Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(136)

A low moan came from Trystan, and he slowly dropped to his knees.

Evie moved past her mother, fury coursing through her at the sight of Trystan so depleted on the ground. She dropped to her knees beside him, guarding his body with hers. “What. Destiny?”

Benedict smiled, and when he spoke next, her entire world shifted beneath her feet.

“The heart of the true prince is Trystan and always has been. The Villain’s role was something I’d hoped was interchangeable, but despite our advancements, magic is still a part of nature, and nature is not to be trifled with.”

The darkness climbed; the mist felt like it was seeping into her skin. Trystan didn’t let go of her hand.

“Your parents hoped I could siphon your magic at birth and give it to Trystan, and I was all too happy to finally have use for a son.”

Evie felt the mist settle into her, and her scar screamed out in pain as the magic flowed through every vein, every pore. Every part of her that had been missing it—sang.

“You’re saying…” Her voice didn’t sound like hers. It was deeper, husky.

Trystan gripped her hand tighter, and the darkness attempted to push him back, away—but he would not be moved. Evie released a choked sob, fighting back the darkness, too, not allowing it to separate them as they looked up at Benedict while he destroyed all they knew.

“Yes, Trystan was always supposed to be the true prince of the prophecy. And you, my dear—”

The darkness swallowed her whole as she heard his final decree.

“Were always supposed to be The Villain.”





Chapter 85


Evie


Evie stared out the window—the one in the kitchen that featured the book of Rennedawn—and then looked down at her palms. They appeared the same, they felt the same, but beneath them, she felt the stirring. The stirring of a power that was always meant to be hers.

And she had no idea what to do about it.

“Evangelina?” Trystan’s voice came from behind her, more tentative than she’d ever heard it. A candle in his hand, he walked toward the kitchen table, watching as the clock on the wall struck midnight. “Sit with me.”

Evie looked at him. The mist pulled at her feet, tugging her forward, and she was afraid—afraid of how much she enjoyed it. “You were right,” she said, sitting beside him, keeping a healthy distance.

Benedict had used the distraction of Trystan’s—or rather Evie’s—magic to escape. It hadn’t been difficult, Evie assumed. Not when she was in such a state of shock that she hadn’t spoken since.

Trystan looked worn. They both were. The identities they’d had their entire lives had been ripped out from under them. Now they existed in a new, unknown world where Evie was The Villain and Trystan was the prince. The hero.

And he’d been forced into this life because of her, because her parents had been willing to sacrifice an innocent six-year-old boy for the sake of themselves. They wouldn’t have accepted her. The family she’d fought for, the family she’d done everything for, had rejected her as she was.

Something inside her hurt.

“What was I right about?” he murmured, staring intensely at her.

“We are meant to destroy each other. I did ruin you. I ruined your life. Every bad thing that’s ever happened to you can be traced directly back to my birth. I never should’ve pushed you; I never should have been—”

Her wrist was manacled in a death grip as he forced her to stand. “If you finish that with the word ‘born,’ I will show you what a real villain is.”

She shoved at him, nearly in tears. “This isn’t amusing, Trystan.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m not laughing.”

Evie looked down at her hands. “We should keep our distance,” she said, taking a step backward, then another, until she turned to face her window again.

“That’s my line.”

“I mean it, Trystan. If the prophecy is to be believed, you have a true love to save, and it won’t be the villain of the tale.” She said the last word on a sob, gazing at the window until he forced her chin back toward him, his fingers gentle as he held her face.

“The reason my magic”—he swallowed—“your magic was going wild wasn’t because of Rennedawn’s curse. It was because we kissed.”

Evie shook her head. “Don’t tell me this. Please.”

But he showed no mercy. “I broke your sleeping-death curse, and you broke mine—being trapped with magic that belonged to another. That’s why the mist kept looking for you. And that’s why I always will, too.”

“Trystan,” she pleaded, too overwhelmed by a fate he’d so easily accepted, overwhelmed by the role reversal of him being the sure one.

He let go of her, stepping backward. “This isn’t over, Sage. I am going to find Kingsley, and after that, we will track down the guvre. We have guards posted around her nest. I’m hoping she’ll return, and then you and I will fulfill the prophecy and save the kingdom. Together.”

She hated how much she wanted that, hated that there was too much hurt festering in her to let her reach out and grab it. But she didn’t need to reach.

Trystan Maverine gave it to her. “You can resist this all you want, Sage. I had my turn, and now it’s yours, but as you said, I won’t be giving up on you. Ever.” He turned on his heel, then paused, spinning back without warning and kissing Evie with a fierceness that made her reach out to grab his shoulders. For the most fleeting of moments, they were locked together, and her treacherous heart knew nothing had ever felt or would ever feel so right.