Assistant to the Villain

She was humming again.

Trystan Arthur Maverine, or more affectionately known to the public as The Villain, tapped his long fingers against his sleek black desk. The noise should’ve irritated him. It should’ve grated against his skull. He already had a headache after hearing laughter from the other workers outside his door. Being evil wasn’t supposed to be joyful, and his migraine was proof.

But he kept his anger contained. He’d gotten most of it out at the beginning of the week anyhow on the Valiant Guards he’d happily slaughtered and hung from the rafters for all to see.

Again, the lightness of her voice flitted through the small, open crack of his office door. If it were anyone else, he was certain he’d yank the door open and demand the infuriating sound cease immediately. He’d threaten and intimidate until they were shaking with fear and his reputation was solidified in their minds once more. It was safer for him—and for them.

But it wasn’t just anyone; it was Sage—which was the only way he could think of her. Having to work close enough to smell her vanilla scent was more familiarity than a person should need. Like a fool, he moved closer to the door and set his ear against it. He had to know what song it was. It had to be something she enjoyed often enough to memorize the tune.

Or perhaps it was—

Whack!

Reeling back, he held his hand to his nose as a bark of pain left his lips. He’d been so preoccupied by her song choice, he didn’t even notice the sound moving closer.

There was no humming now, just shocked silence and his befuddled assistant standing on the other side of the open door that had just made direct contact with his face.

Her elegant nose scrunched up as she took a cautious step backward, hands fluttering in front of her. “Oops.” Then her bow-shaped lips pulled into a wide smile, and suddenly the pain in his face was nothing compared to the fist squeezing his chest.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I should’ve knocked first.” She shrugged her small shoulders as if to say, What are we going to do with me?

He had a few ideas.

Shaking his head, he glared down at her. “Is there a reason you barreled into my office like a wrecking ball, Sage? Or were you just hoping to assault me with my own door?”

Her light eyes widened as she stepped around him and deeper into his personal space. As if she wasn’t already invading every other area of his life. “‘Assault’ is a bit strong, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ve been hit harder, in far more vulnerable places.”

She paused for a moment, seeming to consider the words she’d just spoken. The working of her mind was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was almost as if every thought, every word said, made the nonsensical wheels of her mind turn until she could make sense of them in her own specific way. It was surprisingly intriguing. It was…

Disgustingly distracting, and he hated it.

And then she’d say something that would just render him speechless, like, “Not that I’m thinking about your vulnerable places! I mean, I am now because I said it, but I mean vulnerable like your—” She paused, and for some unfathomable reason, he needed to know how she’d finish that sentence. So he waited… “Your ear?”

That familiar, annoying buoyancy whirled through him, making him feel vile things like joy and the unmistakable need to laugh.

He stared hard at her. The delighted glimmer in her eyes, the high points of her cheeks, the slight uptick of her lip, like she was always ready to smile at a moment’s notice. Blowing out a breath and running a hand up to smooth his hair down, he turned back toward his desk. He needed to regain some level of footing.

“My patience is thin this morning, Sage.”

“As opposed to every other morning, sir?”

Trystan walked around his desk and seated himself in his chair, ignoring Kingsley as the frog seemingly moved closer to Sage. Kingsley had sat on his desk every day for the past nearly ten years, giving Trystan quiet, unwanted counsel with his ridiculous one-worded signs. It was incredible how the amphibian only needed one word to irritate. It was a talent.

Trystan motioned with his hand for Sage to take one of the smaller seats opposite his desk. He never mentioned that those seats hadn’t been there before her employment began five short months ago. He never wanted to encourage any of his workers to be relaxed enough in his presence to sit.

But it was practical to have them now that he had a right hand to brief daily. It had nothing to do with wanting her to be comfortable.

Nothing at all.

She quirked a dark brow and settled into the open seat, her bright yellow skirts swishing around her legs. Her dark locks were pinned back in her usual braid, one lone curl always escaping to lay against her cheek. Her smile warmed when she saw Kingsley hop closer to her, nudging his green head into Sage’s hand.

“Good morning, my little king,” Sage said, adjusting his crown. “Don’t you look handsome this morning.”

Kingsley made a gurgled ribbit of approval.

Sage gently scooped the frog into the palms of her hands and nuzzled him against her cheek. Naturally, Trystan began planning the amphibian’s demise at the sight. “Sage, do not make a pet of my prisoners.”

“Then stop having adorable prisoners.” She winked at Kingsley before placing the treacherous creature back on his desk.

“Point taken,” he conceded, putting both hands up in submission. He sighed and tried to come back to who he was before this natural disaster of a person entered his hemisphere.

You are evil incarnate. The world fears the very mention of your name. A cold-blooded killer.

A sudden, small squeak came out of her, sounding suspiciously like a sneeze. She looked up at him sheepishly.

He was a puddle on the floor, and every speck of dust in that room was his enemy.

“Proceed,” he bit out through his clenched jaw.

Her pale hands were on his desk then, sliding a sheet of paper toward him. “I compiled a list of every employee here, giving as much detail as I could about them. I’m sure Becky or Tatianna would have more intel, should you need it. Tatianna loves her secrets and Becky keeps records so pristine, she should work for the kingdom’s council.”

It surprised him that Sage should give Ms. Erring any sort of compliment; he was aware of the bizarre feud between them. Though he was loath to admit it, he found it mildly entertaining.

He looked down at the top paper in the pile. Her neat script was scrawled across the page, the names of every employee with multiple anecdotes written beside each one. It was an extensive amount of detail and had probably taken her hours.

Clearing his throat, he gave her a rare look of approval. “Well done, Sage.” He picked up the rest of the papers in the pile, leafing through them slowly. “This will be a considerable help.”

She beamed at him, and he felt a disgusting, festering sort of sensation begin to stir. He watched her nonsense wheels begin to turn behind her eyes once more. “Sir…”

He put the papers down, giving her his full attention. “Something amiss?”

She folded her hands together, fidgeting. “I’m just wondering, instead of doing all this back-end work…why not just question everyone until you find the culprit?”

And this was why he’d hired her. Well, one of the reasons. She was smart, conniving in a way she couldn’t quite see, but there was a quiet ruthlessness to her that was so disarming coming from someone who seemed to dole out kindness like it was candy. “Do you mean to ask…why am I not torturing everyone under my employ until someone confesses?”

Her cheeks went red, which had a humbling effect on him. A mock look of outrage crossed her delicate features. “O-Of course not!” she sputtered.

A dry, low chuckle escaped his throat before he could cough it back down, then Trystan leaned forward onto his elbows. “Rest assured, Sage, the thought did cross my mind. But I don’t just want to find the person who’s been ruining all our hard-earned plans.”

He paused, watching as she leaned in, too, like she was mesmerized by him, but that was impossible. “I don’t want them to see me coming.”

Her eyebrows shot up in understanding, and he added, “I want them to sit wherever they’re sitting in this office right now, thinking they’ve gotten away with it. That they’ll continue to get away with it. All the while, we whittle away at their identity behind closed doors. I want them to feel safe, and just when they think they are truly in the clear, I will destroy them.”

He waited for the fear to flash on her face. Waited for the disgust to settle in. But instead, a knowing smile spread across her lips. A twinkle formed in her eyes as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “And you know if the traitor finds out you’re looking for them, they’ll inform the person they are answering to. You want to take them by surprise, too.”

He couldn’t catch the drop of his jaw in time. “You— Yes, that’s exactly it.”

Her grin turned to one of her full, beaming smiles. Like there was a joy in understanding his mind. “We’re not ruling anyone out, by the way. I’m on there, too.”

This surprised him more than anything, because of course she should be on the list. Nobody was ever truly innocent. Least of all, this secretly maniacal cyclone sitting across from him, even if he knew it wasn’t her.

“Take your name off the list,” he said gruffly.

Sage shook her head, frowning at him. “I shouldn’t get special treatment. It could easily be me; I work the closest with you.”

“It quite literally cannot be you.” His eyes roved the small, glittering gold mark that circled her pinkie finger and then back to her face.

Her eyes followed his, and a dawn of understanding overtook her features. “Oh yes, the employment bargain.”

Bargain keepers were not easy to come by, nor was the magical ink used to make the bargains themselves. The one Trystan kept on staff cost him a fortune every time he used his services. It’s why the employee bargains were typically only done in green to his Malevolent Guards.

They acted as The Villain’s guards and personal spies when the situation called for it. With the green-inked bargains, Trystan was ensured that his guards never betrayed him. Once a new guard agreed to the posting with their signature, they’d be bound to Trystan’s life force with the inked-on ring. If anything happened to The Villain at their hands, the green ink would turn to a poison. Seeping into their bloodstreams and killing them swiftly.

Loyalty was easy to acquire when the only other option was death.

He’d originally intended to give Sage a green ring with the little ink he had left from his last purchase. But when the bargain keeper had arrived, he couldn’t go through with it.

He’d picked the gold instead.

“I couldn’t betray you even if I wanted to,” she said resolutely, eyeing the thing with a hint of wistfulness. “I can’t say I’m upset about being eliminated from the suspect list. The work this person’s ruined for me alone is enough to make me want to torture someone.”

He enjoyed pushing her a little too far sometimes, a habit he’d like to shove under his boot. “I have a couple of poor sops in the dungeons downstairs. If you want to try your hand?” He wasn’t being serious.

She pushed up from her chair, turning back toward the door, looking discomfited.

Good.

She made it nearly the whole way before she paused and glanced back at him.

“I would, you know. Torture someone,” she clarified, an alarming sincerity on her face. “If I knew it would help you—if it was someone hurting you… I’d do it and I’d probably enjoy it just a little.” With that, she spun on her heel, her sunny dress offsetting the weight of her words.

Trystan rubbed his chest, feeling everything she’d said break shards out of the walls he’d built. Feeling the cracks all the way to the blood roaring in his ears. He cursed, pushing back from the chair and turning to the window in the corner to stare out at the horizon.

He peeked back toward his desk, where Kingsley watched him with an almost sympathetic expression before holding up one of his signs that read Trouble.

No shit.

Trystan whipped back toward the window, trying to slow his breathing.

The damn organ between his ribs continued to pound relentlessly. He cursed again, gripping the windowsill until his knuckles turned white, but his heart wouldn’t slow.

As if insisting on reminding him that he had one.