Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain Book 3)

The Villain

One summer in Trystan’s home village, there had been a rose shortage. Malcolm had lamented for weeks, as had Edwin, who often used them in his pastries.

Their father had finally managed to grab a full bouquet of them, and by the time he’d brought them home, Malcolm had taken one look, frowning, and said, They’re not as pretty as I thought they’d be.

Trystan had been irritated, having heard Malcolm drone on and on for weeks about how he couldn’t possibly go one more day without smelling a bloody rose. The irritation became too much. Trystan made off with the roses, turned them into a tea, and downed every drop. Amara had banished Trystan to the barn room for a week as punishment.

Still, he’d enjoyed them.

And he’d favored roses ever since.

Sage had no way of knowing this, so whatever product she used on her curls had nothing to do with that story, he was certain. But Destiny knew the story, and that fragrance seemed determined to take him out at the knees.

Another brush of her hair against his arm had him debating how many dark corners he could sweep her into. The wanting was worse than before, because now he knew exactly what he’d been missing.

And he wanted it again.

Kingsley had regained hold of himself and indicated a shortcut just down the hall. They followed reluctantly, keeping a fiercely close eye on the rogue frog. Arthur scanned protectively over the group, smiling at Trystan.

He didn’t smile back.

“Did you come to the castle when you and Kingsley were friends?” Evie asked, sliding a fingertip over each painting on the wall. It was a feat of sorcery, how that fingertip felt like it was brushing against his skin.

One dark corner. He only needed one.

“Trystan?”

Trystan. It made him remember the first time Evie had called him by that name. When she’d first found out, it made his heart stutter the way it was doing now, a heated wave sweeping through him.

“Once,” he said quickly, wordlessly hoisting her over another puddle and releasing her before the touch began to burn. “I visited the castle once for Alexander’s birthday, but he preferred to come to our village. He could be normal there. Here, he was prince of everything and for everyone. It was a lot of pressure on him. I never knew the castle well.”

Kingsley stopped hopping up ahead, too far away to hear them, but his small head bowed, the crown tilting. As they continued on, the halls became more secluded, and Trystan saw that the torch-lined walls displayed countless portraits of what he assumed was the royal family line, their gold eyes a dead ringer for Alexander’s.

And then there were two different directions to take in front of them.

“I don’t know this path. We should turn back,” Arthur suggested. “There’s a faster way to the dungeons, I’m sure.”

Kingsley shook his head, pointing a webbed toe down a darkened hall lined with more portraits.

Arthur tried to argue. “Trystan, I really don’t think—”

“Arthur,” Trystan cut in. “This is Alexander’s home.”

Arthur stiffened, then nodded as he gestured for the group to continue.

The amphibian prince hopped on as the leader.

“What was he like?” Sage asked, leaning toward him as they walked, her curls flowing forward. Roses again. How was she doing this? “When he was human, I mean.”

“Taller,” he responded dryly. “Talked more.”

Sage scrunched her nose. “Didn’t you say he was your best friend?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “Can’t you tell by how affectionately I speak of him?”

She rolled her eyes, shaking his arm. “Be serious. Give me something real.”

It was occurring to Trystan that when Alexander was human once more, Sage would see everything Trystan was not manifested into one person.

Charming wit, gallant manners, and an ease of giving affection to those the prince cared about.

“He was attractive,” he blurted.

Sage stared at him, serious, succinct in her delivery. “I’m sure he’s happy you thought so.”

Deadlands take me.

“I’m saying his cheekbones are very symmetrical, and in addition to that, he doesn’t kill people.” Two virtues right there.

Sage curled her lip and replied in a hushed voice, “How dull.”

Sir, I hate to belittle your successes, but there are people who go their entire lives without killing anyone.

How dull.

When Trystan had first told Sage about the rat in the office. A lifetime ago.

He shook his head in wonder, plagued with both pride and pain. “Accomplice indeed.”

“Watch your step. These bricks are uneven.” Arthur broke the spell, motioning to the uneven ground. The hallway was nearing its end, and Trystan could see light spilling in from small cracks in the panel at the end of the stretch.noveldrama

Kingsley hopped on, not slowing for them, not stopping, and who could blame him. Freedom was near. “Kingsley,” Trystan hissed. “Halt.” The frog kept going until they all skidded into one another. A dead end. And a portrait.

A portrait of someone familiar.

“Who is that?” Evie asked, tilting her head at the man painted there. Warm dark-brown hair, curly and carefully slicked back. Gold threads woven throughout his attire, one hand on a throne, one on a sword. Wearing a crown.

A gold crown, tilted just slightly too far to the right.

“Alexander Kingsley. Crown prince of the southern kingdom.” Winnie’s voice sounded hollowed, as if she were numbed to the whole endeavor, staring at the portrait with something that bordered on indifference. Or was it dislike?

“That’s Kingsley?” Evie gaped, and Trystan felt like his collar was getting tighter. “He doesn’t look at all like I thought.”

“What were you picturing, dear?” Tatianna asked, amused.

“I don’t know. Someone…froggier.”

“His eyes are kind of big.” Clare hummed, straightening the frame. “Frog-like, now that I think of it.”

Tatianna scoffed. “His eyes aren’t big, Clare; that’s just how his head is.”

But Kingsley didn’t enter the argument, just slammed his small body into the portrait, pushing it open like a door, and then he disappeared in a flash on the other side.

Clare yelled, “Alexander! No!”

Sage hesitated, trying to find something within the portrait. “Is this another dungeon entrance? Why would they use a portrait of Kingsley as the door?”

Oh gods. No.

“Clare, don’t!” Trystan called.

But it was too late.

Kingsley hadn’t led them to the dungeons. He’d led them to the throne room, and waiting on the other side were King Gavin and Queen Brina.

Along with the Lily Pad Knights.