Page 96 of Malicent
“I should’ve left your drunk ass in the hallway,” she mutters. “This isn’t a friendship.”
“Nowwho’sbeing rude?” I flash a big cheesy grin. “We’re definitely friends. And now that I’ve finally found another royal, you’llhaveto 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. Myfavoriteperson.”
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.”
