Page 65 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Millicent

LUCA MANAGES TO KEEP UP during our run—barely. He sounds like one of those smooshed-faced dogs who struggle to breathe.

“Breathe through your nose and mouth. Time it. Deeper. Be more controlled. With me.” I inhale slowly and hiss out air through my teeth. Our steps begin to sync up, and he adjusts to match my rhythm.

“How is this?” He pants heavily, his words ragged but steadying.

“Much better. Less piggish. Now pick those feet up, and no heel striking.” I grab the back of his shirt and pull, forcing him to match my pace. He follows well. Once his form smooths out, I release him.

We run four miles around the castle grounds, past open fields and the edges of the forest. I breathe deep, welcoming the fire in my lungs and the burn in my legs.

In the center of the field, I slow to a stop to watch the sun rise. An array of hues of orange, pink, and violet. The sight is both soft and violent, all at once. It’s breathtaking.

Luca stops beside me, hunching over, trying to catch his breath. “It’s beautiful,” he says between his gulps of air. “My little sister loves watching the sunrise.”

“My best friend loves them, too.” I smile. The warmth touches my face, casting my pale skin in gold. “We used to watch them all the time growing up.”

I used to love this. Sunrises. Soft mornings. That changed when my lessons did. I am a creature born of shadows now. And to the darkness I must return. This light, this beauty—it’s temporary. A dream. And I am the thing that ruins dreams.

“Why did you stop?” Luca asks.

“Why does the sun set and let the moon rise? Why are life and death lovers doomed to long for each other, never able to touch?”

He blinks, still catching his breath, and looks like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

I turn to him with arms open.

The sunlight catches my witch marks, making them sparkle.

And then I remember…

ARCADIA HOLDS OUT MY ARMS, rotating them ever so slightly to catch the light. My marks shimmer.

“My queen you are radiant, literally.” She snickers.

I smile, warmth blooming in my chest at her laugh and touch. “Please, I’m positive you’re one of those rays of sunshine.”

Her own witch marks glimmer faintly across her collarbone, the gold matching the overcast above us as the sun rises.

She releases my arms and pulls me close. We sit like that for a long time, saying nothing, content to just watch the sun rise over the forest.

We’ve always loved this hilltop, the way it offers the whole sky.

Her soft voice breaks our silence. “Why did we stop this?”

“I’m tired a lot,” I say, “and the lessons go late.”

“They are more frequent, too.”

I nod.

“They’re changing you.”

I freeze, no longer leaning into her. “They are making me stronger.”

“Millicent,” she whispers, “you are strong. You are enough. You are worthy. You don’t need to become whatever Nora is turning you into.”

I pull away from her grip, glaring at her with the sharpness of a blade.

“It is not enough, Arcadia. One should always seek more.”

“You sound just like her.” Her words are filled with spite.

“Good. Nora is strong. And I will be, too.”

My breathing grows heavy. My hands dig into the grass.

She is insolent, the voice hisses. Rage rises like fire beneath my ribs.

“You come back covered in blood,” Arcadia snaps. “You don’t speak. You don’t remember! You’ve no memory of me. You don’t even recognize me !”

Her voice cracks. The tears follow close behind it.

I feel nothing. Her pain rings in my ears.

And yet I don’t care.

“Some of us have what it takes to grow stronger, Arcadia. Some don’t.” I know my words are cruel, but I say them anyway as I leave her side.

Arcadia flinches but doesn’t break.

“I am strong,” she says quietly. “It’s my strength that lets me love you, even when you’re hateful.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears before she looks away. “Forged by fire, right, Millie?”

Her words hit harder than I expect. I stay, turned away from her, the breeze pulling strands of my black hair across my face, shifting my gown at my ankles.

Forged by the hottest fires in the deepest pits of hell.

She speaks again when I cast a glance over my shoulder.

“I miss you. I miss our mornings together. It felt like we started the day ready to face anything—together. Now it feels like you’re the source of my fears at night.”

A pause. A breath stills her trembling lips for a moment.

“I face most things alone now. And when I look into your eyes, there’s no light left. I don’t know what to do to bring you back to me.”

She wipes her cheeks, still not looking at me.

Then I hear it, the laughter.

The voice that’s followed me for months erupts in glee, drowning Arcadia’s pain in its echoing joy. I can hardly hear her now.

Arcadia is daylight. Warmth. The sun, rising over the forest.

And I—

I am what comes after. I am black inside. I am the cold, the darkness that follows the moon.

My darkness will not go.

It will only grow.

“WOW, THOSE ARE BEAUTIFUL,” LUCA says in awe, studying my arms.

His voice yanks me from my thoughts. I drag my arms back quickly.

“These marks show my power,” I say flatly. “I house dark magic. The sun isn’t made for things like me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Why not, mortal?”

“Because you are too beautiful in the sun. Look at how your arms shine. You can’t shine in the dark. So it’s a shame you think you belong somewhere that hides your light.”

“Luca, I am two hundred years old. Don’t flirt with me.”

“Maybe I like older women,” he shoots back shamelessly.

I take off running, expecting him to follow.

He yelps behind me, scrambling to catch up.

“I also know how to give a compliment without flirting!” he shouts. “That was called an observation!”

He speeds up, reaching my side. “Besides, I want to propose to the baker.”

“Well then, you’d better train harder. What woman wants a weakling?”

I shove him off balance and surge ahead.

“Cheating!” he calls out, laughing as his footsteps thunder after mine.

When I win, I’ll make sure I bask in my glory while he’s stuck sharpening every sword in the training hall.

The honor of the loser.

AFTER OUR RUN LAST NIGHT and this morning, I finally am relaxed for once. I was right. Training Luca will be mutually beneficial.

I sit at my vanity, studying myself in a red gown.

Strapless, with a sweetheart neckline. It hugs my body like a second skin before flaring gently at the ankles. After enough complaining, I get Ollie to cut a slit—one—up to my knee so I can have some mobility. Any higher, he claimed, would “ruin the look.”

He stands proudly on my vanity now, lipstick smeared all over his thin lips. Bright pink eyeshadow cakes his eyelids, and far, far too much blush brightens his cheeks.

The best part? His hair, of which he has none. Instead, he shows up in a short, blonde wig that’s unbrushed and stiff with too much volume.

“Ollie, where did you get butterfly clips?”

I reach toward one of the tiny, colorful bugs caught in his synthetic hair.

“I takes them!”

“You stole them?” I chuckle, fixing one of his clips so it sits evenly on his face.

“She wasn’t using them, Misses. They were on the counter, not in her hair,” he says with complete conviction.

Of course, per Ollie’s logic, that’s not stealing. But I suppose, to Oliver, not much is considered stealing.

“I like them.” I lean in and kiss his cheek. My dark lipstick leaves a perfect imprint.

He all but purrs, turning bashfully toward the mirror. When he spots the kiss, his eyes widen, and he gently traces the mark with his finger.

“I keeps forever,” he whispers.

“You’ll have to bathe eventually, Ollie.”

“Never this cheek !”

I pick him up and settle him on my lap.

He plops down, grabbing the ends of my hair. Chubby fingers tangle in the loose strands.

“I will give you new kisses,” I promise.

A shrill squeal leaves him, all joy and flailing toes, only the tips peeking from beneath his stomach.

I stay with him as I finish my makeup.

He helps curl and straighten my hair into smooth barrel waves, his stubby hands steady, his magic surprisingly precise. The ball I will be attending with Kalix has a high dress code. My hair must be in order even if chaos is sure to ensue when we try to capture a cursed person.

For now, there is only me and Ollie.

And warmth.

And the calm before whatever comes next.