Chapter 8 Malice
MALICE
Malice hates a lot of things, and it seems his time in Valtara is only going to add to that list. The stuffy suit he’s wearing, the tie like a noose around his neck, the way creatures’ eyes linger over Aerin as they walk from her apartment to the museum.
Aerin in general. Her smell. Her smile. The way she says shit like you look sexy in a suit after devouring him with her gold eyes.
They both felt the tension, held it between them for far too long.
Malice keeps Aerin on the list of things he hates. Selfish, vapid, reckless, beautiful. He won’t allow himself to shift his perception, for his sanity and hers.
The Princess strides confidently in ridiculous heels, eyes on her phone, paying Malice no mind.
In fact, she doesn’t pay anything much mind.
Malice pays attention for her, watching each pair of eyes as they land on Aerin Tolvare.
Whispers, finger pointing, cameras aimed her way.
The eyes that linger too long get a stern glare from Malice until they too avert their gaze.
Not that Malice can blame them. Aerin puts every other creature to shame in this dress, and she know it—temptation personified.
As they walk through the cool spring evening, Malice’s intense hearing picks up the noise of the event from over a block away. As they edge closer, Malice throws his arm in front of Aerin. She stops before she touches him, going so far as to take a step back.
There must be at least fifty creatures in front of the building where the event is being held. Coordinators. Paparazzi. Fans.
“There are a lot of creatures around that corner,” Malice warns. The look on her face tells him she already knows. “Are you ready?” He examines her one more time. She wears a fierce confidence, like armor.
Aerin gives him the same smile from earlier. The one that feels close to a warning. Not mischievous, but malicious.
“For anything,” Aerin affirms.
Malice doesn’t know how to feel about that answer, unease snaking up his back.
Bored neutrality falls over Aerin’s features, the same look he’s seen on her face in many of the tabloids.
As Aerin rounds the corner, the crowd erupts and cameras flash.
Aerin’s not phased. She ignores it all, striding forward with purpose in those absurd shoes.
The security at the door makes way for her, clearing the path of all obstacles as she climbs the few steps to the entrance. Malice trails behind her warily.
The main lobby opens to a large room where the party is in full swing. Heads turn and creatures murmur as Aerin moves confidently across the space. She doesn’t hesitate, does not falter. She beelines for Vyx and Quinn Kelly, paying no heed to the whispers she leaves in her wake.
The space is decorated extravagantly. Khlonic crystals hang from the ceiling like floating candles.
Light reflects off them, sending rainbows dancing across the walls.
Serine is the sole supplier of Khlonic crystals.
The small, energy carrying stones fall in pods from underwater Khlonic plants.
They grow in very specific ranges along the floor of the Great Sea, and the only creatures able to harvest them are Mer.
Each crystal contains a natural energy which Kelly Enterprise engineers collect.
Without the crystals, the City-States wouldn’t have lights, cell phones, or air conditioning.
Because of these crystals, Serine is a very wealthy city. The treaty between Valtara and Serine is based in the Khlonic trade, so the décor makes some sense, though Malice has never seen so many crystals in one place.
The crowd is a mix of creatures: Fae dressed in extravagant dresses and neatly tailored suits, and Mer, many of which are in their military uniforms. The Mer are almost constantly at war with each other, Serine battling the deeper and more isolated city of Odyssa for resources.
Though they often clash, Serine has not lost to Odyssa since the times of Old.
The Mer wear their dark green uniforms with pride, none more than the Consort Prince, Theoden Marrow.
From across the room, Malice spots the famous strategist, his auburn hair braided intricately and hanging low on his back.
Shifters are present too, though there are fewer.
The most prevalent group are the Snakes, owners of Kelly Enterprises.
The elder Vipers are mingling across the room, but the cousins Aerin spends time with are whispering to each other in low voices near a wall, involving Aerin in their murmuring the minute she approaches.
Vyx and Quinn Kelly, though cousins, are almost identical.
Vyx’s features are slightly sharper, but they can easily be confused if you don’t know what to look for.
Malice did his reconnaissance on them. Vyx is the heir to Kelly Enterprises, the largest technologic firm in Novhelm.
Quinn will sit on the same board, eventually taking her own father’s seat.
“Took you long enough,” Vyx snipes as Quinn hands Aerin a glass.
The bubbly drink has an odd shimmering film over its surface.
Malice knows immediately it contains more than just alcohol.
His hand reaches out and wraps around Aerin’s over the glass.
She turns her head slowly, eyes narrowing as she meets his.
“Yes?” she demands. The Vipers seem to have only just noticed him.
“Shit,” Quinn murmurs.
Vyx, with less tact, says, “Who the fuck is this, Rin?”
Aerin looks unamused.
“It’s been spiked,” Malice says lowly, ignoring the Vipers.
Tightening her grip on the drink underneath his hand, Aerin’s gaze doesn’t leave his as she uses her other hand to grasp one of his fingers and peel his hand off hers. He lets her.
“I asked Quinn to spike it. Now if you don’t mind.” Aerin drops his hand. “Go guard my body from somewhere else.” Aerin turns her shoulder and closes the circle with her friends.
Malice knows a dismissal when he sees one. Ignoring the jab, he takes a few steps towards the nearest wall, perching himself there and tugging at the tie around his neck.
Eventually Aerin separates from the Vipers, making her way to the bar.
Malice follows, hovering a few feet back as a golden-haired Fae in a shimmering gold dress approaches.
Malice has never seen her in the flesh, though most Fae haven’t, she rarely ever leaves the Royal Village.
Cisera Tolvare, though the eldest of the Tolvare siblings, is second in line for the throne of Valtara.
Cisera looks as if someone took Aerin and lowered the dial.
They are similar, with golden hair and golden eyes, but where Aerin is all sensual curves and reckless attitude, Cisera is harsh and stern.
Aerin is an abundance of everything, energy projecting out from her as if she’s the center of the universe.
Cisera is cold and feeble in comparison, like comparing the sun and moon.
Aerin’s sister marches directly up to her side before leaning down and hissing in her ear, “You look like a whore.”
Accusation coats Cisera’s voice, far from lighthearted sibling banter. Cisera means it as an insult, sharp and violent.
Letting out a loud fake laugh Aerin steps back from her sister before saying, “Jealous, much?”
“You were supposed to wear gold, like the rest of us,” Cisera hisses. “Father is going to throw a fit!”
This does not seem to bother Aerin in the slightest. In fact, Malice is fairly certain she wore the dress with that exact outcome in mind.
“Good thing he has you around to suck his dick and make it all better,” Aerin coos at her sister. Malice all but chokes, making a noticeable sound, but neither sister looks at him, too busy staring each other down.
“You’re vile.” Disgust paints Cisera’s features, sharper by the second.
Aerin’s voice drops in tone. “Careful, Cisera. Keep being nasty to me and I’ll turn you into one of my mice.” Aerin delivers the words like a threat. She brings her drink up to her mouth, taking a sip, never breaking eye contact with her sister.
Whatever Aerin means, Cisera knows. Her features blanch, and for the first time, her glare breaks into something that looks an awful lot like fear.
“Father would never let you,” she snaps back, though she’s noticeably less self-assured than before.
“Father has never stopped me before, has he?” Aerin asks, cocking her head to the side. Cisera takes a tentative step backwards. Aerin is smug.
“Best to keep that in mind.” Aerin pulls the words out like taffy.
“Despite how he tries, Father couldn’t control me then and he doesn’t control me now.
” She glances down at Cisera’s hands, where they are trembling slightly around her glass.
Aerin breaks out into a wide, triumphant smile.
Cisera stills her hand, but it’s too late. Aerin knows she’s won.
“Enjoy the rest of your night, Sister.” Aerin slips by Cisera and disappears into the crowd. Malice follows, wondering what in the hell he’s gotten himself into.
The instant Aerin spots Bruin Tolvare’s golden head of hair in the crowd her spine stiffens. Her gaze narrowing like a predator to prey, she doesn’t bother excusing herself from her current conversation, instead taking off in confident strides towards her brother.
Malice follows, wondering if the warm-hearted Fae he’s met on a few occasions will end up being as cold and vicious as Cisera was. Though, it seems it’s Aerin’s turn to be vicious. Her nails dig into Bruin’s suit jacket when she reaches him. Bruin attempts to shrug her off but it’s futile.
Malice tenses as Aerin leans into her brother’s ear. Without his enhanced hearing the threat would be inaudible: “Come speak with me right now, or I will bring this entire museum down around us.”
Malice, like everyone else in Novhelm, believes Aerin Tolvare to be the weakest of the Tolvare siblings.
A fire-Fae by blood with weak magic that can change physical appearances for very short periods of time.
To them, Aerin is a weak Fae, hardly a magical threat.
She shouldn’t be able to do anything like bring down a building.
Or turn a fully grown Fae into a non-sentient animal like a mouse.
Yet, Bruin throws a glare at his sister before excusing himself. Cisera trembled when Aerin threatened to change her into a mouse, as if the change would last more than a few minutes.
Perhaps Aerin Tolvare isn’t at all what she seems.
Aerin drags Bruin deeper into the museum, her facade cracking as she goes. Her anger is almost palpable as she yanks open the bathroom door. She maintains a neutral expression save for her eyes, which burn with a mixture of pain and fury, neither outweighing the other.
A ball of guilt forms in Malice’s throat. He thought sharing the news that Bruin hired him, not the King, would reduce Aerin’s ire, but it’s clear he made things worse.
After Bruin crosses into the bathroom, Aerin pointedly slams the door shut. Malice leans against the wall near it, focusing his hearing. Despite the thin walls, Malice can’t make out clear words, some type of sound ward protecting the bathroom.
Malice’s gut churns. He forces his emotions behind doors in his mind, locking them away.
Instead of thinking about his guilt or his unreasonable worry, he turns his attention to the two fire-Fae who followed Bruin down the hall.
The True Heir’s personal guards for the night don’t acknowledge Malice, instead murmuring to each other.
“What’s she on about, you think?” the slimmer one asks.
The second one grumbles, “Likely the king didn’t give her enough allowance.”
“Gave her an earlier curfew,” the first one suggests.
“Told her she has to actually attend her classes.”
“Limited how many males she can fuck in—”
Malice finds himself growling, canine’s bared, before he can consider what he’s doing. The Fae snap their mouths shut, the slimmer one visibly swallowing. They both know they are no match for a Dragon-Fae.
It isn’t that Malice cares for Aerin—he’s only known her a few hours, and she’s done very little to assuage his opinions of her: selfish, vapid, reckless.
Yet hearing them talk about her like this, seeing how she lives here, constantly under a microscope, with a cacophony of creatures muttering in her wake, seeing her icy mask slip into place earlier: there is more to Aerin Tolvare than anyone realizes.
Cracking his knuckles as he waits, Malice holds his muscles stiffly, wings tight to his body.
The exchanges in the bathroom are becoming louder, more agitated.
Just when Malice considers entering to break it up, sounds of metal tearing and water crashing to the floor set off alarm bells in his head.
Malice kicks in the door.