Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(65)

Evie’s eyes widened. “All right. Tell me. I won’t repeat it to a soul, I swear it. Let me keep your confidence for once.” She took Tatianna’s hand in a gesture of comfort.

The words came swiftly. “I’m afraid.”

Evie’s voice softened. “Of what, Tati?”

“Of the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

Tatianna shuddered. “I want to be with Clare again. I want to believe that she has changed. That she’s no longer under her mother’s thumb. But I don’t know if I can trust her…”

“Oh, Tati…” Evie’s heart twisted at the pain and regret etched onto her friend’s face. “You’re being far too hard on yourself. If you and Clare are meant to find your way back to each other, you will. The trust will come in time.”

A gleam came over the healer’s dark eyes as she squeezed Evie’s hand. “Thank you for saying that. I needed to hear it.”

Evie leaned in to kiss her friend’s cheek, picked up the dress, and then addressed the servant who’d just entered to do her hair. “Excuse me. I don’t think the corset is necessary. Could you help me do this up, please?” The maid hurried over with a bright grin.

“It’s see-through in some spots, Ms. Sage. You’ll make quite the splash!” The maid seemed gleeful about the prospect of this, and Evie couldn’t help but feel a little like this week’s entertainment in the Fowler household.

Tatianna watched as the dress clung to Evie’s body with each button hooked until it was done up at the top and Evie turned around. She did her own spin, feeling pretty and feminine.

Tatianna shook her head, her lips curving up. “Oh, Evie.”

Evie ran her hands down her sides, the soft fabric cool against her fingers. “What do you think?”

Now Tatianna looked to be the one enjoying the entertainment. “I think you’re going to send him to his knees.”

Evie’s smile was sinister, and she felt it when she responded demurely, “That’s the plan, dear Tati. That’s the plan.”





Chapter 43


The Villain


“I feel like a jackass,” Trystan muttered.

Clare contemplated her brother in the entry hall of Lord Fowler’s home. Her dress was spun in green and a pattern of twisted vines, small pink flowers popping up in all directions: the perfect depiction of a forest nymph. “I thought you were supposed to be a demon?”

The two creatures may as well have been synonymous for how ridiculous he felt in the getup Fowler had saddled him with. He swore on everything he hated that when Fowler released them, Trystan would return for a visit in the very near future, with Fluffy in tow.

This place would be vastly improved if it were lit on fire.

“I am a demon,” he said with the conviction of a fruit fly. “Don’t you see my scary horns?” “Scary” was not the word—“absurd” fit better. There were two sharp horns clipped so tightly to his head they may now be a permanent fixture. The red cloak they’d put him in was hardly serviceable, considering it was made of thin silk. It wouldn’t keep him warm during a heat wave. His shirt was another red, the dip in the neck lower than the shirts he wore to bed and also silk.

And also ugly.

A whistle sounded, and Trystan whirled at the noise, hoping to see Sage, but that hope deflated when his eyes locked on Tatianna, though she was lovely as always. He peered at his sister out of curiosity and watched with begrudged amusement as Clare slowly wilted into a besotted, lovestruck fool.

“All right there, little sister?” Trystan asked casually. “Would you like a handkerchief for the drool?” He handed her the leaf-green cloth from his pocket.

“Ha. Ha.” She ripped it from his hand and squinted down at it. “I haven’t seen this color before. Is it new?”

Trystan felt a blush creeping up on his cheeks. Or blood—not blush—it was blood in his face. That sounded better.

No, it didn’t.

“No.” He swiped it from her, shoving it back in his pocket. “It’s not new.” It was. He’d had to special order it yesterday. The color was difficult to pinpoint.

Tatianna reached the bottom of the staircase and preened, turning left to right. “What do you think? Do I resemble one of the office pixies?”

Clare’s entire mien read tortured. “I have seen the office pixies, and they do not look like that at all,” Clare said.

“It’s true,” Trystan uttered. “Tatianna is much taller.”

Tatianna stared at him, and Trystan felt a twinge of self-consciousness. “Tryst.” There was a patronizing air as she patted his shoulder. “That was actually funny.”

“Compliments are usually negated when you add the word ‘actually,’” he grumbled, shouldering off her hand and turning away with a huff and roll of his eyes. Internally, he was quietly growling in frustration that his sense of humor had cropped up when Sage wasn’t there. Would it have made her laugh? Would she have teased him?

Would he ever pick himself off the floor and muster what was left of his godsforsaken pride?

Severed heads. Murder. Rage. Revenge—

“There you are, Evie!” Clare called, and Trystan stubbornly planted his feet on the polished wood floor, determined not to turn, determined not to care what creature Fowler had bestowed upon Sage.