Page 111 of Apprentice to the Villain

“I haven’t seen Tatianna—or Clare, for that matter—since the Trench. Were they at dinner?”

Reid and Roland shook their heads.

Evie found she was enjoying all the members of the Fortis family. She’d watched their affection, their candor, even their humility, and wanted to cram herself right in the middle. Still, there was something in Raphael…something secret…something ratherformidablein how he carried himself. “I believe I saw both of them retire to their rooms for the evening.”

When he would have seen that, Evie had no clue, since the others had just admitted neither woman had gone down to dinner.

“I think I’ll go check on Tati, and I’m sure Clare wants an update on Trystan. If you would return my dagger, please?”

Her path was blocked by Raphael, who glowered at her before saying, “We are not done. You’ve yet to spar with me.”

Because I don’t want to die.

But it felt like a challenge, and she wasn’t one for backing down. “Fine, but I’d like to use the thinner swords over there,” she said, knowing she had zero chance of winning any sort of sparring match with the oldest of the Fortis siblings, but holding something sharp would certainly help her chances. The tips werecapped, of course, for safety purposes, but she was sure they wouldn’t be difficult to remove…

Raphael’s jaw tightened, but he nodded to an incredibly large footman with hair so yellow it rivaled the sun. She moved to grab one of the swords, but she didn’t account for the constant movement of the vines that curled across the sparring grounds. Her foot caught on one, and it took the opportunity to tug her down the rest of the way.

Her back slapped into the dirt, her arms thrown wide in a disturbedT. The stoic footman above her was holding the sword almost over his shoulder, the hilt resting there.

The footman blinked at her. “Miss?”

“Would you believe me if I told you this happens a lot?”

The footman replied too quickly: “Yes.”

Reid went to stand next to the footman, bumping the large man with his hip as he asked Evie, “Shall I join you down there? Or will you come back up here for a littlesword play?”

Evie narrowed her eyes. “Is that a euphemism?”

Reid waggled his brows. “Do you want it to be?” He kneeled and gripped her hips, preparing to haul her up, but he froze, peering at something past her.

Her breath caught when she tilted her head back against the ground and saw heaving shoulders and black diamond-chipped eyes.

Trystan.

He was watching the scene unfold, sweaty, raw, and perfect. His molten gaze locked on to where Reid’s hands were still molded against her hips, then to the large footman standing over her with a sword raised above his head. It didn’t look…good, per se.

But she was far too relieved to care that the men standing over her were likely in imminent danger. Trystan was alive—the man she’d sacrifice anything for was okay.

The same man with the vein throbbing in the side of his sweaty hair–slicked forehead. “What the fuck are you doing?” He was glaring at the footman and Reid.

The footman—the quiet, unassuming one—chose that moment to say, “We were discussing euphemisms. For swords.”

Evie’s lips pulled back in a wince.

But she should give Trystan more credit. The boss was a master in subtle displeasure. His largest bouts of anger were quiet and subdued, allowing the fear to build and flow in startling, frightening waves.

His brow twitched, his jaw flexed; his eyes flared, and the fists at his sides tightened. As he took a slow step toward them, she was sure he’d take the time to think and not do anything rash.

“I’m going to kill all of you.”

Never mind.

Chapter 68

The Villain

Trystan’s skin was aflame.