Page 5 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Millicent

TODAY MARKS THE DAY I leave the coven. My trips beyond its borders have been few and fleeting, only ever for sacrificial rituals, and I have never ventured overnight, let alone this far.

Nora forbids it. Standing at the edge of the tree line, I hesitate, my next step weighed by thoughts of Cadia.

I hadn’t said goodbye to her, a selfish attempt to shield myself from the inevitable hurt and pain our parting would bring.

My attachment to her always made me feel so weak.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I force my legs to walk forward.

“Oh, yoo-hoo!” Cadia’s voice rings out, growing louder as her footsteps close the gaps between us.

Before I can react, her body slams into mine, nearly knocking me off my feet.

Her arms wrap tightly around my waist, pulling me into a fierce hug.

“No goodbye to your favorite person in the universe? I’m insulted, you bitch,” she teases, her laughter bright and unrestrained as she releases me.

I turn to face her, and my resistance crumbles at the sight of her radiant smile.

She’s glowing with excitement, her joy contagious and bittersweet.

Throwing my arms around her, I squeeze her tightly, not caring if Nora might catch us.

I was leaving anyway. A smile tugs at my lips as I lean back, taking in her face, drinking in her features as if indulging myself in the memory.

“Isn’t it odd I’m the one leaving this time, not you? ”

“I am overjoyed,” Cadia says, her voice brimming with sincerity.

“For well over a hundred years, I’ve been desperate for you to see the outside world.

Millicent, you’ll love it—if you embrace it.

” Her golden eyes gleam knowingly as she offers me a pointed look, one that makes me roll my eyes in return.

In what world would I love this situation?

“Love it? I’ll be living with vermin. What’s there to love about that?”

Cadia snorts, undeterred. “Oh, come on. Humans are fun. They make great mead, entertaining stories, fun trinkets…and let’s not forget, plenty of them know how to pleasure a woman.” She wiggles her eyebrows mischievously, grinning at my discomfort.

“I will not be having any of that, thanks.” My reply is sharp, though her teasing pulls a faint smirk from me despite myself.

“Lame ass,” she mutters, but her tone softens.

“I mean it, though. Embrace it, and you’ll love it.

That whole ‘vermin’ bullshit is old news.

Out there, there’s no Nora. No suffocating expectations.

No endless lessons. Just…you. Who is Millicent without all of that?

You might finally figure it out. Just promise me one thing. Write to me. I want updates.”

Cadia is different from the rest of the coven.

I’ve always wondered why. Maybe it’s her bloodline.

She’s a curse user, something unique among us.

Or maybe it’s just who she is. Unlike the others, she doesn’t mind humans.

She even talks about them with something close to admiration, recounting stories of men waiting on her hand and foot.

Cadia never endured the lessons I did. Her curse magic did not require the blood or sadistic rituals mine does.

Yet, for all she faced, her spirit has never been broken, her morals never warped to match the darkness of our sisters.

Perhaps it’s because she escaped. At twenty-one, she ran from the coven, exploring the world for years, returning only for fleeting visits.

That freedom shaped her into someone I envy and admire in equal measure.

“I’ll write,” I say, a spark of hope warming my chest. The thought of seeing her again, of having some tie to the familiar in the unknown, steadies me. “Maybe, if it is not horrendous, you could even visit.”

Her smile widens as she cups my face, pressing a kiss to each of my cheeks. “Count on it. I can never stay far from you.” Her gaze glints with mischief. “And when I visit, I’ll expect wild tales and a proper adventure, and a good time. Don’t disappoint me, darling.”

“Oh, absolutely . A blast, Cadia,” I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

We share one last embrace before I turn toward the forest, my heart feeling heavy. As I step into the shadow of the trees, I glance back just once. Cadia and the coven stand in the distance. I take it all in, a final snapshot of the only home I’ve ever known.

Then I keep walking. What lives in these woods will not bother me anytime soon.

Their instincts warn them of what runs in my veins, what has consumed my soul.

I can’t give my patron all the credit for rearranging the very particles of my being.

My heart ceased to function a long time ago.

A string, invisible and tight, pulling on my heart, urges me to return to Arcadia to ensure someone I love is safe, to feel affection .

I continue to push forward, each of my steps purposeful and confident.

The thread snaps, and I feel the familiar nothingness flourish through my chest, growing like untamed vines.

I hear her cackle growing so loud I stop hearing the forest around me. What heart? What soul? You lost those long ago.

Her words don’t rouse me. She doesn’t lie, and in a way, the Nightmother is me, her presence sewn into the fabric of my being, woven tightly. If undone, the entire canvas of my skin would split and cease to exist.

I continue, and she accompanies me into the darkness of the woods.

I PERCH ON THE ROUGH, gray stone ledge of a fountain on the outskirts of Ravenfell, the bustling town just beyond the dense forest surrounding my coven.

The mortals move in predictable patterns, their lives small and meaningless.

Vermin. I scan the crowd, and my eyes catch what can only be my escorts.

A golden carriage cuts through the rabble like a shard of sunlight, its opulence screaming luxury that only a king can afford.

The sun’s reflection off the polished surface nearly blinds me, and I squint against its brilliance.

I have a feeling I will tire of gold long before my business there is done.

The crowd parts instinctively, murmurs rising when the carriage halts a few feet from me.

Golden banners flutter from its sides, matching the polished white mares that pull it and the gilded armor of the knights escorting it.

The entire display reeks of importance and ostentation. Just as I thought, my ride.

The door swings open, and a guard steps out, his expression stiff but controlled. “Lady Le Strange,” he says with an air of forced respect.

I’m surprised he’s bothering with courtesy though I don’t show it. Most mortals fear witches. Some even fancied themselves brave enough to hunt us. At least this one has the sense to keep his composure .

“We are to escort you to the castle. It is a three-day trip. We must make it to the first stop before nightfall,” he continues, his tone carefully neutral.

The men surrounding him remain silent, but they don’t need words for me to hear them. Their thoughts slip into my mind, as clear and loud as if they’d spoken aloud.

For a demon, she sure is attractive. I thought witches were hideous.

Her eyes…what kind of blue is that? Are all witches’ eyes so vibrant?

Damn, look at those marks. She has to be even stronger than Lord Black’s mages. Gods, let’s hope she doesn’t cause any issues.

Diseased bitch. We’d be better off burning her to ash.

What is the king thinking, inviting this thing? He’s never lost his family to her kind.

The last thought draws my attention. I find its source easily enough—the guard to my left, his clenched jaw ticking with concealed disdain.

He’s trying not to look at me, but his hatred radiates like heat from a flame.

I meet his gaze and grin obnoxiously wide, savoring the flicker of unease that passes over his face. Let him stew.

The guard in front of me speaks, pulling my attention to him. “Let us depart.” His voice is steady, but his eyes flick nervously toward the dark forest behind me.

The Twisted Hollows looms in the distance, a labyrinth of ancient, gnarled trees with branches that claw at the sky.

Their bark is rough and scarred, with knots and twists that resemble faces frozen in agony.

Tales say the souls of the lost are trapped within those trees, condemned to an eternal descent into madness.

I’ve always dismissed such stories, but the unease in his thoughts betrays his belief in them.

He isn’t worried about the trees themselves, though.

It’s the creatures lurking within the untamed wilderness that haunt him.

He has right to fear them. The Twisted Hollows are teeming with life and magic after nightfall.

I follow him into the carriage, relieved to find it free of the garish gold I’d expected.

Thank the Nightmother. Instead, the interior is red and white.

I sink into the leathered seat across from him, grateful for the ample space that keeps me out of reach.

No other guards join us. The one seated across from me remains silent.

Good. I don’t particularly care to know anything of him.

Men are much more tolerable when they keep their mouths shut.

Stretching out my leather-clad legs, I cross my ankles and arms, leaning back as the carriage lurches into motion.

My training leathers are a second skin, the black material flexible enough to move with me yet durable enough for battle—sleeveless, of course, to flaunt the silver witch marks that swirl from my shoulders to my wrists, a testament to my power.

Across my back rest two dual crescent moon-shaped blades, their edges lined with red runes I meticulously carved myself.

Each rune siphons my magic into the blades, imbuing them with deadly precision.