13. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Lillith
" S crew this!" I mutter under my breath, attempting to smooth out the crumpled black hair that frames my face.
Today has been nothing short of exasperating between first Mrs. Umbernuckle's constant watch over every single thing I do and Prince Asher's constantly good attitude. I long for a reprieve from this charade. The Zibath Mountains beckon me with their promise of solitude and the freedom to exercise my magic without worry.
"All right," I say to myself as I walk off the grounds and into the forest, far enough away that my magic should be difficult to trace if it's noticed at all.
With a small grin, I close my eyes and feel the familiar warmth of my magic coursing through my veins. In an instant, the tedious world of my disguised life as Lilly Grimsbane, the maid, vanishes into thin air .
A floating sensation overtakes me as the ground reappears under my feet and I arrive at my secret hideaway, greeted by the cool mountain air and the comforting scent of pine. This is where I can truly be Lillith Shadowend without fear of discovery or judgment. Here, I can use my powers freely and relax, far away from the prying eyes of Mrs. Umbernuckle and the unnerving charm of Prince Asher Sunbash, with his white hair and captivating blue eyes.
"Sweet solitude.” I sigh, making my way toward the entrance of my hidden sanctuary.
It is time to let loose and indulge in some much-needed relaxation. No more tea-reading or fire-controlling for now. Just pure, unadulterated magical bliss.
"Finally," I breathe, stepping inside with glee. "Time to let my hair down, so to speak."
My hideaway is nestled high in the Zibath Mountains, discreetly camouflaged amidst the towering trees and craggy rocks. The entrance is a simple wooden door concealed by an enchantment, visible only to those who know of its existence.
Inside, my secret lair is generously spacious, with ceilings high enough to accommodate the occasional burst of magical energy. The walls are lined with shelves filled with books and various trinkets I collected over time. A large window overlooks the breathtaking view of the mountains, allowing fresh air to circulate throughout my sanctuary. Ventilation, after all, is important when you dabble in magic, especially fire-based spells. Rule number three of being a good villain— ventilation must always be too small to crawl through.
Any good villain knows that security measures are paramount, and I have gone to great lengths to ensure the safety of my hideaway. Intricate runes are etched into the very foundation of the building, warding off unwanted visitors and keeping my magical experiments undetected. In addition, hidden traps are strategically placed throughout, ensuring that no intruder would make it far without regretting their trespass.
I think back to the time when my escape tunnel saved me from a particularly determined band of bounty hunters. They somehow managed to follow me to my sanctum, but thanks to my foresight, I slipped away unnoticed through a secret passage beneath the floorboards. Of course, those bounty hunters didn't exactly escape either. In fact, they were never seen again by anyone, including me. Just one of my many secrets.
"Chaos and destruction can be fun," I admit, "but they're also quite messy. Better to have multiple escape routes and backup plans than find yourself cornered without options." I chuckle to myself, feeling a sense of pride in my villainous wisdom.
I take a moment to relish the freedom that comes with being in my hideaway, surrounded by the tools of my craft and free from the watchful eyes of Mrs. Umbernuckle and Prince Asher. The weight of my disguise as Lilly Grimsbane begins to lift, replaced by the exhilarating thrill of power that comes with being Lillith Shadowend.
"Time for some magical indulgence," echoes in my hideaway as I stride over to the window, feeling the last vestiges of Lilly slip away.
The view from my mountain lair is breathtaking, the vibrant tapestry of green and gold trees swaying gently in the breeze below, the sparkling river winding its way through the valley like a silver ribbon.
"There it is," I murmur, spotting the now-empty dragon cave at the foot of the Zibath Mountains. The memory of my roommate bragging about Prince Asher slaying the great beast with his enchanted sword still sends a sense of loss in me. "Such a waste of a perfectly good dragon."
I sigh, shaking my head. My feelings are conflicted—admiration for the prince's skill tinged with frustration at losing an old friend. I didn’t have many of them. Most of my life, I’ve lived alone, and even in the rare moments that I didn’t, I tended to rub people the wrong way.
Well, most people. There was Silviana. Creatures of all types were always drawn to her, singling her out as both odd and in the way before she could start giving the animals directions. She was my only friend growing up. I was odd in my own way as a kid. Who wouldn’t be if they were raised by two of the most feared villains who believed that showing any sign of compassion was a weakness? We became each other’s best friends and confidants until I escaped the training facility my parents left me in. I’ve only heard of her in passing since.
"Enough of this," I mutter, deciding to focus on something more pleasant. "Time for food."
With a flick of my wrist, I summon a variety of ingredients from the hidden pantry—fresh bread, ripe tomatoes, crispy lettuce, and thinly sliced meats. One of the first spells I placed on my home after building it was a pantry that kept food fresh forever, and it appears this spell still holds strong.
Assembling the sandwich is an art form in itself, one that I take great pride in. I meticulously layer each ingredient, making sure they are evenly distributed.
"Perfection," I declare, admiring my handiwork. I take a moment to appreciate the array of colors and textures before me then hear my stomach growl impatiently. I chuckle to myself. "All right, all right. No need to be so eager."
I bite into the sandwich with gusto, savoring the crunch of the lettuce and the tang of the tomatoes. The smoky flavor of the deli meat dances on my tongue, while the bread serves as a soft, pillowy canvas for it all.
"Who knew magic could be so delicious?" I muse between bites. "Perhaps I should add 'sandwich artist' to my list of accomplishments. "
At that moment, with the taste of victory and a well-crafted sandwich filling my senses, I feel at peace. It is so easy to forget about the challenges ahead and simply enjoy the pleasure of a meal prepared by my own magical hand.
"Soon," I whisper to myself, wiping crumbs from my lips. "Soon, Prince Asher will learn just what it means to cross paths with Lillith Shadowend."
But for now, I will savor the simple joys of an excellent sandwich and a priceless view.
After the last bite of my sandwich is savored, a chill creeps into my bones. My hideaway, nestled high in the Zibath Mountains, is known for its unpredictable weather. It’s time to ignite a fire and bask in its warmth.
"Fire," I whisper, commanding the flames in the fireplace to leap to life.
They dance and swirl, casting flickering shadows on the cavernous walls of my library. The room is a treasure trove of knowledge, filled with books that have been collected over centuries, their spines worn and pages yellowed.
"Ah, now that's better," I murmur, allowing myself a small smile.
"Let's see... what shall I read today?" I muse, scanning the towering shelves. My fingers tingle with excitement as they always do when my magic responds to my whims. I reach out, willing a few choice volumes to float down from their perches and hover before me. "Hmm, perhaps something lighthearted."
I pluck a book from the air, its cover adorned with frolicking fairies, and settle into my plush armchair by the fire. Just as I am about to open the book, a small pop echoes through the room.
"Goodness!" I exclaim, dropping the book in surprise.
There, standing beside me, is the curious creature I've only seen twice before. Long ears twitch atop its head, and enormous eyes blink up at me.
"Who are you?" I ask, though I'm not sure if the little creature can understand me.
It tilts its head, seeming to ponder my question before letting out a soft trill.
"All right then, I'll call you Nargle," I decide, chuckling at the absurdity of it all. "Welcome to my secret lair, Nargle. Make yourself at home. I have no idea how you found me here, but as long as we keep this secret between just us two, you can stay."
Nargle hops onto my lap, nuzzling against me as if we are old friends. Its ears twitch with delight as I stroke its fur, and it emits another contented trill.
"Ah, Nargle, life would be so much simpler if everyone was like you." I sigh, picking up my book once more. "No schemes or betrayals, just cozy fires and good company."
As I begin reading, the weight of Nargle's presence on my lap serves as a reminder of the unexpected connections that exist even in the hidden corners of the world. And though my mind returns to the task at hand—corrupting Prince Asher—there is a part of me that revels in the simple joy of sharing this moment with a newfound friend.
I glance down at Nargle nestled in my lap and notice its complete lack of clothing. The thought strikes me as odd, given that the creature is obviously capable of magical feats like teleportation. Surely it must feel the chill of the mountain air on its exposed skin.
"Nargle," I say with a smile, "you must be freezing! Allow me to remedy that."
With a flick of my wrist, I conjure a tiny outfit for my newfound friend. A small vest and matching trousers materialize from thin air, both woven from the softest wool. As I dress Nargle, the creature's long ears perk up, and it blinks at me with those enormous eyes full of curiosity.
"Much better," I announce, placing Nargle back on my lap. "Now you won't catch a cold."
Nargle trills happily, snuggling into my warmth once more. It is a small act of kindness, one that I rarely afford to others, yet there is something about this gentle creature that stirs a sense of protectiveness in me.
The creature lets out a yawn as it settles onto a small cushion I conjure beside the fire. Its eyes droop, and within moments, it is fast asleep, its tiny chest rising and falling with each breath.
I smile as I watch Nargle slumber, the firelight casting dancing shadows across its peaceful face. The mix of emotions that stirs within me is unexpected. A warmth spreads through my chest, melting away the icy exterior I so carefully crafted over the years. For once, I feel something akin to happiness in the presence of another being, even if that being is an odd, two-legged creature with an affinity for teleportation.
An idea crosses my mind as I watch him sleep. Some mages acquire familiars. It’s not something you can find on your own, but if you are among the most powerful, sometimes a familiar would choose you. Usually, it’s something simple like an animal, but I truly have no idea what kind of creature Nargle is. He’s short and sort of awkward. He clearly has some power and is intelligent even if he can’t speak. A small elf? No, that’s not quite right. A dwarf? He’s not quite so stocky and is a bit more... floppy?
A small chuckle escapes me. That’s it! Until I know better, Nargle is officially a dwarflop.
"Sleep well, little one," I whisper, turning my attention back to my book.
But as I read, my thoughts keep straying back to the innocence of the sleeping creature beside me, and I find myself wondering how long it has been since I've allowed myself to feel this way.
"Perhaps there 's more to life than evil schemes and power plays," I muse, my fingers absently stroking Nargle's soft fur. "But for now, we'll keep that our little secret."
***
The moon’s risen, casting a blanket of velvety darkness over the land. The fire in my hideaway dwindles to glowing embers and the comforting weight of Nargle's presence by my side makes it difficult to focus on my book. Might as well return to the prince's castle and resume my mission.
"Come on, Nargle," I whisper, carefully scooping the dozing creature into my arms.
My magic swirls around us, and with a soft pop, we stand just outside the castle walls. The moon casts its silvery glow over the ancient stones, making them shimmer like a pool of water under starlight.
"Back already?" I ask myself, trying to decipher the strange mix of emotions churning within me. "Why am I even here? Isn't this supposed to be my day off?"
Deep down, I know the answer. No one can take my prey away from me. I am the most powerful villain in three kingdoms, after all. Prince Asher is mine to corrupt, Mrs. Umbernuckle or any other meddling force be damned.
"Ah, well." I sigh, adjusting the tiny outfit I conjured for Nargle earlier. "No rest for the wicked, as they say."
"Grmph?" Nargle grumbles sleepily, rubbing its eyes with its fuzzy paws.
"Never mind, little one." I stroke its head affectionately. "Just some villainous musings."
With one final glance at the moonlit castle, I steel myself for the challenges ahead and magic us back to the forest outside of the castle, ready to figure out what Mrs. Umbernuckle and the prince are up to but with a newfound appreciation for the unexpected friendships that life can bring.
***
Stumbling into Prince Asher's private office I’m struggling under the weight of several large sacks overflowing with correspondence. Without access to my magic, tasks like lugging around heavy bags have become excruciatingly tedious, and I am over it.
"Just a little farther now," I grunt through gritted teeth, muscles burning as I haul the bulging sacks across the room. My shoes scuff against the polished stone floor with each labored step.
With a final grunt-inducing effort, I manage to hoist the mountain of mail onto the magnificent desk. No sooner have the sacks left my fingers than the overstuffed bag gives way, sending an avalanche of parchment spilling across the desktop and onto the floor.
"Seriously?" I sigh, tucking back the loose strands of dark hair that have slipped free of my cap. Kneeling down, I begin gathering up the strewn letters, muttering curses under my breath.
I gather the scattered parchment, fingers brushing over elegant scripts and ornate wax seals. What intimate thoughts are penned within these letters? Do the prince's admirers pour out their secret longings and wildest fantasies to the man they idolize? I trace over the broken seal of a rose-colored envelope, temptation creeping in. Before I can stop myself, I slide the letter free and unfold it.
My Dearest Prince Asher,
Words cannot express what you mean to me and the kingdom. From the moment I first saw you riding through the city, head held high and the sun gleaming off your silver armor, I knew you were special. They say you slew the dragon plaguing our lands single-handedly, though I know in my heart you must be too humble to admit it. A man of your valor and conviction only comes once in a generation. My days are spent longing for a chance to gaze upon your heroism once more. Please, brave prince, do not forget us common folk who look to your light in these dark times.
Eternally Yours,
Lady Amarylli s
I threw up in my mouth a little. This prince has armies of admirers ready to swoon over his every heroic deed, both real and imagined. How nauseating.
Unable to stop myself, I open another letter, skimming its intimate contents.
Your Highness,
I hope this letter finds you well. You do not know me, for I am just a humble baker's daughter from the village, yet I wanted to write and express my gratitude for your recent help upgrading our mill.
I know you faced resistance from some on your council who did not see our small village as worthy of the royal funds for repairs, yet you pushed ahead because it was right, not because it was popular. We now grind grain far faster, allowing my father to bake more bread to feed our people. You have filled many empty stomachs and warmed many hearts with your wise charity.
They say a true king has the heart of a servant. Your Highness, through your selfless service to communities like ours, you have proven this wisdom true. You could have ignored our remote village's plight, and none would have faulted you. Instead, you lifted us up when we were poor and powerless. The kingdoms need more leaders like you, my prince, those who lift the fallen and heal the hurting.
May your reign be long and blessed. You have my family's eternal gratitude and loyalty.
Sincerely,
Rosalin d
Something hot and angry flickers in my core as I read these letters. I have spent weeks catering to His Royal Perfectness' every trivial whim, scrubbing chamber pots and waiting on him hand and foot, yet no matter what I do, the prince remains stubbornly noble. It is infuriating. He is supposed to be my prey, mine to manipulate and mold. Instead, Mr. Heroic Saint over there gets piles of adoring praise just for existing. Okay, maybe a bit more than just existing. I can at least appreciate him helping feed the people.
After a quick glance at the return address, I recognize that the village she speaks of is one where some of the villain community lives in secretly. Not everyone who is born into villain society wants to be a villain. Some just want to live a quiet life, but that isn’t an option usually. The king has made sure of that. In his eyes, villains are born, not made. I’m not sure what makes me angrier, the fact that I have worked my ass off to become the villain I am today or that those who want an escape aren’t allowed one.
I continue scanning letters, each more annoyingly worshipful than the last—young women begging for the chance to meet their noble prince, fathers offering their daughters' hands in marriage, children declaring him their idol.
It is too much. This prince, with his infuriating kindness and dashing good looks—I’m wicked, not blind—seems to have the entire kingdom, perhaps the entire world, enraptured.
An idea begins to form, slowly at first but quickly taking shape. Clearly, subtle methods are not enough to crack Prince Perfect. It is time for drastic measures.
I will use his gilded reputation against him. Surely underneath all this praise, he must have secrets, moments of weakness that would tarnish that gleaming heroic image. If such knowledge gets out, it could ruin him. Blackmail is dangerous, but cunningly executed, it may just do what pranks and tricks could not.
I open the desk and scribble out a letter on a blank piece of parchment from the top drawer, keeping the message intentionally vague:
Prince Asher,
It seems you have secrets that could destroy your sterling reputation should they get out. I know things about your past that could cause quite the scandal.
Of course, I would prefer this information remain between us. All I ask is that you obtain your father's enchanted emerald ring from the royal vault and discreetly deliver it to me. Do this small favor, and your secrets remain safe.
Should you refuse me, I cannot guarantee what tales may begin circulating or what evidence may come to light. Surely handing over one ring is preferable to the damage that could ensue?
Tell no one of this request. Speak of it, and you invite only trouble. Bring me the ring at dusk two days hence, when you take your evening ride by the old oak tree. Place it in the hollow there.
I trust we understand each other. I expect your utmost discretion in this matter, as I will show in kind by keeping your damaging secrets undisclosed once our bargain is struck. Do what is wise, Your Highness.
L.
P.S. My aim is only to help you avoid an unpleasant scandal. Once I have the ring, you need not trouble yourself further with me. Make the prudent choice, for your family's sake and your kingdom's. I await your delivery.
I fold the letter up and using a bit of a wax bar seal it without a stamp. Just a simple puddle. Let him try to maintain that saintly moral compass under the threat of total social ruin. Even heroes have weaknesses. I will find his and exploit it mercilessly until I finally bend him to my will.
I melt wax to reseal the opened letters, carefully covering any evidence of my tampering. With brisk efficiency, I neatly restack the correspondence on the polished desk. Finally, I slip my blackmail letter among the others.
Soon, these cloying words of praise will be replaced with shock and condemnation. I smirk. Enjoy your glory while you still can, Your Highness .
I tuck the letters into my apron and hurry out of the office, heart racing. If this scheme succeeds, the noble prince's reputation will be left in tatters. More importantly, it will prove that even the most golden hearts have shadows.
Let's see just how heroic you really are, Prince Perfect. No one denies Lillith Shadowend. No one.