Page 26 of Malicent
His footsteps retreat, and I move quickly to keep pace, twisting my head to study the art along the walls. All elegant and well kept, a complete contrast to the paintings slowly tarnishing with age at my coven, the paint flaking away as each year passes.
Cage raises a brow, eyeing me like I’ve grown a second head suddenly. “Don’t get out much, do you?”
I meet his gaze with a deadpan look. “I’m simply looking at art,” I grumble, crossing my arms.
There are a lot of things I want to say to him. I could remind him that I don’t spend my days wandering gilded halls like some pampered noble, that I have not felt freedom breeze through my hair while I explore the world on a dragon to see, taste, and touch everything each continent has to offer. Icouldsnap at his condescending attitude.
I hold my tongue.
Because I don’t yet know how to say any of it. Not without bringing at least this wing of the castle down when I inevitably lose control of my emotions.
Slaughter him now.
The voice slithers into my ear, a whisper that is impossibly distant, stretching down an endless tunnel of shadows. A breath against my skin, delicate as silk.
It’s soft. Too soft. The kind of voice that soothes a child to sleep. The kind that murmurs lullabies beneath moonlit cradles. But the words it weaves are laced with malice and bloodshed.
You want this. You always have.
My fingers twitch at my sides, the air suddenly too thick. It would be so easy, so gratifying, to obey.
To let her in.
To let her out.
I fix my gaze on the stairs, forcing each step forward, shutting out the whispers curling in the back of my mind.
The winding steps are eerily familiar—too familiar. The grooves beneath my feet mirror the path to Nora’s office. The memory settles like ice in my spine.
Is she watching me even now?
An unwelcome thought. Her familiar could be lurking somewhere beyond these walls, spying on me, recording every step I take.
A final turn brings us to the top of the stairs where the space opens into a long, singular hallway.
Surprisingly, the space is well lit. A row of tall, arched windows runs along the outer wall. Beyond the glass, the view is beautiful. The forest stretches endlessly, a vast sea of green shifting with the wind.
It should be beautiful, but it’s nothing but a cage.
Cage.
He stops at the first door on the right. His hand rests on the handle before pushing it open. “This will be your room.”
Then, without looking at me, he points further down the corridor, at the dark door at the end of the hall.
Twisting vines, deep green and engraved into the wood, crawl over its surface.
“That is my room,” he says plainly. “We are the only ones permitted on this wing.”
“Going to sleep well being this close to a witch?” I ask, tiling my head slightly.
Does he fear me? Does he believe himself above me? Or is he simply arrogant, thinking he can best a witch like me?
Curiosity gets the best of me.
I reach for his thoughts, stretching my senses toward him—seeking, pressing, testing.
I hit a wall.
