Annie's expression doesn't flicker as they make their polite exits, smiling, graceful, the very picture of composure. She thanks Luxor for the invitation. Bids Brigitte goodnight. Even nods to Aerion one last time, her voice sweet and syrupy as she says, "Sleep well, my lord."
Malvor is practically vibrating beside her. He hasn't let go of her hand since they left the dais.
When they step through the portal and into the ever-shifting chaos of his castle, the tension shatters like glass.
A horse neighs loudly from the newly formed stable.
Arbor flickers the lights in utter disdain.
"I hate horses," the house hums through a creaking floorboard. "They crap everywhere."
Malvor doesn't laugh.
He grabs Annie by the waist and pins her gently, yet insistently, against the nearest wall, eyes blazing, voice a low growl. "All right, Annie. What is the plan? You told a god you would let him ride you. You."
She lifts a brow, calm as ever. "I did not."
"You did—"
"I said," she interrupts smoothly, "'Give him the horse, and tomorrow morning, he will get the ride he is begging for.'"
She smiles.
"I never promised me, Malvor. I promised him the ride. Verbiage, darling. You should pay more attention."
There is a beat of stunned silence as the meaning settles over him.
Then his expression shifts. Glorious, wicked delight spreads across his face.
"You brilliant, vindictive, perfect nightmare of a woman."
She leans in, brushing her lips across his cheek, her voice a whisper. "You are going to help me glamor the horse. Every detail. Down to the curve of my waist."
He groans, equal parts impressed and turned on. "You want to enchant the horse to look like you?"
"To be me. In every visible way."
"And when he tries—" Malvor's grin sharpens. "It will throw him."
"Hard."
From the stall, the horse snorts like it knows.
Arbor's lights dim, flickering once with exhausted disdain.
"I hate you both," the house groans with a loud creak from the ceiling.
Malvor throws his head back in laughter. "Then you would really hate what comes next."
He turns back to Annie, eyes gleaming with chaos and pride.
"I am going to enjoy every second of this."
And Annie just grins like the goddess of vengeance herself.
Malvor spends the night with sleeves rolled up, magic humming through his fingers, as he pours every ounce of chaotic brilliance into transforming the horse into a perfect replica of Annie. Down to her laugh lines. Down to the gleam in her eyes.
"Stay still," he mutters to the horse turned Annie, conjuring another illusionary brush to fluff "her" hair. "You are supposed to look ravishing, not rabid."
The creature flicks its tail in irritation.
He steps back, arms crossed, admiring his work with a grin that could scorch kingdoms. "Annie, my vengeful minx, if you could see this…"
"You mean like this?"
Her voice.
He whirls around and real Annie is leaning in the doorway with that infuriatingly calm, dangerous smile. "Ready for the last part of the plan?"
He eyes her suspiciously. "You said that was the plan. One body double horse to humiliate a pompous war god. Classic."
"No," she purrs, stepping closer. "That was part one. Part two—turn me into you."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Me? Annie, you already have my heart. You do not need my face."
She smirks. "I want to be you. Let me sneak into the temple as Malvor himself. I will deliver the gift. Let him try his little performance. I will mock him. Walk out. All glory, no effort. You stay invisible and watch. This is my prank. My vengeance."
Malvor stares at her, mouth slightly open. Then slowly, the grin returns, wide, devious, utterly besotted.
"Oh Annie," he murmurs. "You want to be me? Do you have any idea how many bad decisions that involves?"
She crosses her arms. "Do you have any idea how fast I will strut into that temple, destroy him emotionally, and strut right back out?"
"…Fine. But I am making you the hottest version of me to ever exist. I want that arrogant jerk to want me so badly and get absolutely nothing."
With a dramatic flourish, he raises his hands, muttering in ancient, chaotic tongues.
The magic surges.
A moment later, she is him.
Or rather, a devastating, smirking, taller-than-she-is-used-to version of Malvor.
She looks down at her arms, flexes her fingers, then gropes her own chest.
"Annie!" Malvor gasps in mock horror. "That is MY chest! Those are premium pecs!"
She raises a single brow. "Really? Because they're kind of squishy."
He clutches his heart. "You take that back!"
She just keeps poking. "Squishy."
He whines dramatically. "Arbor, my most beloved house, make her stop touching me as me!"
The lights flicker: No. You deserve this.
"Traitor," Malvor mutters, before spinning on Annie, himself, again.
"…But gods above, you look incredible."
She smirks, still testing the voice, still settling into the form. "I am going to humiliate him as you."
"And I get to watch," he says, practically vibrating with delight. "Invisible, smug, and potentially a little turned on."
"Do not make this weird."
"Annie, I am chaos incarnate. That is literally my brand."
And with one more gleam of magic and a quick, wicked kiss, the plan is officially in motion.