Page 25 of Malicent
“I know who and what you are,” he murmurs. His silver eyes darken. “He thinks it’s a good idea to have you here. I disagree.”His breath, steady, controlled. “Prove me right and you will be disposed of.”
A threat.
I whip my head toward him. My glare is sharp enough to cut. “Lay a finger on me, and I will shatter you—along with anything you hold dear.” My voice is like venom, hate lacing my words. “You clearly do not know who or what I am to threaten me so openly. Your insolence is noted.”
Cage’s breath deepens. His eyes gleam with anticipation.
“I will welcome the day, little witch.”
His tone is calm. Too calm.
He strides past me toward the door.
“Come.”
The single command cracks through the space like a whip, as if I were nothing more than a dog.
I grind my teeth. My nails dig into my palms, the sting keeping me from unleashing my magic and blasting him through the wall.
“And here I thought mages were well mannered and pampered.” I sneer, stepping in behind him.
The rhythmic click of my swords against my back fills the silence. Let him hear it. Let him remember that even without my magic, I am still a threat.
Cage doesn’t turn, doesn’t even slow his pace.
“You are inhuman,” he says, his voice as cold as the steel on my back. “An insult to life. You deserve to sleep in the dungeons and eat scraps. Manners should be the least of your concerns.”
I stare at his back, fantasizing about impaling him on a row of shadowed lances.
Hell, I would mount his head on a spike outside my door as a trophy.
Instead, I smile.
A slow, sharp curve forms on my lips.
“Ah, and yet, here I am. A guest.” I let my voice drip with malice. An insult wrapped in truth.
Cage doesn’t respond.
I feel the shift in his posture, the flicker of restrained rage that coils beneath his skin.
Lovely.
We continue down the hall, our steps echoing in silence.
Chapter 8
Millicent
MY COVEN IS BY NO means small, but this castle dwarfs it with ease. The sheer scale of it is absurd. Some halls are teeming with people while others remain eerily empty. Such wasted space. That’s all I can think of as Cage points out yet another meeting chamber.
“Why so many?” I ask, peering into what he calls the war room. A fitting name given the swords and shields lining the walls, framing a massive oak table in the center. Maps are sprawled out across its surface, littered with small figures I can’t quite make out.
“Can they not conduct all their business in one?”
“There are a lot of people here,” Cage replies. “Meetings happen simultaneously. It keeps things organized. Helps remind you of the type of meeting you are in. This one, obviously, fortactics and war.” He gestures toward the weapons displayed along the walls. “The last room? That was for trade—merchants, taxes, imports, all that.”
His explanation certainly is…practical, but his voice lacks warmth. Still, at least he’s stopped glaring at me over the past hour. A minor improvement.
