How to Be a Good Villain (How To Villain On RomCom)

Chapter 1

Lillith

B eing the most powerful being in the known world isn't all it's cracked up to be. I've spent my entire life trying to become the evilest, most powerful villain in the kingdoms of Rodel, Necia, and Treterra, and all for what? Fame? Fortune? It's not worth it. Frankly, I'm bored.

So what do you do when you have everything you've ever dreamed of, and you could rule the villains if you wanted to? Which I definitely don't. They're a bunch of needy, drama-filled, selfish, entitled, ridiculous fools. My family included.

You see what makes the other side tick.

I stride briskly through the bustling village square, weaving between merchants hawking their wares and children darting underfoot. To any passerby, I appear an ordinary peasant woman, indistinguishable from the scores around me in my modest gray cloak and blue linen skirt. Exactly what I want them to think.

I’m only passing through this nondescript village on my way to an important interview. Prince Asher, champion of the realm and icon of goodness, is seeking a new maid for his household. It’s the perfect opportunity for me to infiltrate the prince’s inner circle and ascertain what drives the insufferably virtuous.

What is the point of attaining such immense power if I have no worthy foes left to test it against? No, this prince’s flawless reputation intrigues me. Perhaps I will find amusement in subtly corrupting his pure spirit from the inside.

As I turn down a dingy alleyway, eager to avoid the congested main thoroughfare, a meaty hand shoots out from the shadows and clamps around my arm in a vice-like grip. I let out a theatrical yelp as I’m yanked off my feet and shoved forcibly against the hard stone wall, packages dropping from my hands.

Three hulking men tower over me, their ragged faces obscured by stained scarves. Bandits. The one pinning me brandishes a wickedly curved dagger with casual menace. I spot various other weapons hanging from their belts—clubs, maces, knives. These back-alley thugs clearly mean business.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the bandit holding me scoffs, his sour breath hot on my face. “Hand over your valuables, wench, and maybe we’ll let you leave with your skin intact.”

I force my body to tremble, widening my eyes in feigned terror. “P-Please sir, I have nothing of value!” I plead, injecting desperation into my tone.

Inside, I have to suppress a sneer at their arrogance. They have no idea who they are dealing with. I could obliterate them all in the blink of an eye, but I’m curious to see how this little drama will play out. Like I said, I’ve been a bit bored.

The thieves guffaw, clearly relishing my apparent weakness.

“She’s a scared little lamb!” One chortles. “This’ll be easier than swiping candy from a babe.”

“Please, sirs, have mercy,” I whimper, laying the desperation on thick. “I’m just a poor peasant girl!”

“Shut it!” The leader backhands me roughly across the cheek.

I grunt, more startled than pained.

How dare this filthy lout strike me! I have to fight the urge to loose my power and teach him a fatal lesson in manners. No, I will wait. All in good time.

From the alley entrance comes the clanking of armor. The silhouette of a warrior in the light, his sword gleaming, approaches. Ah, a so-called “hero” has come to save the damsel in distress. How trite .

“Unhand her, thieves!” the man proclaims loudly. “I shall save this poor damsel from your villainy!”

It takes everything in me not to burst out laughing. That has to be one of the cheesiest introductions I’ve heard a hero do, and I’ve heard plenty.

The bandits turn to this new threat while I continue to cower convincingly against the wall. With a roar, the brash warrior charges down the alley, sword swinging. He catches one bandit with the tip of his blade before the others set upon him. Clearly outmatched, the overconfident fool soon fails, and the gang of thieves quickly overwhelm him.

With a final anguished cry, the would-be hero falls lifeless to the grimy cobblestones. Crimson blood pools around his body, soaking into the cracked earth. What a waste.

The lead thief turns back to me, his dagger dripping with the deceased warrior’s blood. “Now, where were we?” he purrs menacingly.

In that moment, I drop all pretense. My spine straightens, power thrumming through my veins. These pathetic fools have wasted enough of my time. I have an interview to get to.

With a small smirk, I crack my neck and flex my fingers. “Do you have any idea who I am?” I ask softly, my voice edged with danger .

The thieves pause, confusion breaking through their sneers. I almost laugh.

I throw back the hood of my cloak, magic swirling around me in a terrible vortex. “I am Lillith Shadowend.”

At the utterance of my true name, all color drains from the mens’ faces. They stumble back with cries of alarm, eyes bulging in naked fear. One even soils himself, the acrid stench filling the air.

“I beg your pardon?” one of the men asks, a slight tremble in his voice.

“Then beg.”

Sneering, I drink in their terror with twisted delight. At last, fitting reactions to my power. These fools have threatened the wrong witch.

“What’s wrong?” I purr, purple flames dancing along my fingertips. “Just moments ago, you were all bluster.”

“Please, have mercy!” one thief sobs, falling to his knees before me. Pathetic.

“Mercy? Your friend asked the same before I burned his face off,” I lie casually, relishing their renewed whimpering.

I have done no such thing... yet, but why not embellish a bit for the drama of it all?

“We won’t tell anyone, I swear it!” another pleads desperately. “Just let us leave this place with our lives!”

I pretend to consider it for a moment, tapping one finger against my cheek. “Hmmm, how about... no. ”

With that, I unleash my pent-up power in a devastating wave. Purple-black flames erupt from my outstretched palms, slamming into the thieves like a rampaging inferno. Their forms disintegrate instantly, burnt to less than ash by the white-hot magic. The stone walls of the alley crack and blacken, warped by the intense heat. Smoldering embers float through the air like hellish snowflakes.

I lower my hands calmly and brush cinder from my sleeve. Such a shame about their garments. Those scarves really would have fetched a decent price at market, but the flesh beneath was riddled with lice and disease. No great loss there.

Stepping daintily over what remains of the foolish thieves, I emerge from the alley and stride toward the village square. Behind me, plumes of foul smoke rise into the sky like an accusatory finger. Shouts of alarm echo as villagers notice the carnage I nonchalantly unleashed.

Moments later, the heavy footsteps of approaching guards thunder down the lane. I turn smoothly, arranging my features into a look of innocence and distress—wide eyes brimming with crocodile tears and lower lip trembling. I’m the picture of a frightened peasant woman who has narrowly escaped assault in a dark alley.

A squad of guards rushes up to me, spears bristling.

Their captain, an imposing brute of a man, roughly seizes my shoulder. “You there, halt!” he barks. Flecks of spittle fly as he shakes me. “What happened here? "

My eyes fill with tears. “Oh, sir, it was awful!” I cry, my voice breaking believably. “These terrible robbers pulled me into that alley and threatened my life!” I bury my face in his tunic, shoulders heaving with manufactured sobs.

The captain awkwardly pats my back. “There now, lass, you’re safe,” he soothes.

I hide a smile against the grubby fabric of his uniform. Even the most hardened men are useless at comforting a crying girl. I have him eating out of my hand already.

After a few moments, I pull back, dabbing at my eyes with the captain’s grimy handkerchief. “Thank you ever so much for rescuing me!” I gush. “Those men meant to defile me. I just know it!” More sobs wrack my body.

By now, the other guards have ventured into the alley to examine the aftermath of my handiwork. Chaotic shouts float back to us.

“Captain, you aren’t going to believe this! They’ve been burnt to ashes!”

“The whole alley’s been scorched black!”

“What kind of devilry is responsible for this?”

The captain’s bushy eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He opens his mouth, no doubt to question me on how I have escaped such destruction unscathed.

But I cut him off, gripping his wrist tightly. I let real tears of exertion fill my eyes this time. “Oh, sir, please! I just want to forget this whole awful day!” My voice drops to a whisper. “Don’t make me relive the horrors again. ”

The captain's face softens into a mix of concern and awkwardness. “Of course, of course,” he murmurs gruffly, patting my hand. “No need for that. You just run along home now.”

I nod and wipe the tears from my face as I leave the scene of the burned alley behind me.

***

"Miss Lilly Grimsbain?" a woman calls. Her silver-streaked hair is pulled back in such a tight bun that I'm sure she is doing it to keep her recently formed fine lines in check calls.

I raise my hand and look as innocent as I possibly can. "Here!"

Quickly, I stand and straighten the skirt of my dress before pulling my shoulders back, tucking the escaped black lock of hair back into my braid, and gracefully walking over to her.

My name may be Lillith Shadowend, but I can't get hired to work in Prince Asher Sunbash's home under my own identity. The golden prince, second son to the king of Necia, is the most noble hero of the kingdom. Where I'm the epitome of evil, he's the protector of the good and innocent. I'm pretty sure I'm his number one target. Too bad he has no idea what I look like. No one does. Rule number four of being a good villain—never leave any witnesses. Ever.

I follow the woman through a large wooden door and into a spacious office. The wooden floors are polished to a shine, and the walls are lined with bookshelves filled with aged volumes of literature. I take in my surroundings as I make my way to the chair opposite the desk where she sits, keeping my distance from the cup of tea and candles between us. The last thing I need is to accidentally get a reading of the woman or draw the flame's attention. Those would guarantee I wouldn't get the position.

She pulls out a fresh roll of parchment and dips a long quill into a small black bottle of ink. "Tell me a bit about your experience. Where was your last placement, and what did you do?"

"I've been working as a handmaid for many noble families around Necia," I lie.

Brow raised, she holds the quill over the crisp paper, clearly waiting for me to continue.

I quickly try to back up my story. "I have references if you would like."

"Let's hear them."

I rattle off names of people who don't exist, faces and stories woven from my imagination. Of course, I sprinkle in with one or two wealthy individuals from less prestigious areas of the kingdom. Rule number eleven—adding a touch of truth makes all lies more believable .

"My most recent placement was with the Ambrose family in the bustling city of Honeyvale. The Lady Ambrose was most discerning in her staff. For three years, I cared for her children and maintained her lavish home. One particular feat that stands out was the summer solstice ball Lady A hosted for dignitaries from across the realm. I helped coordinate every intricate detail for weeks. The event was hailed as one of the most extravagant balls in recent memory. Even the king sent praise for its splendor and entertainment."

Pausing for effect, I let a modest smile play at my lips.

"You've been working for quite a few households. What made you choose to come here?" she asked.

I swallow hard. "My previous employer told me of your need for a handmaid, and I felt it was the perfect opportunity to serve a noble family of higher standing. I gained much experience keeping such a high-profile household running seamlessly, but I felt it was time for a new challenge, to use my skills in service of an even nobler family if possible. When I heard of the opportunity here, well..." I trail off artfully, meeting the woman's eyes with an attentive gaze. "Serving someone as esteemed as Prince Asher would be an honor. I hope my qualifications are suitable."

Perfect. I spin the tale with just enough tantalizing details to pique interest without verification. Every gracious yet self-assured manner aims to charm—a perfect deception to cover my more sinister intentions .

That seems to satisfy her as she finally nods before writing something on the parchment. She looks back at me and says, "If you are hired, it will be on a trial basis. Is that acceptable?"

I keep my expression neutral. "Of course."

"Good." She gives a single nod. "We will provide you with a uniform and all other necessary materials upon acceptance into service."

The woman leans forward slightly, her eyes studying me carefully. She has an intensity in her gaze that makes me feel as though she is scrutinizing every inch of my soul.

I hold her gaze until she finally says, "If accepted into service in this household, you would need to commit to complete loyalty and discretion."

I nod quickly in agreement, but inside, I am churning with excitement. It seems they are the perfect target—powerful yet oblivious to who I really am.

***

My heart is pounding as I make my way through the forest toward the prince's home, my bag clutched tightly in my hands. The offer for the trial includes room and board, so I packed some of my belongings. I had to be careful not to leave anything behind that I wouldn't want anyone to find. Rule number six—never trust another villain. I also can't bring anything that might reveal my true identity in case someone gets curious and starts digging into my personal belongings.

In my quick ascent to the top, I avoided building relationships. Rarely does anyone I encounter survive long enough to tell anyone anything about me anyway. For most, I am merely a name that holds an ominous and dangerous end. That holds true for heroes and villains alike. The chances of anyone being able to identify me are slim, and if it does become a problem, I can always either make them disappear or disappear myself.

Over the course of clawing my way to the top, I developed a personal set of guidelines—my own "how to be a good villain" rulebook. By following these rules, I made myself powerful and eliminated any weaknesses that could be used against me. I spent most of my life identifying my vulnerabilities, finding ways to overcome them, or, even better, transforming them into strengths that only I can leverage to my advantage. My rules ensure that no one dares cross me, and if they do, they will find no footholds to exploit. Rule number ten of how to be a good villain—lean into your trauma. Use it to fuel the anger. Grudges feed your soul.

A cruel smile curves my red lips at the thought of corrupting the kingdom's precious golden boy right under their noses.

The building is not a mansion but a palace. Manicured formal gardens fill the area before me, and wrought iron gates mark the entrance. Stone walls circle the grounds like protective arms, and scattered throughout are odd statues with water spitting out of various parts of their bodies into pools of water. Whoever thought a naked young child statue peeing in a pool made appealing art has a more twisted mind than my own, and that's saying something.

Taking a deep breath, I trudge up to the door and put on the most sincere smile I can muster before knocking.

The door creaks open, and a tall butler peers out. He looks me up and down. "You'll need to use the servants' entrance around the side,” he says in an authoritative voice. “One moment please."

The door closes, and I’m left standing awkwardly on the steps, unsure of what exactly I am supposed to do.

A few minutes later, the door again opens to reveal a bubbly blonde in a ruffled black dress covered by a cute apron. I don't know what makes me sicker—the fact that she seems to bounce without realizing it as she takes me in or that I'm pretty sure this is going to be my uniform too. It's so very... adorable.

The door creaks on its hinges as the radiant maid prances after me into the garden. "Hi, I'm Mairelle," she chirps breathlessly. "I heard you're new here! Who are you? Where do you come from?" Her words spill out like water from a fountain. She dances around me, her black dress swaying with each step. "I just got hired here, too, so we'll be seeing each other a lot! I mean, to be fair, everyone is new here. After all, the prince just bought the place!"

I open my mouth to respond to her questions, but she speaks too quickly for me to get anything out.

"We're very lucky here," Mairelle says as she continues to walk and talk in circles around me. "You see, the prince was given one one-hundredth of the hoard from the dragon Dizan, Eater of Sheep, and bought this place with it."

I can't help but feel a bit sad hearing that name. Dizan had been my next-door neighbor deep in the Zibath Mountains, where my lair is hidden. While we weren't exactly close, having someone nearby who respected my space was nice. Plus, dragons are an excellent deterrent for nosey villagers poking around. At least I still have the mountain trolls to draw their curiosity.

Mairelle's voice trails off as she looks at me curiously. "Is something wrong?"

I shake my head to clear my thoughts before forcing a smile. "No, I'm fine. Just a little overwhelmed with everything."

She nods understandingly before pointing out the servants' entrance. "Your room is on the third floor. You'll share it with two other maids, but don't worry. They're very nice."

She stops moving and stares at me expectantly. I eye her back, unsure of what she wants me to do. Then she offers a slight nod of her head in the direction of the door before bounding off in another direction.

The girl is quite odd, and I wonder if she is slightly mad. If that is the case, she just might grow on me.

I approach the door and once again put on my most pleasant smile before knocking. This time, an older willowy woman opens it, likely the head housekeeper from her attire. A longer dress, no frills or ruffles in sight. She looks me up and down before nodding curtly in approval and motioning for me to come inside.

"You must be our new maid," she says briskly as she begins to lead me through an impressive foyer toward a more secluded wing of the house.

Her movements are silent. Not even the click of her shoes echoes on the white glistening marble floors. From my experience, that usually means they have some experience as an assassin. I would know. My father was one of the best. I make sure to allow a small sound from my footsteps so as not to give away my own skills and take a mental note to keep an eye on the woman.

As we pass doors with gold handles and artfully arranged furniture, I marvel at how grand and luxurious everything looks, far more extravagent than any other home I have been in before. My eyes widen at the sheer number of grandiose imported items. Vases of flowers are everywhere. The ceramics, gilded mirrors, and lavish furnishings are of the highest quality. The smell of rich green grass and a hint of flowers drifts in through the slightly open window, and the faintest tinge of sweat tickles my nose.

I haven't been inside many homes of my victims, instead mostly spending time in my own home. Catching them off guard while traveling for mundane outings such as the grocer or the tailor means they have less protection, making them much easier marks.

We pass a grand staircase with a massive crystal chandelier and walk through a white-painted door into a much less ornate hallway. There are no paintings or any defining features like fancy handles in this section. The walls are a muted green, the color of a lime’s peel. The floors go from white marble to a worn polished dark wood. I assume we entered the servant’s corridors and follow her up several flights of stairs and down a confusing number of narrow hallways.

The woman stops outside of one particular door adorned with intricate carvings. "This is your room while you are employed here." She gives me a stern look. "You may call me Mrs. Umbernuckle. You will find your uniform in the closet. Please change quickly and meet me in the laundry downstairs. Always remember that you must conduct yourself accordingly while inside these walls."

I nod quickly in agreement.

Mrs. Umbernuckle turns on her heel and is gone before I have the chance to ask where exactly the laundry is .

I open the door to my new room and step inside. It isn't much larger than my bathroom back home, but its walls are painted a soft blue, and it seems well taken care of with a large wardrobe taking up one side of the space and three small beds tucked away in the corners. Curtains drape either side of the single window, a mirror hanging on one side, a small shelf with a collection of books on the other side. I will explore the books later.

After dropping my bag to the floor beside the wardrobe, I quickly undress and change into my uniform—a familiar black dress with ruffles along the bottom of the skirt, puffed sleeves, a crisp white apron, and sensible black shoes.

As I ready myself, my thoughts drift to my past training. I can still hear my instructor's stern voice echoing in my memory. "Magic is not innate. It is a discipline that takes mastery. While talent gives one an advantage, even the lowest peasant can attain power through dedication."

I know the truth of those words well. My own gifts have been born from natural prowess, but I have honed them to a razor's edge through relentless practice and study. I spent countless hours struggling through dense spell tomes, pushing my limits in secret. Now, my reserves are vast, yet I still keep up my studies.

My fingers dance as I reinforce protective warding spells upon my vessels of concealed magic. Despite my disguise, staying prepared in dangerous lands like these is important. I have worked too hard to rely on chance alone. Rule number nine of how to be a good villain—always have a plan D. B is never enough.

Taking one last look in the foggy mirror for reassurance, I gather my courage and begin my hunt for the laundry room.

I have always dreamed of infiltrating the prince's household, but I never imagined it would be so easy.