Page 7 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Cage

A LE STRANGE WITCH IS coming to the castle. Worse, I’m expected to work with her.

My stomach twists at the thought of it being Nora or one of the other insufferable elders slithering into the castle.

I don’t trust their kind. I don’t like their kind.

Soul-sucking cunts, the lot of them, but Nora ?

If she stepped foot in this castle, Vyraxis would manifest and rip this castle to shreds.

Tyran doesn’t even know which Le Strange they’re sending. He only knows she’s valuable. Nora’s chosen protégé. Only the “finest selection” was promised to him, whatever that means.

Nora part two?

The very idea of it sits like a knife in my gut.

I know how Nora thinks. I know what her “favoritism” looks like.

I was nothing but a toy when I was younger, power dangled before me like bait on a hook.

She would never limit any of her own kind the way she sought to control me.

This prodigy of hers, she’ll live and breathe Nora’s gospel.

A devoted disciple to the fiend herself.

And I’m expected to work with her.

A sharp flick against the rim of my wine glass draws me from my thoughts. I don’t need to look up to know who it is.

Kalix.

Mismatched eyes, one sage green, the other flaxen yellow, stare at me. They’re filled with mischievous intent. He’s waiting for a reaction.

“Distracted, Black? I’m hardly getting any attention,” Kalix murmurs, feigning disappointment.

“How will you ever survive?” I smirk, lifting the silver chalice and taking a slow sip, letting the bitter wine coat my tongue as it slides down my throat.

Kalix leans back in his chair, his eyes drifting lazily across the room.

His posture remains tightened. His voice drops just enough to ensure privacy. “He has not shown yet.”

“He will,” I reassure him. “It’s his damn ball. The bastard will show.”

Leaning back into my seat, I observe the layout of the ballroom.

We’ve positioned ourselves well, tucked into a secluded corner near the open balcony doors.

We have a clear vantage point over the gathering.

To our right, the balcony doors frame the moonlight, its gleam spilling onto the polished floors.

To our left, the dance floor stretches wide.

Steps leading up on all sides to the elevated rim where the nobility linger, a bowl-shaped design meant for display, power, and hierarchy.

Unlike Tyran’s estate, where gold drips from every surface, the Duke’s tastes run the colors of deep green and red.

Every tablecloth, every curtain, and every sash adorning the guests present tonight reflect his chosen colors.

Even the white marbled flooring, streaked with black veins, matches the elite who tread upon them.

However, It’s the walls that I can’t help but admire.

Polished dark oak is lined with portraits of the Duke’s family lineage, each face meticulously rendered in oil, purposefully displaying their claim to power. Yet, the Duke himself is absent.

His portrait tells me what I already know. He’s short, round, and insufferably smug. A man of his status should be swarmed by admirers and opportunists alike.

But where is he?

Tyran sent us here for a reason. A spy confirmed that Duke Leving has been in contact with the North.

And traitors, particularly those of high status, cannot simply be dragged in for questioning without igniting some political backlash.

So here we are, the lovely Captain Kalix and I, masquerading as honored guests, playing Tyran’s game.

Kalix whistles, tilting his head to the right.

There . An exact match to one of the portraits.

Duke Leving’s daughter steps into the ballroom.

Her presence turns heads. As expected. Long, sleek blonde hair, a striking frame, and wide, bright blue eyes.

She’s just like her father. She wears a deep-red gown tailored to perfection, its fabric hugging her curves while proudly displaying her family’s colors.

“I believe her name is Annabeth.” My voice remains low just enough that only Kalix can hear.

A slow grin spreads across his lips. “That is how we find dear old daddy.”

With a smooth practiced motion, Kalix rises to his full height, a living wall of muscle draped in dark green and red.

Towering over every man in his vicinity, he moves through the ballroom with confidence and purpose.

The crowd parts instinctively out of respect, out of wariness, or simply to avoid being trampled.

Women glance up as he passes, their thoughts spiking briefly with lust.

Kalix approaches Annabeth. He dips into a courtly bow. He doesn’t need to, but that’s precisely why he does.

Though I remain seated, their thoughts flood into me, keeping me attuned to the entire interaction. Kalix could block me if he wanted to. I taught him how. He knows better. He knows I want the intel.

He towers over her, his sheer presence enough to tilt the dynamic in his favor. She must look up to meet his gaze, and Kalix makes sure she does.

“The infamous captain of the guard,” she says lightly. Yet the nervous flutter in her mind betrays her. Gods, he’s enormous. And those eyes—

Kalix offers his hand, adorned in a collection of rings. Annabeth hesitates a fraction of a second too long.

“Kalix, Lady Annabeth.” He greets her smoothly. “Thank you and your father for having us.”

He is using her first name on purpose. A subtle trick I’ve watched him employ more times than I can count. He’s trying to make her feel closer to him .

The more you give, the less they guard their hearts. Soften the defenses, and that’s when the real fun begins.

He’s going through his process. It’s a game he plays well.

Annabeth is already a blushing mess. Amusement tugs at the corners of my mouth as I take another sip of wine. I’m thoroughly entertained. Kalix has always had a gift for charming ladies.

The women at the castle whisper about him, as if he were a marble statue brought to life, with his strong jaw, captivating eyes, and thick lashes that shouldn’t belong to a man his size.

His shaggy dark brown hair is always worn the same, swept to the side and just unruly enough to make him seem untamed rather than unkempt.

It’s his size that holds their attention. He trained since childhood and grew into a frame too large to be anything but imposing, even now. The black tunic stretches taut across his broad shoulders. Annabeth notices.

Of course she does.

“Certainly, Captain,” Annabeth replies sweetly, releasing his hand.

Kalix’s smile doesn’t waver. His tone remains friendly and almost…effortless. “I was hoping to speak with your father. He was expecting me, but I can’t seem to find the man of the hour.”

Annabeth’s lips curve into a deliberate smile, but her fingers twitch at her sleeve, smoothing out a crease that isn’t there. “Oh, I’m not sure. I’m sorry. I haven’t seen him.”

Father is not to be disturbed.

“You must be preoccupied,” he muses, his smile shifting, teasing her. “A beautiful lady such as yourself has better things to do than keep track of her father.”

Before she can respond, he invitingly extends his arm. “Would you allow a poor fool like me, who has already wasted your time, to waste some more over a drink?” Kalix’s eyes glint with amusement.

Smooth.

Annabeth pauses but slips her arm into his, “Of course, Captain.” She nods shyly, her voice softer and blush deepening.

As Kalix guides her to the wine table, he flicks me a quick glance. A silent cue. We are moving to stage two in this plan.

I rise, adjusting my trench coat, and wander to the patio doors, pretending to need some fresh air before slowly drifting to the wine table. Keeping my distance, I station myself at the opposite end and casually observe.

“A wine for my lady?” Kalix asks, his voice light and charming as they arrive.

Annabeth attempts to focus, but the heat of his presence is impossible to ignore. “I don’t drink very often, Captain…perhaps something sweet?” she manages, her voice just a touch unsteady.

Kalix leans in, one hand pressing firmly against the table, the other reaching for a bottle of wine. Caging her in without touching her, he pours it into a glass.

“Don’t drink very much? What a good girl,” he says, his voice low, indulging her.

He lifts a glass to her but doesn’t offer it just yet.

Instead, he lowers his lips to her ear, close enough that she nearly shivers.

“Try this for me,” he says, his voice smooth and coaxing.

“It’s sweeter, with notes of peach and jasmine. ”

She reaches for the glass, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers remain curled around the stem, a gentle but calculated motion.

“Personally, I prefer something with a little more depth,” he continues, carrying just enough weight to make the words linger. “Something...fulfilling.”

She swallows hard.

I read every thought racing through her mind. For a virgin, she certainly has a vivid imagination.

Annabeth reaches for the glass, but Kalix clicks his tongue.

“Allow me,” he whispers, bringing the rim to her lips himself.

His other hand lifts from the table, his fingers trail along her jaw, tilting her head back.

“Open.”

The single command sends her heart into a thrashing rhythm, each beat pounding against her ribs.

Annabeth obeys. She sips the wine.

“Good, yeah?” Kalix smirks, holding her gaze with every sip. He doesn’t let her look away, doesn’t let her focus on anything but him. When he finally pulls the glass back, she exhales sharply as she blinks up at him.

Her eyes drop to his lips, so close, drifting just above hers.

“Thirsty for something else?” He murmurs.

Her breath hitches as his fingers shift against her jaw. He grips firm enough to remind her of his control.

No one notices what happens next. But I do.