Assistant to the Villain (Assistant to the Villain, #1) (88)

“Arthur, would you excuse us? My assistant and I need to have a conversation,” he said, unable to keep the thin edge of anger from his tone. He watched Sage’s delicate neck tighten as she swallowed her breath.

“Now, now—” Arthur began, but Trystan didn’t have time. He could tell by the wideness of his assistant’s eyes that her imagination at what “The Villain” might do when he fired her for this recklessness was running wild.

“I’m sure your guests would like your attention.” He waved at the people hovering around them, desperation lighting their eyes.

Arthur stood slowly, the familiar lines of his face causing his chest to tighten. “Promise you’ll sit down with me before you leave, Trystan?” The hand his father placed on his shoulder nearly made him growl, but he bit back any response and just nodded stiffly.

As soon as he was out of earshot, The Villain whipped around to Evie, only to find her slowly creeping in the other direction. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh, I was just going to…” And to his surprise, she turned hard and sprinted through the crowd.

“Get back here, Sage!” Trystan hollered, feeling ridiculous as he chased after her like a fox on a hunt. He bumped into a couple wrapped in a passionate embrace and rolled his eyes at their protests of outrage. “Evangelina!” He dove for her hand, but she slipped out of his grasp and ran onto the rickety bridge, farther into the darkness.

She couldn’t make this easy for him—of course she would run. Trystan used to like when people responded to him that way, once upon a time, but right now he hated it.

He followed close behind, determined, despite the heavy feeling in his heart that he must have frightened her. He wanted to kick his own ass at how he’d handled seeing her there—so close to his father. Fear was not an emotion Trystan was used to feeling, and clearly Sage was determined to make him suffer it often.

The bridge groaned and wobbled underneath his weight, and the darkness that lay beyond threatened to swallow him, but the moon once more caught on the gems in Sage’s hair. Trystan kept his gaze there, knowing he’d follow that light wherever it went.

He’d never been this sentimental, and it was all her fault.

When he reached the other side of the bridge, the trees whipped in the cool night air, and, without the fire to warm it, the air was frigid. She was probably cold.

“Sage, come out. You’re going to catch your death, and then I will have to hire Rebecka in your stead.”

She stumbled from the bushes, twigs sticking from her hair. “That was evil.” She glared.

He looked at her sardonically, raising a brow. “That’s kind of the point.”

She walked closer to him, nervously pulling a curl between her fingers. “All right, go ahead. Yell at me.”

“Oh? Am I supposed to yell?”

“I know you’re angry because of something to do with Arthur—” she started.

“I’m not angry,” he interrupted, pushing a drop of sweat from his forehead. When she just cocked one brow at him in challenge, he admitted, “Yes, I am very angry, but not because of Arthur right now.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, so you are angry with me…that I didn’t come to you before I went to the gathering thing? But I swear I didn’t know it was going to be hosted by your—your, um…father and that I would upset you.” She said the last word on a wince, and he had to swallow a laugh, a problem he didn’t seem to have until recently.

“I’m not upset, Sage,” he said, gathering his thoughts along with his racing pulse.

She gave him a scrutinizing look and motioned to the grip that his other hand had on the hilt of his sword.

He released it immediately, feeling slightly sheepish, perhaps for the first time in his life. “It’s a habit,” he grumbled.

“Right.” She nodded, exaggerating a pout, as she walked around him to sit on the cliff’s edge. The glow of the fire lit the planes of her cheekbones even from a distance.

“I’m not angry with you,” he said, awkwardly bending to sit beside her. “I was notified by my guards that my employees were here. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence, but there was never a moment where I thought not to trust you.” The Villain wasn’t sure why it was so important that she know this, but it was.

She seemed to believe him, peeking down at the golden band around her pinkie finger. He looked away, feeling guilty.

“I’m glad you trust me,” she said flatly.

“Oh yes. You sound it,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Trystan looked to the candles decorating the trees around them, glowing, perhaps, brighter than when they’d first arrived on the other side of the bridge. The music floating gently set a lovely scene. The Villain didn’t know what contentment felt like—he’d spent so long living uncomfortably in the world that he’d begun to rely on that emotion, never allowing himself to settle.

But in this moment, he thought perhaps he could. Quite easily.

“I’ll say this for my father: his parties always have good music.”

Sage’s gaze turned to his, and his face was close enough that he could see the candles’ reflections in her eyes. “Does he do things like this a lot?”

“I don’t know.” Trystan sighed, pressing his middle and pointer finger against the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t talked to him in years.”