Page 35 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Millicent

AS THE SUN VANISHES AND the moon takes its place, Oliver tires of the tour and disappears, retreating to whatever hellish domain he crawled out of this time.

On my way back to my room—hoping to relax and maybe read—I catch sight of Felix climbing through one of the windows, his dark sage-green cloak billowing behind him.

The king of the South is truly climbing through a window in his own palace in a disguise.

I stroll over toward the struggled huffs, a smirk pulling at my lips.

“Sneaking out again?” I can’t help but laugh as I watch him drunkenly haul himself through the opening. There’s a door just a few paces down. I can’t deny that watching him use the window is exceedingly entertaining.

He lifts his eyes from the floor to meet mine. “Ah, Millicent! Just got some fresh air,” he lies, words slurring.

“Was the air made of wine or mead?” I snort, grabbing his hands to help tug him through. “Gods, you’re heavier than you look.”

“It’s rude to mention a lady's weight,” he grunts, wriggling through the window. “Now pull! Put your back into it!”

I heave, digging my heels in for some leverage, “Felix, there’s a damn door right down the hall!”

“That hardly screams sneaking out , does it?” he retorts sassily, just before falling face first onto the floor with a squeal that sounds more pig than man.

Laughing hysterically, he pulls himself upright, completely unfazed by the alcohol sloshing in his system.

“Your subjects are going to see their king drunk and dressed like a commoner,” I tease.

“Drunk is nothing new. You should see me at a ball: the ladies love me. I have to beat them off with a stick!” He grins proudly before glancing down at his disheveled clothes. “Let them wonder. They can call me the handsome, mysterious king.”

“Felix, this—” I gesture at his tousled outfit, stained with red wine and littered with dirt and leaves from the shrubs outside, “—is not mysterious. It’s more homeless drunkard, maybe.”

He rolls his eyes, brushing at the bits of greenery stuck to him, but he hardly makes a difference. “Come! I need more wine. You’re giving me a headache, which can only mean you need wine too.”

His sass incites my intrigue to follow his line of thinking. Felix is dangerously entertaining. And he’s grown on me. I try not to dwell on this fact because it clashes with everything I’ve been taught. It’ll drag me into a hole of self-loathing I might not crawl out of.

“Witches make their own brew since human wine doesn’t affect us the same.”

“Please. You’re just not drinking enough,” he scoffs, dismissive as ever.

He leads us into his study and heads straight for a row of wine bottles lined atop a high, glossy black table trimmed in gold.

“You want me to black out?” I laugh as he pours the glass, nearly to the brim, and he hands it to me before sprawling out on the couch.

I settle beside him, cross-legged on the floor, accepting the glass with amusement. He confirms his intention—to black out and drag me with him.

The hours pass easily.

Felix flits from one absurd story to the next.

I learn he loves women and wine in excess, and based on how he speaks about being king, I suspect he doesn’t want the title.

He’s a clever little devil—sharp tongued and surprisingly endearing, even when drunk.

However, he never confides in me exactly where he goes when he slips away.

Eventually, I’m tipsy enough to be giggling as he tries to braid my hair from behind. I’m not even fully aware of how we got in this position. Our conversations began to blur into one and became hazy from the wine. He was right: I just needed more wine.

“You squirm so much, girl. Do you want to look horrendous?” he mutters, tugging at my hair as he restarts the simple braid.

“You blame the art and not the artist? Typical,” I giggle, leaning into the joke. “My sister always said any hairstyle would look beautiful on me.”

I smile thinking about Arcadia again, as I often find myself doing. The wine does a fantastic job at dampening the shame that rises over my attachment to her, which allows me to think of her without oppression.

Tyran’s words draw me back. “Well, she’s a liar,” he mumbles, still focused on the task.

I laugh so hard my whole body shakes, and it sends Felix into a fit of laughter with me.

Our laughs die abruptly when the door swings open. Cage stands at the threshold, watching us.

“Do you not knock?” I blurt, crossing my arms with a pout.

Felix tugs my hair again. “Yeah! We could’ve been naked!”

I reach back and slap his knee, earning me a sharp tug in response.

The intensity in Cage’s gaze causes me to shift on my crossed legs, suddenly self-conscious.

“The guards checked your room. You were missing,” he says, eyes flicking to the three empty wine bottles scattered on the floor. “I was just making sure you are safe.” His voice flattens. I’m not at all surprised Felix slips away from his own guards. “You’re both drunk, aren’t you?”

“Why aren’t you drunk, is the real question,” Felix replies, playfully unfazed as he continues braiding.

I sit up straighter, trying not to move now that he’s nearly finished.

“All done! I’ve got a mirror somewhere,” he mumbles, rifling through the clutter on the side table before producing a small hand-held mirror. He holds it out to me.

I take one look and burst into laughter. It’s atrocious: lumpy and crooked, with strands sticking out in every direction.

“This is horrible!” I wheeze, wiping away tears. My eyes snag on wrinkles around my eyes and mouth as my skin pulls up from the force of my laugh. As I giggle, my own expression is so foreign that I forget about the braid for a moment and study my own face.

“I thought you said you’d look beautiful in any hairstyle? See, your sister is clearly a liar!” he declares triumphantly.

My eyes drift up from the mirror to Cage, who’s staring at me with an emotion I can’t quite place.

“It looks like shit,” he adds coldly.

I roll my eyes. “Wow, it’s a marvel you’re still single.”

Cage smirks as he steps closer. “Single by choice, but my bed is never cold, little witch.”

Behind me, Felix snorts and flops back on the couch. “You have no class. That’s why every woman you bed ends up a scorned lover, pining and cursing your name. I swear they pray for your downfall, Cage.”

Cage shrugs and comes to stand beside me, his gaze dropping to Felix.

“I’m not a coddling caregiver like you. I’m honest: lust is the only thing I offer. You romance them. I don’t. My appetite is…rougher.”

He flicks a side glance at me from the corner of his eyes when he catches me staring.

“I think our dear king needs his beauty rest,” he says, “and you need to return to your room.”

Felix is starting to pass out.

I rise, wobbling on legs that haven’t stood in hours, and that isn’t to mention the three bottles of wine. The unsteadiness makes me giggle along with the dancing room, right before large, strong hands grab my arms.

“Please tell me you can walk,” Cage says, clearly annoyed.

“No, I forgot how to use my legs; of course I can walk! Unhand me!” I demand, yanking my arms free—only to fall flat on my ass.

I cross my arms and lift my chin, determined to show no sign of defeat.

Felix snorts out a laugh. “No! She can totally walk! Matter of fact, I want to watch this.” He crosses his feet at the ankles and tucks his crossed arms under his head as he grins down at me.

“You are stupid and stubborn, and your braid makes you look as insane as you are,” Cage grumbles, bending down to scoop me up.

“Put me down before I obliterate you,” I warn as he pulls me against his chest. One of his arms hooks under my knees, and the other wraps around my shoulders.

“Oh, I’m shaking in fear,” he deadpans, carrying me out of Felix’s study.

His sarcasm flies over my head in my drunken haze, and I wave goodbye to Felix just as we exit. “As you should be. Many tremble in my presence.” I grin, glancing down the hall.

A strange part of me takes enjoyment in being carried. I know he loathes this, and that only makes it better. The thought makes me kick my feet in joy. A free ride to my room while simultaneously annoying Cage? Jackpot.

He casts a sideways glance at my casually kicking feet. “I will be the kinder one between us and resist making you shake,” he murmurs.

I frown and look up at him, confused. “I will never tremble in fear of you.”

His voice dips into something low and dangerous, a husky promise of some dark, hidden desires. “Who said it would be out of fear?”

I shut my mouth, my drunk brain fumbling to process the suggestive words, and my feet cease their kicking.

Agitation pricks, demanding I argue back, but confusion forces me to shut my mouth as my brain struggles to process why it sounds like he desires to touch me.

I’m drunk and losing it. Heat blooms on my cheeks as my flustered state ultimately silences me.

I huff and look back down the hall; he’s already covered a lot of ground.

Being tall really does get you places faster.

When we reach the private hall, he carries me into my room, ignoring my insistence I can walk. He drops me onto the bed with little ceremony, and I bounce once, giggling too hard to be upset.

“You are dismissed now,” I say, waving him off as I pull back the covers.

I yelp in surprise when he grabs my ankle and pulls me flat onto my back. The sudden motion sends the room spinning.

“Hey!” I whine, starting to sit up, only for his hand to press just above my navel, pinning me in place. The muscles in my stomach all tense.

“You don’t give commands, little witch,” he murmurs, and I notice something strange; his silver eyes seem darker. I squint, attempting to decipher if it’s just the poor lighting or if I’m imagining things.

He sits beside me on the bed, reaching down; he tugs the end of my braid. “Sit up, Millicent,” he says.

Curiosity wins out. I slowly sit up, watching him with suspicion.