Page 32 of The Maleficent Faerie
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Taking off your rings,” he says soothingly. “A simple task, now that I’ve applied a little magic.”
Something falls to the carpet beneath us—several small objects. My rings, all of them, gone.
Dread thrums in my bones, along my nerves. The sense of being lured and lulled, of being ensnared in a silken trap, grows stronger, quickening my heartbeat. I may only have dregs of magic left, leaving me at risk for overexertion—but I need to use the last of my power to get away from this monster, before he does something worse than stealing my family heirlooms.
I try to pull away from the Void King, but my movements are sluggish. My body is fixed in one spot, and my eyes are chained to his—unblinking, mesmerized. When I try to reach for the remaining bits of my magic, there’s nothing. Not a drop. Not even an echo.
“What have you done to me?” I whisper.
The King’s right hand slides around the back of my neck, and his thumb rests against my cheekbone. He places his other hand on my hip. “I am sorry, Aura, for the pain I must cause you. I promise it will be brief.”
My heartbeat gallops in my chest, a frantic flight my body cannot follow. My breath quickens, my breast heaving against the Void King’s forearm as he holds my neck and face, as he bends his head and furrows his brow in concentration.
A dot of exquisite pain sparks in my skull. It blooms wider, then fractures, snaking down my spine, coiling in the center of my back. Something is glowing behind me—glowing brighter and brighter—a white light tinged with pink, purple, and blue. The colors of my mothers’ magic.
My voice won’t work. I want to fight, to scream—but all I can do is slowly, slowly move my hands up to his arms—huge muscled arms, and my hands are too small, and my reflexes won’t work. I grip the Maleficent One’s shoulders, unable to do anything more.
A current of air swirls by our feet, surging and coiling upward, tearing at his wings. Feathers loosen and fly around us, and his long black hair swirls in the rising wind, but he doesn’t stop whatever he’s doing. His eyes are closed, his brows dented, his mouth tight. I stare at him, mute and frozen, seared by bone-splitting agony along my spine.
Pain screams in my ears, my brain, my veins, my very bones. It’s as if the Void King has taken all the ill-fitting pieces of my heart and wrenched them forcibly apart. I am raw, broken, and bleeding inside, and still the excruciating pain spikes higher, and still the wind roars around us, and still the light burns. Whips of purple, pink, and blue lash from somewhere behind me—from my back, where my wings are rooted.
“Almost there,” the Void King grits out. “Almost.”
His wings are being torn apart—a cloud of black and indigo feathers racing through the churning wind. The colorful whips of light snake out from behind me and slice at his body, splitting his armor, carving deep grooves into his flesh. He grimaces, but he only clasps my neck and hip more firmly. His power drives into me, chasing out some other force—something that has always been part of me, and yet the harder he pushes, the more I realize he is carving out something alien, somethingwrong.
A shattering flash of agony, a high keening sound—did it come from me? He’s covered in blood now, his wings ravaged and torn—but suddenly the stained-glass window of the chapel lights up, a fierce blaze of light tinged faintly green. That light rushes over the King and me, and with a final spine-cracking convulsion, all the broken pieces of me snap into place.
The whip-like colors of my mothers’ magic loosen and flail. They fall to the floor and quiver there like severed tentacles, lurching and thrashing before they finally dissipate in the force of the new light. The wind dies, leaving a cracked stillness in its place.
With a cry of agony, the Void King lets me go and staggers backward. He falls to his knees, heaving great breaths.
I stand rigid where he left me, while the light from the window fades away.
The candles along the chapel walls are still burning. How did the wind not blow them out?
What happened?
Why do I feel—
I feel different. Like some disjointed thing inside me has been reset.
I lift my shaking hands, bare of rings. I brush them over my body—the dress is flecked with the Void King’s blood, but otherwise everything seems fine. I am whole, I am—
Something gold lies over my shoulder, draping my breast.
Golden hair.
Dazed, I lift the lock of hair… and pull.
There’s an answering tug on my scalp.
Did the King glamour my hair color?
I glance at him again. He’s kneeling between his ragged wings, one fist planted on the floor. Blood drips from the gashes in his skin. Ruined leather and metal hangs from his broad shoulders.
“Why—” I begin, and then I catch sight of myself, reflected in the dark glass of the windows behind him.
