Villainous [Wattys 2021 Shortlist]

MALEVOLENT 5: Palace of Fire

She was stretched out on something that seemed to be trying to swallow her. The phoenix, or a monster, maybe... She tried to roll or climb away, but her muscles felt like lead and she couldn't even open her eyes. Eventually Delilah realised it was a mattress stuffed with feathers, its cover made of smooth cotton. There was a silken robe against her skin – silk, something she recognised instantly and never thought she'd feel again – and multiple layers of thin bedsheets, the type used in Pelenu where it was too warm for thick duvet.

Murmuring grew apparent, as if she was slowly surfacing from water. Her hearing had definitely been damaged by the blast, she decided. Keeping her breathing slow and even, forcing herself to relax so no one would notice a change in her, she listened.

"A spell, all along," Marko was muttering.

"What are its effects? What will she be like when she wakes up?" This voice was female and unfamiliar, but Delilah could guess who its owner was and a familiar fire began to burn in the pit of her stomach.

"We don't know. We're going to have to be careful, and she'll have to take it easy..."

A door opened. Delilah recognised the creak. My door.

"W-What are you doing in here, my prince?" a blustering voice exploded. "In the princess's private quarters!"

"Just checking up on her. Sorry, Agrippa."

"Leave her in peace, and let me tend to her."

Delilah listened as Marko and his pregnant fiancée left the room. The old healer tipped a bottle against her lips and she obligingly let the thick, foul-tasting contents slide down her throat. She decided someone needed to give her a medal, an award – or a crown – for the way she succeeded in keeping her face as relaxed as if she were still sleeping. She remembered Agrippa from her childhood, from her days in the palace before she challenged Marko to a duel that fateful day, and conjured an image in her mind of an old, wise, but eccentric face, with a bushy white beard and hair that made the healer look like he'd received an electric shock.

Finally the bottle disappeared – Agrippa, if you ever make me swallow that disgusting, foul, spirits-forsaken thing again I swear on my life I will slit your throat and hang your intestines out of my window as a warning for the next idiot – and Agrippa shuffled about the room, humming as he fiddled with the curtains. Light and shadow played on the other side of her eyelids.

Before, Delilah might have sat up, immediately demanding to know what was happening and what her fate might be, and the thought did cross her mind, but Dante's final words were still echoing in her ears. There were, indeed, other ways to fight back, and instead of giving anyone the satisfaction of knowing she was awake, she decided to bide her time.

She had to figure out what her character would be. Because the She-Wolf of Vale would most certainly be skinned alive.

When Agrippa left and she was sure she was alone, Delilah opened her eyes.

Her old room was almost exactly how she remembered it. Marko's fiancée must have moved out – meaning she was now his wife – and the room had been stripped down to its bare minimum again, with none of the items Delilah had collected throughout her childhood. But the furniture was still in the same place, the walls were white and clean, curving up smoothly into the ceiling above, and magnificent lamps made of shards of coloured glass sat on either side of her massive bed.

Delilah sat up, wincing as her muscles protested. She'd been unconscious for a few days, at least three, if she had to guess. She remembered some of the agonising journey from the mountains, but not arriving at Rhydderch.