Page 29 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

It was necessary. It always is. My grip tightens on the knob as my own memories of my necessary steps to power mix with what I saw. The thought lingers longer than it should. I shake my head, exhaling sharply, and push into my room, determined to let it go.

Ollie appears the moment I step inside—his timing always impeccable.

Wordlessly, he helps me out of my bodysuit, now clinging to me like a second layer of skin, sealed tight with sweat and fatigue.

As always, Ollie helps me through our near-nightly routine, assisting with my bath, then settling me into a fresh nightgown. The light fabric allows my skin to breathe, and the short hem, brushing mid-thigh, allows for comfort without restriction.

A knock at the door breaks the quiet. A servant steps in, delivering a platter stacked high with meats, cheeses, nuts, and fruit. The rich aroma fills the room, dancing up my nose. My stomach growls, demanding to be fed.

I sigh, shaking my head. Damn that golden-haired king. I hadn’t wanted to accept his meddling, but now, with the scent teasing my senses, I find myself grateful for his persistence.

I crawl onto my bed, sitting cross-legged as I spread the meal out in front of me.

Having food is not odd, but having someone demand I eat and send food to me is.

Le Strange witches are fiercely independent.

We do not coddle one another. You take care of your own injuries, your own needs, and help your sisters only when they ask.

Only Arcadia has tended to my wounds when I have lost consciousness.

Only she has fed me when I could not feed myself.

Ollie plops down beside me, extending his little legs forward. They nearly vanish beneath the round swell of his belly, which now rests over his knees like a plush cushion.

Without hesitation, he digs in and shovels handfuls of food into his open mouth. I laugh as jam and cheese get on his obnoxiously long nose and remain there, hidden from his view as he continues digging in, wiggling his toes in pleasure. “Ollie, there’s jam and cheese on your nose,” I laugh.

His tongue pokes out, wiggling wildly as he tries—and fails—to reach the tip. After a few futile attempts, he gives and returns to his meal without concern. When we finish eating, I grab a rag and wipe his face. He chatters in that odd, insect-like noise of his, enjoying the affectionate act.

Once I am sure no lingering jam can end up on my sheets, I slide onto my side, letting him brush my hair. He hums softly—a song my mother would often sing to me. Ollie gently starts brushing the ends and carefully works upward toward my scalp.

My gaze drifts toward the open balcony doors. Perched in the shadows beyond, Nora’s ever-present owl watches. I should give a report. That is my duty, but I’m far too tired. “Tomorrow,” I mumble, my voice barely audible, unsure if I even managed to say the word out loud.

Sensing my unease, Ollie doesn’t pause his humming. His chaotic magic stirs instead, bouncing in white shimmering streaks along the walls before slamming into the balcony doors. A barrier forms, white light crackling before settling into a deep gray, dark as storm clouds.

The curtain is nearly solid, save for speckled patches where faint light still peeks through. The owl disappears behind it, and peace returns. Oliver hums on, his fingers deftly weaving through my hair. My eyes flutter closed, his song pulling at memories long buried.

I hear my mother’s voice singing the same melody. A lullaby from another life.

Sleep takes me, carrying me toward dreams of better times.

“IT’S LATE, LITTLE ONE. YOU must sleep now,” my mother whispers against my temple, pressing a soft kiss there before peppering more along my forehead and cheeks.

I squeal in delight, wriggling in her lap.

“Please Mama! Just one more time!” My wide eyes twinkle up at her, my best attempt at a puppy-dog face.

I’m not ready for sleep—not yet. She laughs, the sound rich and warm.

It’s nothing like the dry practiced laughter of the other coven girls. My sisters, I correct myself.

“Okay, one more time,” she concedes, the last traces of laughter fading into an easy smile.

She pulls me closer, tucking me into the safety of her arms. I curl against her chest, my small hands tangling in her long black locks—the same depth of darkness as mine.

Pressing my cheek to her heart, I listen to its steady thrum, letting it ease the restless pang still vibrating inside me from my rather adventurous day.

She hums first, a familiar melody that makes my own lips twitch with the urge to join in. Then, as she begins to sing, I let the vibration of her voice seep into me, my own chest echoing its rhythm, my heartbeats synchronizing with hers.

“Sleep and hush, time can wait.

My little star, the world is yours to create.

You shine so true, my precious one.

Your glow will last when the day ends, and the dark hath come.”

Her fingers trail along my back in slow, soothing circles, coaxing my body toward sleep. My eyelids grow heavy.

“Forever in your love I will stay,

To guide you home and light your way.

Never be truly afraid,

For my sweet little love is far too brave.”

The words soften, fading into the haze of sleep. The last thing I hear is the steady rhythm of her heart—strong, unwavering.

A sound I once believed would last forever.