Page 40 of The Princes of Stone and Steel

When she spoke, she commanded attention. “I am the witch of the wood.”

Well, I figured as much. But I would’ve thought something so powerful would’ve lived in a large Maleficent-type castle, not a bunching of tree roots.

“I’m Millicent Mer—”

“I know who you are.” She cut me off. “I have been foretold of your alliance with the Forfex prince. What I do not understand is why the Forfex still fight. Why have you not tipped the tide in favor of those you have chosen?”

Turning my head, I looked to Steele, unsure of what or how much to answer the witch.

He only dipped his chin, which I took as permission to spill my guts. But as with so many creatures here, I didn’t need to speak at all.

“I see,” she answered me.

“What… um… what do you see?” I asked, hesitantly.

“Caesar, the Forfex king, knows nothing of your love affair?”

“No,” I told her.

With my answer, she finally turned to the prince. “Am I to believe you’ve turned your loyalties to the flesh?”

“I’ve pledged my life to her.”

“I’m sure that pleases your father,” she teased.

“My father does not know.”

“What of your sister, the princess Congruis?”

“She’s with me and Millie. We’re tired of the fighting. Our mother died as a result of the last major battle.”

“You understand more battles lie ahead of you before peace comes. Morewilldie.”

“I understand.”

“And you, flesh?”

I nodded, not able to find my voice. It was one thing to think people might die, but it was another to hear it from an authority on the subject.

“Then you may enter.” She stepped out of the way, swinging her wrinkled arm out to welcome us inside her abode. The loose flesh wiggled like Jell-O landing in a bowl. Sort of a brownish-peach Jell-O like mixing black cherry and peach—yeah, I was never eating Jell-O again after this.

Her magic washed over me, through me, as I stepped over the threshold. It sizzled like a weak current just beneath my skin.

A bolt of static shock or whatever zinged between me and Steele as he grabbed my hand.

We looked down at our connection, then to each other. He felt it, too, and laughed uncomfortably.

The room appeared gigantic compared to the outside. And where a bed should’ve been, a pile of straw lay. She did have a table and chairs for us to sit on and there were two large potbellied stoves with pipes that connected to the ceiling to vent the smoke in the middle of the room. One held a pot, which steamed and smelled of stew. The second, some kind of brew. The contents looked like sludge. Muddy and gross.

“Do not get too close, flesh,” she warned me just as a large bubble popped. A small portion of the liquid dripped to the floor and sizzled, giving off the terrible scent of rotting flora, worse than at the bog. It left a blackened burn mark where it landed.

I cringed thinking of how close that burn could’ve ended up on my face.

“Sit,” she commanded.

We sat—fast.

“Look,” the witch ordered next.

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