Page 41 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

“I usually am,” she mutters, turning back to Shalla and gently squeezing her hand. “Thank you, Shalla. I won’t forget your help.”

Shalla squeezes her hand in return and then hesitates before speaking. “Millicent…if I may, what is attached to you?”

Millicent recoils as if burned, ripping her hand back like she’s been bitten by a viper.

“Please,” Shalla soothes, lifting her palms in peace. “I don’t mean to intrude. I’ve practiced curse work for nearly five centuries. I can feel them when they’re close. And I feel something; it’s carved into your skin.”

Millicent shifts in my lap, pushing to rise, but I tighten my grip on her hips, keeping her seated. I need to hear this.

Shalla, sensing the shift, relents. She offers a gentle smile. “No worry, child. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She rises just as the doors to the library open again. The twin witchlings return, taking her hands silently. “We’re here to assist with whatever needs the Le Strange coven requires,” she says softly. “Tell Arcadia I said hello.”

With that, she exits, the doors closing behind her.

And we’re alone again.

I finally release Millicent, allowing her to leap from my lap.

“Well, that was helpful,” I sigh, rising from the chair.

“Hey!” I call as she storms toward the exit. I jog after her, reaching out to catch her wrist and tugging her back toward me. “Are we just storming out now? Not even going to try our hand at some of these texts?”

The moment my fingers touch her skin, I feel her magic spike—wild, unsettled.

“Millicent?” I murmur, but she doesn’t hear me. Her eyes are looking past me, like I’m not there.

If I were myself, I’d shake her—rattle the storm out of her—but I’m Tyran now. Tyran is softer.

So, I let my thumb trace soothing circles along her wrist.

“Is it…about something following you?” I ask gently, trying to not escalate her further.

She jerks her arm back, glaring. “Let me go, Tyran. I don’t need you caring about me,” she snaps.

I ignore her words and cup her cheeks instead.

“Perhaps I’m not caring about you, exactly,” I say steadily, “Maybe I’m just thinking about the mission…and how bad it’d be if a witch from another coven had a magic tantrum in their library. That’d be…inconvenient, yes?”

I nod, nudging the point home.

She exhales sharply, the fire in her eyes dimming to a stubborn pout.

“I should’ve left your drunk ass in the hallway,” she mutters. “This isn’t a friendship.”

“Now who’s being rude?” I flash a big cheesy grin. “We’re definitely friends. And now that I’ve finally found another royal, you’ll have to attend court. Sit right at my side.”

“Oh, sure,” she says dryly. “Your subjects will love a witch at court.”

“I hardly care what they think.” I drop my hands from her cheeks, grinning. “Honestly, it’s just for my personal amusement. I want a front-row seat to your suffering.”

She scoffs. “That’s something I would expect from Cage, not you.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Cage will be there too,” I smirk. “He wouldn’t want to miss it.”

She rolls her eyes, turning for the door. “Great. My favorite person.”

As she walks, I call after her, feigning curiosity. “I get that mages and witches have been at odds since creation, but what exactly is it between you and Cage? Seems…personal.”

Her voice sharpens as the sarcasm falls away completely. “I don’t care for history when it comes to him. My hatred isn’t because his kind were made to put mine down. It’s because he murdered my mother. And half my coven.”

She turns toward me now, eyes burning. “I was five. Left to die while I held my mother’s body in my lap. And he just flew away like a coward.”

Her words land like a strike to the chest. The urge to reach out to her rises and I resist. It’s the same urge I felt that night, resurfacing once I saw her. I have no shame for that night—no guilt—except for leaving her.

I tread carefully now. “You think he did it in cold blood? That there wasn’t a reason?”

“I think he was power hungry,” Millicent says bitterly. “He wanted more and more. I bet he felt unstoppable taking so many of us out in such short time.”

I feel the accusation stab deep, but I manage to stay silent.

“You probably don’t agree,” she continues, softer now. “We were once friends. He was one of my best friends.”

The admission hits harder than anything else she’s said. I always thought I cared more—that she never saw me the same way.

“We weren’t allowed to play with him,” she says, shaking her head. “The elder segregated him from us. My mother warned me he was dangerous, but I didn’t listen.”

Her mouth tightens, and her eyes gloss over with regret.

“I saw someone who needed a friend. And, like a fool, I gave him that…befriended him. In return, he betrayed me so fiercely; it haunts me, even now.”

The bite in her voice softens—not forgiving, not forgetting—and cracks, just enough to reveal the pain she keeps buried.

Something twists in my chest. “Cage is my best friend now,” I say slowly, surprised by my own words.

“Outside of Kalix, he’s important to me.

He’s told me some things about his time at your coven.

It’s not my place to share, and you wouldn’t believe me anyway, but maybe it’s worth hearing for your own peace of mind. ”

I can hardly believe I’m saying it.

Hearing her voice thicken with grief—the only softness I’d ever known after my own village burned—I can’t stay silent.

“You’re Nora's favorite, aren’t you?” I ask gently. “You speak about bleeding and sacrifice. Maybe Cage endured the same things while he was Nora’s favorite. Maybe he bled too.”

She whirls to face me as we hit the door.

“The difference between us, Felix,” she spits, “is that I understood what was necessary. I bore it. I didn’t retaliate because I am not weak. I am worthy of the power that lives inside me.”

Her voice rises with an aching ferocity.

“I gave everything,” she breathes. “Since I was a child, I gave until I was nothing but an empty vessel, and then I was rebuilt. I was filled with power. I earned it. I am worthy.”

Her hand presses against the door, trembling.

“He is unworthy.”

There it is—her attitude—easily reigniting my hate, pushing it back over any fragile attempt at understanding her.

I won’t fight her. Not as Felix. I choose my next words wisely.

“Those who are truly worthy, Millicent, don’t need to keep reminding themselves they are,” I say quietly, motioning to the door behind her. “Now…shall we go?”

I don’t understand the flicker of hurt that flashes across her face.

Channeling Felix’s softer nature, I reach out, cupping her cheeks once again. My fingers trace lightly over her warm skin, and I feel her breathing hitch beneath my touch.

“You were worthy even before you drained every ounce of emotion and blood from yourself,” I murmur.

“That’s easy for a mortal to say,” she whispers, and I watch her mask crack further, piece by piece. “Such comforts are not afforded to my kind.”

It no longer feels like manipulation. This isn’t her acting for Felix’s benefit. This is real, like they’re friends.

I realize—too late—that I’m trespassing on a sacred friendship that doesn’t belong to me. If I were a good man, an honest one, I would stop.

Instead, I reach inward and sever the mental thread connecting me to Tyran, locking this moment away from him.

This is mine.

“I can offer you comfort,” I whisper, leaning closer, breathing her in. “Tell me your sins, and I’ll absolve them. Tell me a truth, no matter how dark, and you’ll taste freedom, even if only for a little while.”

“A truth for a truth?” she breathes.

And even though I’m offering up one of Felix’s secrets and not my own—just to have one of hers—I find myself whispering back without hesitation.

“A truth for a truth.”

The air stills between us. She swallows hard.

“I have given everything since I was young. I gave until I was nothing but an empty vessel.”

She exhales a shaky breath, and her voice begins to crack as she continues.

“Even when they filled me back up—with power, with magic—I’m still empty, Felix. I’m still hollow…I feel it inside me,” she whispers. “The weakness. I can’t get rid of it.”

Her voice breaks fully now.

Shalla had mentioned her mother, the curse carved into her skin. With old traumas being dredged up, it’s pressing down on her. I can’t blame her.

And I know witches: when their emotions spiral, so does their magic. Just as her imps had manifested in her sleep, her pain could easily boil over now, twisting the magic inside her into something wildly dangerous.

I keep my touch steady, caressing her cheeks gently as her eyes fill with pain and anger.

“To feel your emotions is strength, Millicent,” I murmur, letting the words sink between us. “Weakness is pretending you don't feel anything. Weakness is shoving everything down until it poisons you.”

I lower my voice.

“Be angry. Be scared. Be hurt. Feel it. Let yourself be everything you are. And when you’re ready…find something to fill that hollow space, and chase it.”

I hesitate because what I’m about to say doesn’t belong to Felix anymore.

“It’s okay to not know now, but lean on...me.”

I choke slightly, forcing Felix’s voice to stay steady. “Lean on Iris. Lean on Kalix.”

I leave my name out.

She needs comfort, not confusion.

As her breathing evens out, I slowly lift my hands from her face, lingering longer than I mean it to. That’s when I notice the slight lean into my hand—Felix’s hand—just before I pull away.

“You level?” I ask quietly.

“Yes, thank you,” she says quietly, offering a tight-lipped smile. “It was hard. Hearing about my mother…and the other things Shalla mentioned.”

I grin, slipping back into Felix’s role, lightening the mood as he always does. “Anything to keep our witch from exploding!”

Reaching around her, I grasp the doorknob and push it open.

And because I promised—a truth for a truth—I add, almost casually, “I never wanted to be king.” The truth, even if not mine, is heavier than I expect.

The door swings wide open, and she glances up at me, her blue eyes softening.

“You have too much life in you to be a royal,” she says with a small smile; it’s tentative but real. She’s trying to comfort me, a tiny piece of herself offered back.

We step out of the library together, carrying the weight of the coven and all its secrets with us.

The ride back to the castle is quiet.

Given what passed between us, it’s not…abnormal. It’s expected. I let the silence stretch, offering her that small mercy.

Still, I catch myself watching her from time to time.

There’s another person buried beneath her iron skin and razor claws. Even with her sharp edges, her outer appearance is…

Who am I lying to?

Millicent isn’t simply pleasant and easy on the eyes.

She’s terrifyingly beautiful—the kind that doesn’t invite admiration but dares it. The violent sensuality woven into the fabric of her being is uncanny in a way that promises something fatal if you get too close and taste that sweet, forbidden fruit.

In another life, she must have been a siren, luring men into dark waters and singing them straight to their deaths. And if I reached out now—not as Felix but as myself—she would cut me down gleefully.

I would be her willing victim.

My hatred for her muddles further, blurring into something too complicated to name, just like the gaps in my own memory—pieces of who I used to be, eroded by time and survival.

Wouldn’t I have become just like her if I’d stayed in Nora’s grasp?

I long to understand Millicent.

People are puzzles to me—complex, fascinating things to be pulled apart and solved.

What motivates them? What terrifies them? How could I twist them to my will?

I tongue the inside of my cheek, irritation prickling at the edges of my thoughts.

I hate that I can’t get into her mind. If I could just slip past her defenses, I would know everything.

I could stop fearing that someday she’ll turn and tear apart the people I care about—predators locked in a vicious circle, looking for one another’s weakness.

And I am learning hers. I feel no guilt for whatever methods I use.

Even as I adjust the crown atop my head, wearing this gilded meat suit, I’m built to pull the softer parts of her out.

When we return, I swiftly return to my chambers. I bathe, scrubbing away the remnants of Felix’s shape.

Two hours later, I am myself again, the transformation finally broken—despite drinking a second elixir in the carriage to maintain the disguise.

I dress simply: black trousers and a loose black tunic.

And then I gather Iris, Kalix, and Felix back into the meeting hall.

Felix already knows most of it, but I lay it all out carefully, answering every question.

It takes three hours to sift through everything and to face the uncomfortable truth.

We need to infiltrate a Manipulator’s coven. We need to find out if they’re behind the disappearances, infections, and mutations spreading across the land.

We still don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. Not after the Duke. Not after the abomination in the cave.

At least we have another lead now, even if following it means walking straight into the dark.