Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(67)

Worse.

Folding his arms, he glared down at her. “You’re evil.”

She smirked, her eyes shining with vindication. Her words were smooth like the silk of his shirt brushing against his skin when she said, “Now you’re getting it.”

Tatianna hummed to herself. “Let’s take this spat into the party. I’m sure Lord Fowler would hate missing you two at each other’s throats, and the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we get the wand.”

Kingsley held up a sign.

Pocket.

Trystan swept him up, jaw clenched as he tossed the ingrate into his cloak pocket.

“He wants to reside in someone’s pocket for the duration of the party,” he explained, feigning a cough so Sage wouldn’t notice the wild movement as Kingsley fumbled with the paper drawing, trying to pull it out.

Sage folded her hands in front of her, the way she did during their morning debriefs. A ridiculous stance to see her in when she was dressed like a sea descendant, eager to drown him. “Oh.” She frowned, turning to reveal a wide expanse of her back, searching. “I don’t think I have any pockets for him.”

Kingsley seemed to almost be smirking at him.

“Do you see any, sir?” Sage twisted and stumbled, trying to see for herself. “Maybe on the back?”

“No. There aren’t,” he said, quick and firm, uncaring.

A thousand pockets could’ve laid on the back of that dress and Trystan would have no clue. He saw the curves and his vital organs began to shut down.

“My friends, my friends! Come!” Lord Fowler stood just outside the room where the guests were gathered, dressed as a king of the realm. A large, ostentatious crown sat atop his head, his fur robe coming untied as he opened his arms to welcome them.

Tatianna entered first, gliding through the room and smoothly slipping a glass of sparkling liquid from a serving tray. Clare tracked in after her, warning daggers aimed at Fowler.

Fowler took a gallant, sweeping bow, gesturing for them both to enter. “Come now, Villain! A dinner party for the ages. I think you’re due for some fun.”

Trystan crossed his arms, replying coolly, “I tortured a man a few days ago. That was fun.”

Sage’s hand flew over her mouth, and her eyes were wide. They glistened, as if filling with tears. She shook her head and pushed past both men into the throng of costumed guests.

He realized his error too late.

Trystan had just made a jest of the man who had broken into the manor and hurt her. A man who’d been the son of another man who had hurt her, forcing all of her pain back to the forefront. It was perfect, actually, Trystan tried to tell himself; he hadn’t even needed to try to push her away. He was skilled at it all on his own.

But keeping away from her in turn—Trystan found that considerably more difficult.

Which was his last scathing thought before he tore after her.





Chapter 44


Evie


Evie could feel Trystan following her, but she couldn’t stop. She kept her hand clamped over her mouth as she cut past staring people, moving to the back of the room covertly before a hand came around her arm.

“Come, apprentice,” Trystan said blandly. “I have business to discuss.” He tugged her into an alcove in the corner of the room. She didn’t protest, just yelped a bit and allowed him to lead her away. Once they were away from prying eyes, he continued. “I shouldn’t have brought up Warsen’s son. I didn’t mean to remind you of it. I apologize and— For gods’ sake, Sage, are you laughing under there?”

Evie’s hand fell from her mouth, and she gasped out a loud belt of laughter that she’d tried to hold back for the last several moments. “I’m sorry.” She gasped, wiping a tear falling down her cheek.

“Sage.” He paused, brows lifted. “Are you laughing because I mentioned torture?”

Her hands gripped her cheeks, and she winced. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s certainly not good.”

“I wasn’t laughing at the torture itself, per se. It was just such a quick rejoinder, and then I thought to myself, Don’t laugh at torture, Evie! That’s not funny! But then when I told myself it wasn’t funny, well, then it did become a little funny and— Stop looking at me like that. I’ve seen you crack a sick little grin while having your heads hung up.”

“That’s because I have a hankering for home decor.”

She let out another strangled laugh and slapped him on the chest. “Stop making me laugh and making it impossible not to enjoy your ridiculous costume! If you want to push me away, you’re not allowed to be funny!”

His dark eyes went cold. “Want to push you away?”

A thrill went through her at the break in his composure, but it wasn’t a consolation. Her plan to topple his defenses until he cracked and told her the truth was starting to seem a little less villainous and a lot more…pathetic.

Despite that one bit of headway, it was time to give it a rest, at least for the night.

She bolstered her confidence and straightened her spine. “Let’s let it go. All right? I shouldn’t have said anything.” She pressed a finger to his lips when he began to speak. “There’s no getting out of here until Fowler’s gotten his kicks, so let’s play the game, keep our eyes peeled for the wand, and maybe even enjoy ourselves a little.”