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

Clarenoveldrama

The following morning…

Clare had lost everything.

Hours after her father’s death, she was still numb. Nothing was real to her. The breeze brushing against her cheek was an illusion, the sun shining down on her a flagrant lie.

Her father’s body was being prepared to travel back to their village. He’d be buried by the sea.

They’d all failed.

Alexander had disappeared hours ago, leaping into Hickory Forest before anyone could stop him. Tatianna had told Clare this, but she had not registered it, her brain not processing the words. The only thing she found she wanted to do was wander aimlessly around the manor, its grounds, even into the forest.

Dead. All she knew was that her father was dead.

And it was her fault.

Alexander never would have had to be transformed back if Clare hadn’t gotten involved. He’d never have lost ten years of his life or his ability to speak; he’d never have lost himself completely because the magic had run out.

Standing now on the edge of Hickory Forest, she somehow managed to clock that it had begun raining again. Drops of water slid down her cheeks, dripping from her chin. But the sun still shone. It took her several moments to realize it was not rain after all, but her tears.

She wiped at her eyes, but that only seemed to make the tears come faster until she was sobbing, hunched over on her knees.

“It’s all my fault. All my fault.” She cried until her voice was hoarse and her throat burned. Not picking her head up—

Until bare feet appeared in front of her, a hand reaching down with a handkerchief, and when she looked up, she gasped so sharply, it caused her to fall back on her elbows.

A man stood there. Tall. Dark, curly, long hair brushing just past his shoulders, skin a light brown, eyes the color of deep gold.

And he was stark naked.

He was struggling to speak, his full lips attempting to form words.

Clare watched, struck.

Finally, he gave up, dropping a slip of paper into her lap.

One that said the words: It’s me.

Something in the note gave her pause. It was the letter T—written with a crooked dash.

Clare responded with one word, eyes as wide as saucers, unable to believe what she was saying as a golden crown was dropped at her feet.

“Kingsley?”

the end…until we meet again, one final time.

hopefully—

you never know with these nincompoops.