Page 62 of Apprentice to the Villain

“Your family members make mine look like a picnic,” The Villain gritted out after Helena had slammed the door behind her.

Evie stared at him with a blank expression and then asked curiously, “How is Malcolm? We haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“He sent a letter to the manor while I was captured that said he hoped I didn’t get executed.”

Both of her brows shot upward. “Oh, well, that’s promising.” She gentled her voice. “And Arthur? Have you heard from him since he returned home?”

“He sent me a letter as well. It appears both our families have made a habit of poorly timed correspondence.”

Evie usually tried her best not to pry, but he looked a little like he wanted her to.Wishful thinking.“What did it say, Trystan?” She lightly touched his arm.

The Villain actually appeared to soften a bit at the sound of his name. “I don’t know. I crumpled it up and threw it in a drawer. I likely will never open it.”

It would be easy to chide him for it. But he didn’t need her to tell him how to manage complex feelings. She barely knew how to manage her own. “If you ever want to open it, I will sit with you. You don’t have to read it out loud or anything like that. But if you wanted someone there…I’d be there for you.”

He moved away, rotating his arm like her light touch had strained a muscle. “I will, um, keep that in mind.”

She looked at the keys, out of reach on the small table, and then back to The Villain. “All right.” She nodded, swiftly changing the subject, and flicked a hand toward him. “Remove your shirt.”

“I beg your p-pardon?” he sputtered. “For what purpose?”

She rolled her eyes. “Relax, Evil Overlord. I’m not trying to offend your delicate sensibilities. I’m going to make a rope to bring the keys over to us.” Even as the words came out with ease, though, her face felt aflame.

He untucked his white shirt and pulled it over his head.

Terrible plan. Terrible, horrible, AWFUL plan.

If it wasn’t already clear that the effects of the flower had worn off by the beginnings of a headache, this would’ve sobered her completely. She’d seen him shirtless before, in passing when he was training with the Malevolent Guard, or if he occasionally became overheated during a Scatter Day run. But she’d always avoided staring, at least for a long time and certainly not this close.

Shut your mouth!She clamped it so tight her lips were bloodless beneath the rouge. He looked more menacing without his shirt on, like he’d grown seven feet in the last few seconds. His chest was widened with muscle, his shoulders hard, and… Was he flexing?

“There you go, little tornado,” he said quietly, dropping the warm garment into her hands.

Her eyes went to the gold-flecked ink that circled his upper arm, like vines and leaves that had been gilded into his skin. It was nearly identical to the employment ring on her pinkie finger—the one he’d claimed to have given her for trust purposes, so that she’d never betray him.

“It looks like mine,” she declared, reaching out, running her finger over his mark to compare. He sucked in a breath, andshe looked to his face. It had gone blank, but not the normal disinterest he showed everyone in the office—no, this was forced. He wastryingto be emotionless.

Interesting.

“A…coincidence.” He sounded confident to the untrained ear, but Evie had spent an inordinate amount of time observing his minute tells. He wasnervous.

She squinted and crossed her arms. “Are you sure it’s not because you used the gold ink bargain to magically link us so you’d always know when I was in danger?”

His eyes popped so wide, he resembled a caricature drawing. Exactly as she’d hoped. Better, even. “You know?”

She snorted, bumping her knuckles under his chin playfully. “I’m afraid I’ve known for a while, Your Evilness.”

One hand fell to his hip, the other dragging through his hair till it almost stood up on its own. “You—you— How?”

She shrugged. “I guessed. Clare confirmed.”

Words were normally a struggle for him, but now they seemed completely out of reach. She put him out of his misery. “I thought you’d tell me eventually, so I didn’t say anything, but I got impatient. Sorry.”

The apology, ironically enough, was the thing that sent him over the edge. In a flash, she was in his grip. “You’re sorry, not angry? You don’t hate me for keeping it from you?”

Carefully, she removed each of his hands, giving him a dubious grin. “Do I hate you for protecting me instead of putting ink on my body that will kill me? Oh, yes. To the gallows with you, you deviant monster.” Her sarcasm didn’t seem like it was well taken—her boss was still too flabbergasted, too confused, so she added with a touch more humility, “Sir, I’d hardly begrudge you secrets. I have my own, too.”

His head angled toward her, his astonishment turning into something sharper. “Like what?”