Page 39 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Cage

AS WE APPROACH THE brIDGE that crosses the ravine and leads to the coven gates, I lean out the carriage window and signal for the one behind us to stop.

“Some knights will stay back here so the witches don’t see us as a threat—while still providing additional safety,” I explain, half-true. Kalix and Felix are in that carriage, guarded by knights, yes, but their safety is the priority, not ours.

Horse hooves clack steadily over the cobblestone. It’s time.

I reach inward, delicately extending a thin black thread—barely more than a whisper of magic—down the line toward Felix’s mind. I do not want to alert Millicent, so I keep the connection low and contained. No surges. No stray threads she might sense.

Kalix’s potion is doing its job, dampening my aura enough that I pass for a mortal. He warned me that any real surge of power will break the illusion.

Felix is warm and eager as I slip through the familiar opening in the back of his mind. I strengthen the link, thickening the thread into something more durable—less like a strand of hair and more like a tether of woven silk.

Almost showtime , I send down the line, testing the connection.

You have to tell me everything you see! Felix’s excitement bubbles through our connection, crackling on my tongue like the pop-rock candy from the merchant in town.

The carriage slows to a stop just outside the tall, imposing iron gates. I step out first, and then I extend my hand to help Millicent. She accepts my touch without hesitation, flinch, or complaint.

That ease sours my mood, settling in my stomach like curdled milk. Felix must touch her often if she’s grown so accustomed to it.

I let go of her hand as soon as she’s steady and then lead the way toward two sentinel witches standing guard. They wear deep-red robes, perfectly matched. One has short, curly brown hair; the other’s is buzzed short leaving a pale white cast on her head.

Stopping at a respectable distance, I lift my hands slowly, palms open in a universal gesture of amity.

“I come peacefully,” I announce clearly, projecting Felix’s easy charm. “I’m here only to ask for your aid.”

“A mortal king asking aid from a coven, and accompanied by a witch?” The buzzed-haired witch scowls, her eyes flicking skeptically between us.

Millicent lifts her chin slightly, her voice ringing clear and authoritative. “I am Millicent Le Strange. We seek your elder… or someone well versed in curses. We’ve encountered a curse we cannot name.”

The witches' eyes widen sharply at the mention of her name. “Nora sent no word of a visit.” At the mention of her name, the witches tense ever so slightly. Defensively.

Millicent doesn’t falter. “I’m here by her direct order to assist the king. Nora is fully aware in this matter.”

She sounds truthful, and I’m not surprised. Nora always knows what Millicent is up to. No one controls every facet of your life, only to send you away without keeping a close eye. Nora’s collar hasn’t loosened; she merely lengthened the leash.

Millicent must be in constant contact with her, likely through letters or, more disturbingly, through that familiar whose sole purpose was always spying. When I was Nora’s favorite, that creepy thing hovered around me constantly. I swear it never even blinked.

The witches guarding the gate exchange a silent glance before the curly-haired one speaks: “Fine. You’ll both wear no-harm curses.

If you harm anyone in this coven—or even intend to—the curse will activate, collapsing your lungs within seconds.

You’ll suffocate and die in under a minute. It is a painful death.”

“We accept.” Millicent says without hesitation. “I’ll be marked first.”

Her confidence makes my own brief hesitation feel glaringly obvious. She moves directly to the curly-haired witch, and I follow suit, stopping in front of the buzzed-haired sentinel.

“Unbutton your shirt. This goes on your chest,” she instructs curtly.

I loosen the golden buttons, exposing my chest. Her finger dips into a silver ink pad.

The ink is cold; she presses it onto my skin as she traces a long rectangle, marking out a complex rune in one practiced motion.

I recoil inwardly but force no reaction to show outwardly.

It is necessary—a line I am far too familiar with in situations I dislike.

A quick glance at Millicent reveals the same rune being carefully etched onto her chest, but her face does not give any emotion away.

When they finish, the iron gates creak open, allowing us entry. Inside, the courtyard surrounding the massive, white-marbled mansion is littered with statues of men and women, all half hidden beneath layers of ivy. Fountains gurgle quietly, the water dancing in the evening air.

“Seems rather fancy here,” I murmur as we climb the wide staircase toward the mansion’s ornate entrance.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if these curse users leveraged their skills to rise in society,” Millicent replies softly. “The curse user I mentioned—my sister—loves travel and luxury. If they’re anything like her, this display makes perfect sense.”

The front doors automatically swing open the moment we step onto a stone carved with a simple activation sigil. Handy. I’ll have to remember that one .

My gaze lifts from the stone and sweeps into the coven’s luxurious interior. Floating lanterns illuminate the space brightly, casting a warm glow across richly colored red carpets. The red theme carries through the curtains, drapes, and plush furnishings; deep, wine-red hues are everywhere.

Witches move gracefully about, dressed as if attending an elegant ball. Millicent’s gown fits perfectly into the scene, blending seamlessly into the crimson sea of fabric.

“Who are you lot?” A curious voice echoes down the main corridor. A tall, red-headed witch approaches, her hair pulled into a tight, disciplined bun. She looks older than most here but not quite elderly.

“Millicent Le Strange,” Millicent answers firmly, “and this is King Tyran of the Southern continent. We request an audience with your elder…or someone knowledgeable about curses. We’ve encountered an unusual one.”

The witch tilts her head slightly, fixing me with an intense stare; it’s hard to ignore. I hold her gaze, but Felix’s soft eyes aren’t particularly intimidating. Her attention slides to Millicent.

“A king and a witch?” she muses, her expression openly curious. “Are you breeding him?”

I cough out a startled laugh and then immediately realize she’s completely serious, without a hint of humor in her expression. Glancing up, I see more witches gathering along the second-floor railing to peer down at me.

It hits me then: I’m being examined like a piece of candy.

“I am,” Millicent responds confidently, firmly staking her claim over me.

Anger riles up inside me, fueled by an unwanted image of Felix tangled in bed with her.

Felix must sense the spike in my emotions because his curiosity instantly intrudes. Everything all right over there? Don’t tell me it’s already going badly , he whines.

The witch has announced to the entire coven you two are sleeping together, I snap back mentally.

His response is colored with amused delight. Oh? How scandalous! Are women going to fight over me? Do send me mental images; I’d hate to miss the show .

Of course, the egotistical bastard relishes the thought of witches pining after him. He’s like a brightly wrapped present at a birthday party, set on a table, with everyone eagerly waiting their turn to unwrap him.

The witches’ lustful gazes only grow sharper after Millicent’s claim. It must be jealousy—wanting what another has. And that someone, in this case, is Millicent, the only witch alive who commands two distinct magics.

“How intriguing!” the witch exclaims. “We are friends with the Le Strange coven. We certainly won’t refuse the heir. Come with me.” She pivots sharply, heading down the corridor and leaving me momentarily stunned.

I turn sharply to Millicent, narrowing my eyes. “Heir?” I grind out. Her clear confusion only irritates me further.

Hells, I mentally curse. I inform Tyran of our new development.

It appears we have the bloody heir of the Le Strange coven with us.

Blindsided by such valuable information, irritation bleeds into my voice.

I know everything about anyone within a few seconds after reading their mind.

And, of course, I can’t read Millicent’s: the one person whose mind is the most vital to ensuring the safety of this kingdom and my friends.

She proves yet again that she’s capable of holding great secrets.

His excitement pulses instantly through our bond. A princess! Wow! Finally, someone else of royal blood around here. I swear, his enthusiasm is relentless and irritatingly genuine.

I soften my voice, forcibly reigning in my agitation at this revelation she’s kept hidden. “Well, it seems I finally have company worthy of royal blood. Lead on, princess .”

Millicent’s eyebrows lift slightly, unimpressed.

“Royal blood? Little human king, witch heirs aren’t crowned by birth; they’re made through power.

The blood making me heir is blood I willingly spilled.

I had to bleed for it. You were merely born into yours.

” She quickens her pace, catching up with our guide.

I easily close the distance, matching her stride. “That seems rather dreary. If I so much as get a paper cut, guards come running. No one allows my blood to spill, but your coven demands it?”

“A paper cut? You truly are pampered,” she says, a slight grin tugging her lips.

“I’ve never been coddled over an injury.

I can’t imagine anyone running to my aid over something so trivial.

I’ve bled until I’ve passed out and placed myself into stasis for three days to recover.

And even when I woke, I was alone. I rarely recall anyone there when my consciousness faded. ”