Page 12 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Millicent

MY COVEN IS BY NO means small, but this castle dwarfs it with ease. The sheer scale of it is absurd. Some halls are teeming with people while others remain eerily empty. Such wasted space. That’s all I can think of as Cage points out yet another meeting chamber.

“Why so many?” I ask, peering into what he calls the war room. A fitting name given the swords and shields lining the walls, framing a massive oak table in the center. Maps are sprawled out across its surface, littered with small figures I can’t quite make out.

“Can they not conduct all their business in one?”

“There are a lot of people here,” Cage replies.

“Meetings happen simultaneously. It keeps things organized. Helps remind you of the type of meeting you are in. This one, obviously, for tactics and war.” He gestures toward the weapons displayed along the walls.

“The last room? That was for trade—merchants, taxes, imports, all that.”

His explanation certainly is…practical, but his voice lacks warmth. Still, at least he’s stopped glaring at me over the past hour. A minor improvement.

His footsteps retreat, and I move quickly to keep pace, twisting my head to study the art along the walls. All elegant and well kept, a complete contrast to the paintings slowly tarnishing with age at my coven, the paint flaking away as each year passes.

Cage raises a brow, eyeing me like I’ve grown a second head suddenly. “Don’t get out much, do you?”

I meet his gaze with a deadpan look. “I’m simply looking at art,” I grumble, crossing my arms.

There are a lot of things I want to say to him.

I could remind him that I don’t spend my days wandering gilded halls like some pampered noble, that I have not felt freedom breeze through my hair while I explore the world on a dragon to see, taste, and touch everything each continent has to offer.

I could snap at his condescending attitude.

I hold my tongue.

Because I don’t yet know how to say any of it. Not without bringing at least this wing of the castle down when I inevitably lose control of my emotions.

Slaughter him now.

The voice slithers into my ear, a whisper that is impossibly distant, stretching down an endless tunnel of shadows. A breath against my skin, delicate as silk.

It’s soft. Too soft. The kind of voice that soothes a child to sleep. The kind that murmurs lullabies beneath moonlit cradles. But the words it weaves are laced with malice and bloodshed.

You want this. You always have.

My fingers twitch at my sides, the air suddenly too thick. It would be so easy, so gratifying, to obey.

To let her in.

To let her out.

I fix my gaze on the stairs, forcing each step forward, shutting out the whispers curling in the back of my mind.

The winding steps are eerily familiar—too familiar. The grooves beneath my feet mirror the path to Nora’s office. The memory settles like ice in my spine.

Is she watching me even now?

An unwelcome thought. Her familiar could be lurking somewhere beyond these walls, spying on me, recording every step I take.

A final turn brings us to the top of the stairs where the space opens into a long, singular hallway.

Surprisingly, the space is well lit. A row of tall, arched windows runs along the outer wall. Beyond the glass, the view is beautiful. The forest stretches endlessly, a vast sea of green shifting with the wind.

It should be beautiful, but it’s nothing but a cage.

Cage.

He stops at the first door on the right. His hand rests on the handle before pushing it open. “This will be your room.”

Then, without looking at me, he points further down the corridor, at the dark door at the end of the hall.

Twisting vines, deep green and engraved into the wood, crawl over its surface.

“That is my room,” he says plainly. “We are the only ones permitted on this wing.”

“Going to sleep well being this close to a witch?” I ask, tiling my head slightly.

Does he fear me? Does he believe himself above me? Or is he simply arrogant, thinking he can best a witch like me?

Curiosity gets the best of me.

I reach for his thoughts, stretching my senses toward him—seeking, pressing, testing.

I hit a wall.

Not just a wall, a steel fortress, locked tight. Impenetrable.

My breath stills for a moment.

Cage’s silver eyes narrow. He knows what I just tried.

Slow, deliberately, he lifts a finger.

“One,” he counts, his voice flat. “I do not fear you, little witch. You are in this wing to ensure you don’t run around at night. This room is warded. I will know every time you step in or out of it.”

I scoff internally. Yeah, totally not a prisoner.

“Two,” he continues, his eyes darkening, “do not ever try to get into my mind again.”

The air between us seems still now.

“A part of me is half tempted to let you in,” he murmurs. His voice changes to something almost…amused. “Just to watch you squirm like a rat in a trap. To let you crawl inside, only so I can crush you the moment you do.”

He leans in slightly, the silver of his eyes sharpening like the edge of a blade.

“I would enjoy digging through the rot inside you.”

The words aren’t a threat. They’re a promise.

I lift a finger, mirroring his condescending gesture. Now my voice drips with sweetness.

“One,” I begin, unable to contain the sass bleeding into every syllable, “don’t be mad at me because you got stuck with babysitting duty. Because that’s exactly what this feels like.”

I tilt my head further, feigning concern.

“You will train me? Watch me? Ward my room? Take me on little adventures? What’s next? Tuck me in? Dress me? Wipe my ass? If you plan to feed me, I prefer my food fresh.”

His lips part to snap at me, but I cut him off mercilessly, lifting another finger before he can get another stupid word out.

“ Two,” I continue, my smirk growing, “if you think you will ever get in my mind, you are truly delusional. Your arrogance must be stifling. I am not a mage. I am not some vermin. I am—”

The bastard rolls his eyes and then, before I can finish, shoves his fingers against my lips, silencing me.

“You know, Millicent, you’re grown now, but you’re the same little brat you were back then, aren’t you?

” His voice is casual, but there’s a venom laced beneath it.

“I don’t want you here. I’m following my king’s orders, but given the choice, I’d burn what’s left of your coven. I’m surprised you even made it out.”

A slow, sly grin spreads across his face, watching for my reaction.

So he does remember me. He knows exactly who I am.

His words boil my blood. My instincts take over before my mind catches up.

I snap.

My teeth sink into his fingers, hard, like the feral beast he thinks I am.

Cage jerks back with a sharp “Fuck!”, shaking out his hand. But instead of showing anger, he actually laughs.

Laughs.

And I’m the insane one?

I glare up at him, seething, before spinning on my heel and storming into my room.

The moment I step inside, my pace slows, my anger momentarily eclipsed by surprise.

The space is larger than I expected, larger than anything I’ve ever had. A four-poster bed, its frame deep mahogany, sits against the left wall, swallowed in a thick pine-green blanket. Across from it, a red velvet sofa rests before a gray stone fireplace, its hearth empty but grand.

The balcony doors are wide open, letting the crisp air rustle the edges of the heavy curtains. Golden light spills across the floor, cast by a massive chandelier overhead, its arms curling like gilded branches.

My footsteps are muffled by the handwoven wool rug covering most of the space. Intricate designs of red, yellow, green, and blue are stitched into the fabric.

I take it all in, my mind already set on one thing: I’m going to drag that sofa out here.

“Maybe we should muzzle you.”

Cage’s voice is a poison, laced with amusement. I hear the smirk in it before I even turn.

I ignore him, stepping onto the balcony and gripping the railing, staring out over the vastness of the forest below. The treetops shift in the wind, dark and stretching far beyond the castle’s borders.

At least out here, I can breathe. I will be out here a lot.

“King Tyran has arranged an introductory dinner for you,” he says, his voice dropping into that infuriatingly detached tone. “You’ll meet others involved with the situation in the North.”

I turn, finding his silver gaze already on me.

He will always be watching, just like Nora’s owl.

That will be a problem. Once we know what the North is up to, if I am to get what I came for, I’ll have to learn how he fights, how he thinks, and what he fears.

Because one day, when they realize I was never here to help them, I will kill him.

Just like he killed my family that night.

Cage’s smirk sharpens. “Do try not to bite anyone at dinner, yeah? Who knows what diseases you might pass.”

With that, he pushes off the door frame and strides away, leaving me alone in my room.

I flip him off.

Muttering curses under my breath, I shut the door, rubbing my temples.

For my first day, he sure is testing me, and restraint is not something I practice often.

A prickle runs down my spine.

A presence.

I lift my head and freeze.

There. Perched on the iron railing of my balcony, its gaze fixated on me.

Nora’s owl.

Its copper eyes reflect the light. Its gaze is unrelenting as though soaking in every moment. It sees everything.

She sees everything.

“Ah, there you are. I’m behaving,” I murmur, cocking my head at the owl.

It doesn’t react. It simply watches, recording, absorbing, and transmitting every movement, breath, and thought Nora might find useful.

I wave lazily, flicking my fingers at it, before turning away and plopping down on the sofa. The velvet cushions soften my landing, but the weight of the owl’s gaze still presses against my skin.

I want to ask it. I want answers. Does she know Cage is here? Has she been watching him, too? Does she know what I know?

I don’t ask because Nora is not to be questioned.

A familiar chill slides down at the edges of my periphery. Shadows coil in the farthest corner of the room. It pools, spills, and slithers down the walls. They creep across the floor and stretch toward the low table in front of me.

Then, they twist.

A spiral of darkness spins itself in a small cyclone, whirling in a tight vortex, before the shadows abruptly snap inward.

And Ollie materializes. He twirls with the shadows, his body spinning like a giddy little tornado before he finally skids to a stop.

“Haha WHOO-ahahahahah!” He giggles and then strikes a dramatic pose, his stubby fingers snapping into the form of small sling shots aimed at me.

“Me Misses! Wow! Upgrade!” he gasps, his round black eyes glistening with wonder as he takes in his surroundings: the plush furniture, the oversized bed, and the fireplace.

Our room is simple back home. Small and cozy, well-aged with time.

This room alone must seem like a palace to him in comparison.

I smirk. “Welcome to the Southern Kingdom, Ollie. We’ll be living here for a while.”

Ollie’s wings flutter while his tiny feet kick off the ground as he flings himself at me.

“Me Misses in a castle? My QUEEN!”

With a wail of adoration, he throws himself onto my lap, nearly making me laugh before his pudgy weight knocks the wind out of me.

“Keep your voice down,” I whisper, still happy to see him.

I cup his chubby cheeks, tilting his head up until his beady black eyes meet mine. “They do not know I am the heir, and I want to keep it that way.”

Ollie immediately salutes. His tiny claws click against his forehead.

“I SEAL AND HAVE NO LIPS!” He declares proudly, puffing out his chest, but, in reality, it’s just his stomach bulging even more.

I snort, shaking my head. My frustrations—my lingering emotions with Cage, Nora’s damn owl—fade away, swept aside by Ollie’s erratic personality and his poor language skills.

Ollie always does this. There’s no one else like him.

He speaks in broken, absurd English but refuses to learn anything.

Yet, he sees the world in the most unfiltered, unhinged way imaginable.

To him, we’re the strange ones, bound by ridiculous rules like “you can’t drink wine all day,” “you can’t run around naked,” and “you shouldn’t screw whoever wherever. ”

It never made sense to him.

And I love him for it.

“Very good.” I lean forward, peppering kisses on his cold, soft skin. He dissolves into a fit of giggles, kicking his stubby feet in the air.

Ollie is—gods, what is he?

A mix of a child, a dog, and that one friend who’d waste no time giving you secondhand embarrassment.

But he is also mine.

He has been with me since I was only five. My closest companion outside of Arcadia, my best friend.

And despite everything—despite the chaos, despite the commentary, despite the fact that he humps things when he likes them—I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

Ollie climbs off my lap, wobbling dangerously before his chunky three-toed feet find purchase. He sashays across the room, his tail flicking behind him as he pokes at everything.

I let him roam, his giddiness infectious as I set about arranging my room the way I want it. With Ollie’s help, if you can call it that, I slowly settle into my new space.

The sun begins to dip below the horizon. Dinner should be soon.

As if on cue, a knock on wood echoes at my door.