Page 83 of Malicent
“That hardly screamssneaking out, does it?” he retorts sassily, just before falling face first onto the floor with a squeal that sounds more pig than man.
Laughing hysterically, he pulls himself upright, completely unfazed by the alcohol sloshing in his system.
“Your subjects are going to see their king drunk and dressed like a commoner,” I tease.
“Drunk is nothing new. You should see me at a ball: the ladies love me. I have to beat them off with a stick!” He grins proudly before glancing down at his disheveled clothes. “Let them wonder. They can call me the handsome, mysterious king.”
“Felix, this—” I gesture at his tousled outfit, stained with red wine and littered with dirt and leaves from the shrubs outside, “—is not mysterious. It’s more homeless drunkard, maybe.”
He rolls his eyes, brushing at the bits of greenery stuck to him, but he hardly makes a difference. “Come! I need more wine. You’re giving me a headache, which can only meanyouneed wine too.”
His sass incites my intrigue to follow his line of thinking. Felix is dangerously entertaining. And he’s grown on me. I try not to dwell on this fact because it clashes with everything I’ve been taught. It’ll drag me into a hole of self-loathing I might not crawl out of.
“Witches make their own brew since human wine doesn’t affect us the same.”
“Please. You’re just not drinking enough,” he scoffs, dismissive as ever.
He leads us into his study and heads straight for a row of wine bottles lined atop a high, glossy black table trimmed in gold.
“You want me to black out?” I laugh as he pours the glass, nearly to the brim, and he hands it to me before sprawling out on the couch.
I settle beside him, cross-legged on the floor, accepting the glass with amusement. He confirms his intention—to black out and drag me with him.
The hours pass easily.
Felix flits from one absurd story to the next. I learn he loves women and wine in excess, and based on how he speaks about being king, I suspect he doesn’t want the title. He’s a clever little devil—sharp tongued and surprisingly endearing, even when drunk. However, he never confides in me exactly where he goes when he slips away.
Eventually, I’m tipsy enough to be giggling as he tries to braid my hair from behind. I’m not even fully aware of how we got in this position. Our conversations began to blur into one and became hazy from the wine. He was right: I just needed more wine.
“You squirm so much, girl. Do youwantto look horrendous?” he mutters, tugging at my hair as he restarts the simple braid.
“You blame the art and not the artist? Typical,” I giggle, leaning into the joke. “My sister always said any hairstyle would look beautiful on me.”
I smile thinking about Arcadia again, as I often find myself doing. The wine does a fantastic job at dampening the shame that rises over my attachment to her, which allows me to think of her without oppression.
Tyran’s words draw me back. “Well, she’s a liar,” he mumbles, still focused on the task.
I laugh so hard my whole body shakes, and it sends Felix into a fit of laughter with me.
Our laughs die abruptly when the door swings open. Cage stands at the threshold, watching us.
“Do you not knock?” I blurt, crossing my arms with a pout.
Felix tugs my hair again. “Yeah! We could’ve been naked!”
I reach back and slap his knee, earning me a sharp tug in response.
The intensity in Cage’s gaze causes me to shift on my crossed legs, suddenly self-conscious.
“The guards checked your room. You were missing,” he says, eyes flicking to the three empty wine bottles scattered on the floor. “I was just making sure you are safe.” His voice flattens. I’m not at all surprised Felix slips away from his own guards. “You’re both drunk, aren’t you?”
“Whyaren’tyou drunk, is the real question,” Felix replies, playfully unfazed as he continues braiding.
I sit up straighter, trying not to move now that he’s nearly finished.
“All done! I’ve got a mirror somewhere,” he mumbles, rifling through the clutter on the side table before producing a small hand-held mirror. He holds it out to me.
I take one look and burst into laughter. It’s atrocious: lumpy and crooked, with strands sticking out in every direction.
