A Malice Heart

Four days after a new member was brought into the family, Drew started to look more and more like a lady than a low back scum. Even though she still protested whenever a maid got near her, the workers found ways to tie her down and bound her so they could get Drew ready for the day.

Malice, for once, walked in on them finishing up her hair. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the sight of Drew being tied up with a rope and a piece of cloth was tied around her mouth. The assassin noticed him from the mirror that sat before her and turned her head so fast that it startled her maids. Drew began screaming random things through her gag, but no words were audible enough for anyone to understand.

Malice only waved goodbye before turning on his heel and leaving the room, allowing the maids to finish their job. It had been a while since he tortured anyone just for the spite of it, so this was a sweet refresher to those old habits.

A few minutes afterward, Drew walked out of her room with another one of his mother’s gowns. This one was lengthened down to her ankles, the ends of it barely dusting the floor as she walked, her feet covered in black flats.

The entire top far of her dress was a white, button corset with long sleeves that reached to the wrists and covered her up to her neck. The bottom part of the dress was a large skirt of turquoise color, built of two layers, on top of the other with little volume.

Drew scowled at the sight of him staring at her and placed her hands on her hips. “You’ve got some nerve showing your face to me—”

“Darling, it’s eight in the morning. The roosters haven’t even started crowing, so why should you?”

Drew’s mouth clamped shut as she strode towards his side, that frustrated expression not leaving her pampered face. “You’re looking lovely, my lady. Anyone would be jealous of the lavishness you live in.”

The assassin didn’t speak, only rolled her eyes and itched at her ear where an earring sat. The holes were punched this morning to further allow the maids to dress her up.

Malice merely frowned as she continued with her silence, placing one hand at the hilt of his sword and running a thumb over the fabric. “Why is it that you care for the people who want nothing to do with you?”

Drew looked up at Malice who, as a matter of fact, wasn’t that much taller than her. “It’s called empathy, I’m guessing that’s a word you’ve never heard before. For the rich and famous, what matters is only power and what others think of you. You’d aid them only when it benefits you, am I right?”“More than you know,” he replied, giving her a side-eye. “How you love to ruin our conversations with such exterior comments, darling.”

“These ‘exterior comments’ are things that you, as king, are supposed to be talking about daily if you want them to truly stop coming up,” she grumbled in return, rubbing at her mouth and smearing the red lipstick.

Drew cursed quietly at the stain on her hand and looked around as if a tissue would appear out of nowhere.

“Allow me,” said Malice with a roll of his eyes as he pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He’d used this same cloth many times to clean off specks of blood left from his victims and made sure to have it washed every day, but never once got the chance to use it to aid another person. “Those that are near me must look their utmost best.”

The assassin merely took a step backwards and said, “Don’t you dare touch me, you bastard.”

“Says the one who willingly kissed this very same bastard.”

“You were supposed to be dead seconds after that kiss, that’s why I didn’t give a damn about it.”

Malice only shook his head in annoyance, as if he were dealing with a stubborn child, and leaned down towards Drew, handkerchief in hand and merely inches from her face. His voice grew very quiet as he spoke, “Perhaps you were simply very interested in your king,” he dabbed at the red spot on her chin, “or maybe you thought you could get away with seducing me into not killing you,” he dabbed both corners of her mouth, the red stain cleaning off fairly easily.

The assassin scrunched her face at the thought and pushed the king away with both her hands, waving everything off, “You’re an imbecile to think such a thing. I’d rather make out with a pig than kiss you again.”

Malice chuckled, the feeling unnatural to him.

As they reached the balcony where breakfast was already laid out, Malice pulled out a chair for Drew to sit in before going to his seat.

“Tea?” he asked, picking up the teapot and pouring himself a cup. Drew didn’t answer him as usual, so he poured her some nonetheless. This was her form of rebellion. Not accepting anything that was offered, but allowing it to be given to her still.

The two ate in silence, staring off into the view that was shown from the balcony. The birds sang from nearby trees and the sun kept shining before hiding itself behind a giant cloud. The wind rustled the king’s hair but did nothing to Drew’s bun that was firmly stuck to the back of her scalp given the torturous hair routine she went through not too long ago. She ate a cracker with cheese on it and took a small sip of her tea, not daring to make any eye contact with her king who sat merely a few centimeters away from her.

He knew how much she hated enduring this, how with every passing day the burden was digging under her skin. Malice could see it by just looking at her face, how it continued shifting expressions. Those blue eyes were anxious.

Her mood was changing his mood, and that bothered Malice the most, so he spoke to the girl who had attempted to kill him in his own garden, “Tell me a bit about yourself. We might as well get to know one another.”

Drew slowly turned her head towards Malice and took another sip of her drink before splashing the tea right at him, staining his black suit and pants. The tea managed to cool down so it didn’t burn him, but the act itself was a surprise.

“You want to know a bit about myself? There you have it, so much can be said through one action. I have a short temper, I despise kings, I get pissed off easily, I hate kings,” she tapped her chin, looking upwards, “did I mention that I hated you or not?”

Malice simply looked down at his clothes and then up at the bitch who was smirking down at him. “You sure are a bold one, darling. It will one day be the death of you.”

“I’ve never been more proud of that trait.”

He could see that new look that was shown in her eyes. Madness. He’d finally made her mad with guilt. He did it. This was the kind of wild creature he was hoping to get, and here she was, right before him.

Malice stood up from his seat, all the liquid that was splashed on him sliding down his clothes, leaving behind the dried fabric. “I’d have to be an idiot to wear clothes that weren’t waterproof in front of you, my lady. Better try next time.”

That triumphed look on her face instantly vanished, leaving behind a snarl of annoyance. She stood from her chair as well and wiped the crumbs left from the biscuits off her gown. “Damn you.”

“Right back at you,” he replied almost instantly.

Drew’s role here was to simply stay by the king’s side. Not as his future wife or mistress, not as a babysitter or a caretaker, but as a companion. A showoff. That itself could be seen as a compliment or an embarrassment. What Malice knew was that for her it was torture, and that was what was most important to him.