Page 6 of Apprentice to the Villain

Trystan gritted his teeth, resolved not to give the king a damned thing. But curiosity bit at him like a rabid hound.

The king’s mask of gentility cracked when Trystan kept his mouth shut. “You are a selfish wastrel.” Benedict’s lip curled in distaste. “I made you my apprentice. I taught you everything I know; I molded you inmyimage. Not only that, I trusted you to do what’s best for this kingdom, watched as you endeavored to help me save it…and as you tragically failed.”

The sting in Trystan’s chest, behind his eyes, it wasn’t real. He didn’t need to feel it if he didn’t want to; he was in control. He sniffed and blinked away the liquid beginning to blur his already straining eyes, his torso protesting as he stood up straight. “Terrorizing the kingdom is so much more fulfilling than noble heroics. I’m glad I outgrew them.”

I won’t be shaken.

“Besides.” Trystan sneered, a surge of anger energizing him. “I helped you in my own way. I became The Villain of the tale—and isn’t that what youreallyneeded?”

The king smiled and nodded toward the doors, signaling the guards to leave. He didn’t want them to hear what came next. He waited until they were gone to speak again. “I don’t know what you could possibly mean.”

“I helped you scour the kingdom for starlight magic, if you recall. I helped you catch the female guvre. I watched as you identified my magic just to use it against me. I’m not a fool, Benedict. I knew those things were connected—my spies have heard the rumors ofRennedawn’s Story. There’s no need to pretend any longer.”

Benedict raised a hand to strike, but he caught himself, swallowed, and lowered it. “You’re so like your mother. Then again, I suppose Arthur wasn’t around enough to give you much of his temperament.”

The king spoke like he knew his parents well, but Trystanwould have to mull on that later. For now, he was too distracted thinking of Arthur, his father, who had been captured by the king’s men and—he felt a stone sink in his gut—falsely accused of being The Villain. “Surely now that you have me, you’ll release Arthur.”

“All in good time, my boy.” Benedict turned, torch still in hand, making his way to a sliding-open wall, all the light fading away with him. “Iwillhave the guvres, no matter the cost.”

As the darkness crept back in, Trystan lurched forward, suddenly desperate. “Benedict.” The king halted, his back turned. “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.” His gravelly voice was low, calm despite the jitteriness in his body.

The king turned, sensing the threat. Evie’s face appeared in Trystan’s mind; he couldn’t keep it at bay any longer. Her tears, her screams as Otto Warsen wrapped his disgusting hand around her mouth. Trystan’s physical wounds were nothing compared to the piercing ache pressing against his heart. He hadn’t felt so defenseless in more than a decade. His body couldn’t handle the strain of it all, the raw urge to protect her while being completely helpless to do so.

The king tilted his head, furrowing his brow in mock sympathy. “Did I forget to tell you? My apologies—”

Trystan could almost feel the words coming before the king said them. The foreboding suddenly made the darkness look like home. How fitting.

“She’s dead.”

Chapter 3

The Villain

Seven days later

Sage is not dead.

The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon, but the night sky seemed to almost be mocking him with its brightness, teeming as it was with stars.

The guards had dragged him from the dungeon, his limbs like sandbags thanks to the magical cuffs sapping his strength. He’d maintained his will thanks to one irrefutable truth, repeated like a mantra these last few days.

Sage is not dead.

The king had to be lying to torment him—a valiant effort, Trystan had to admit. But Benedict hadn’t factored in that he and Sage were irrevocably linked by a gold ink bargain: an employment tool that was originally supposed to ensure loyalty from his new assistant but had instead become a way to monitor her safety. Though Sage was still under the impression the inked gold band around her pinkie finger would kill her if she betrayed him, he quietly vowed to tell her the truth when he saw her again.

And hewouldsee her again.

It would be a disaster, of course. The way he would take perverse delight in her face flushing with anger and her nose scrunching. How she’d yell at him, and then the flush would go all the way down her chest, dipping below her bodice, at whichtime, naturally, he’d be distracted by it and stop listening. She’d notice and yell at him some more.

He couldn’t wait.

The chains at his wrists were long enough that they dragged to the floor, which was appallingly filthy and sticky with grime—even his dungeons weren’t this vile. But there were windows, and he could see, and at least the chains no longer bound him to the wall, so all in all, lovely upgraded accommodations.

“Could I get a corner cell?” he asked the guards through the bars. He’d barely spoken in the last however many days had passed, and one could hear it when the words croaked out, like sandpaper against stone.

“Shut it, you lout! I hope the king guts and hangs you after the unmasking.” The guard on his left pulled on one of his chains, and he stumbled.

“Will you be unmasking as well?” Trystan asked gruffly.