Page 8 of The Maleficent Faerie
“Did you drink an entire pond before the Festival?” he says. “Hurry up.”
I dab myself dry with a bit of moss and straighten, adjusting my clothes. Head held high, in my best imitation of Dawn’s most regal posture, I walk toward the beast, with a distant nod and a cool “Thank you.”
But as I pass close to him, I fly into motion.
A jab to his nose with the heel of my right hand, followed by a punch to his jaw with my left. My right knee rams into his crotch, and I hook my right foot around his leg at the same moment. I throw my body sideways, giving the back of his knee a sharp jerk.
It almost works. He staggers, off-balance, but he doesn’t fall. His wings snap out, expanding like a giant black cloud behind him, keeping him upright.
I expect him to snare me with shadows again, but instead he blocks my next punch with his forearm. His eyes aren’t glowing green at the center anymore. Perhaps they only do that when he is actively using Void magic.
I catch the wrist he blocked me with and duck, twisting his arm as I step into his space. The side of my hand chops at his wing joint, and he snarls, curling the wings forward, engulfing me in black feathers. No, not entirely black—near the roots and the arch, some of his feathers are iridescent blue, tinted with purple.
I snatch a handful and tug savagely, managing to pull a few feathers out. He grips the nape of my neck, hauls me in front of him again—but with another dive and twist, I’m free to land a hard punch to his abdomen.
It’s like punching rocks. Pain blazes through my fingers, my knuckles, and I cry out. He gives me a tight smile, seizes my anguished hand, and begins to crush my fingers in his own.
“Do you yield?” His skin is blazing hot, and sweat beads across his pale forehead. His pupils are dilated.
Something is wrong with him. Is he sick? I hope so. Might give me an advantage—my knee pops up, aiming for his crotch, but he swerves his hips aside.
“I’m rather fond of that part of my anatomy.” He twists my arm and whirls me around, my back to his chest. “If you would kindly stop trying to damage it.”
I try smashing my skull backward into his face again, but he avoids that too.
“You have a limited number of tricks, Princess,” he says.
His arm is locked around my throat now, his skin scorching my neck. His other arm bands my body, pinning my arms to my sides.
I buck and squirm, but it’s no use. He’s stronger.
So I twist my head down and sink my teeth into his arm, right below the pauldron.
“Little viper!” His grip loosens slightly, and with a wrench and a slither, I’m out of his grasp and several steps away, facing him head-on.
He grits his teeth, inspecting the twin half-circles my teeth left on his arm. When he looks up, I smile at him, my lips wet with his blood.
I could run. He’d catch up to me easily on his steed, or with his shadows. Unless—
I glance at his Endling, standing between two trees, heedless of the fight. Is it my imagination, or does the creature look a bit more translucent than before?
Realization flares in my mind. His magic has limits. He must have used a vast amount of it to pass through the border wall undetected, and now he’s weakening. The feverish heat of his skin must be a side effect of magic overuse. It’s rare among my people, but it still happens. It should have been obvious to me at once, but I wasn’t expecting the Maleficent One to have a weakness.
Maybe my captivity can be more useful than a temporary distraction from the real Princess.
Maybe I can kill the Void King and end his dark magic forever.
4
The Princess smiles at me savagely, her teeth and lips glittering with my blood. She watches me with a keen calculation I didn’t expect from her. More like a warrior than a coddled royal. Her skirt must have ripped up the side when she was fighting me, and the new gap reveals a shapely, toned leg, ending in a boot that looks rather rustic for a princess.
“You promised me respect, and you promised not to run,” I remind her. “You’re a rutting liar.”
“There’s your sign of respect.” She vents a breathless laugh, nodding to the bite mark on my arm. “And you’re a fool to trust the word of a desperate captive.”
I am a fool, in more ways than she knows. I’m too reactive, too impulsive, despite decades of trying to teach myself to take time before I act.
Perhaps I will pay the ultimate price for my foolishness today.
