,” Evie scolded. “He just saved me from being squished.”
Marv frowned down at the screws, connecting something Evie had already started to. “Hey. These screws… Did someone try to unscrew the vent? But why?”
“To squish me on purpose,” Evie guessed, remembering the manor’s collapsed ceiling a while back and its perfectly intact screws somehow coming loose.
“Or me,” Trystan rumbled beside her, coming to the same conclusion. “Marv. Whose tools are these?”
Marv’s eyes dipped, saddened. “I don’t recall. The crate was left out for any items to be discarded in the office. It’s been sitting there all night, sir. I should’ve been more vigilant; shall I gather the workers for questioning? Or you could question me!” Marv offered generously, always eager to assist.
“Not necessary, Marv. I’ll find the answers on my own,” Trystan stated, and Evie felt her hackles rise.
“I could help,” she argued.
Trystan shut his eyes tight, releasing a breath before returning to his chambers, muttering as he walked…
“No. You can’t.”
S“Chapter 6
Evie
he just needs time, Mama,” Evie assured her mother later that morning as Nura paced the length of Evie’s new office. What had once been a mere brightly lit corner alcove had been converted into an open and cheery little space. Her white desk, which Trystan had once thrown a body across, was now pushed up against the window so that the light delightfully warmed her skin while she worked. Every morning, a bouquet of white roses appeared upon her desk, as well as a new tin of vanilla candies—the first from Marv, the second from Edwin. Small touches of kindness that felt like the grandest of gestures were often Evie’s favorite. It meant someone was thinking of you at the most ordinary times of the day and sought somehow to improve yours. It created an air of sweetness to mask the bitter feeling of being shoved off to the corner like a child in a time-out.
She’d made the effort to adorn the windows with small blue and white paper butterflies Lyssa had made the day Evie was “banished.” It had been Lyssa’s attempt to make the distance between Evie and The Villain seem like a happy change. Except Evie was afraid the only change it invoked was her new and sudden alarming disdain for butterflies.
Nura stood by the other window, leaning against it and running her fingers gently down the stained glass. “I know. I’m sure this is all very frightening for her. I suppose I just wish she’d be more like you in that regard.” There was pride in her voice as she walked toward where Evie sat. She leaned over the desk to place both hands upon her cheeks, looking into her face with a gratefulness Evie did not deserve. “You accepted me again right away.” A tear ran down Nura’s face. “My sweet girl and her sweet smile.”
