“True love doesn’t always end well, beastie,” Maleficent said, the pet name making Aurora smile despite the tears that suddenly welled up in her eyes.
“I’m asking you to trust me,” Aurora said. “Let Phillip and me prove you wrong.” She moved closer to Maleficent, forcing the faerie to stop pacing. “The king and queen are celebrating tonight. They’ve invited us both to the castle.”
Maleficent’s eyes widened. “You want me…to meet…his parents?” Nothing could have shocked her more.
Up on his branch, Diaval cawed in disbelief.
“It’s just dinner,” Aurora said, though she knew it was much more than that.
Her large black horns sweeping back and forth as she shook her head, Maleficent curled her lips. “They don’t want me in Ulstead,” she pointed out. “Why would I agree?”
“Because his mother wishes to meet mine.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Maleficent did not say anything as Aurora stared up at her with eyes full of hope. Then Maleficent turned to go.
Reflexively, Aurora took a step closer, her arm outstretched, as if she was going to try to stop her godmother. But then Aurora lowered her arm. She knew there was no point in forcing Maleficent to stay. “Just think about it,” she added. “For me.”
Maleficent’s answer was a flap of her wings as she lifted into the sky. Aurora watched her until she was nothing but a black dot on the horizon. With a troubled heart, Aurora turned and headed into her castle. She would have to hope that somewhere, deep inside, Maleficent could find it in her to accept Phillip and his family. Because if she couldn’t…Aurora shook her head. She couldn’t think about that now. The pending dinner was worrisome enough.
Phillip stood inside the royal chambers, deep within the walls of Castle Ulstead. As a boy, he had loved coming to the grand rooms, listening from the wings as his father negotiated with foreign dignitaries or met with his war council to plan attacks. The lavish oversized furnishings had seemed huge to him; the large animal heads mounted on the wall always seemed to follow him magically. He had always been simultaneously terrified and intrigued by the trophies his mother insisted King John keep in the chambers. This had been an exotic and foreign place. The lack of life — both literal and metaphorical — had always made him both excited and uncomfortable.
As Phillip got older, however, the intrigue had faded. Now he found the lifeless eyes of the animals depressing. And while he still enjoyed spending time with his father, he often wished they could do it outside, away from the room that, despite its size and ever-present fire, seemed to suffocate him and make him feel cold to his core.
Unaware of his son’s dark thoughts, King John strode across the room. He wore a huge grin, and in his hand he had a sword. “I want you to wear this tonight,” he said, holding it out.
“The king’s sword?” Phillip gingerly reached out and took it. The weapon felt surprisingly light. He had seen it strapped to his father’s side hundreds of times, and in his head it had always been a heavy, unwieldy weapon. The significance of his father’s giving it to him now was not lost on Phillip. But the king seemed to feel the moment needed explanation.
“Because of you,” he said, his voice full of pride, “Ulstead and the Moors will be united at last.”
Phillip shook his head, trying to hand the sword back. “My love for Aurora has nothing to do with politics,” he protested.
“Your love will ensure peace for generations,” King John said, changing the sentiment ever so slightly but enough to make it clear he understood. Then his eyes welled with tears. Phillip struggled not to smile. His father was nothing if not a romantic. He should have known that to King John, the marriage was a love match first and foremost. The king pushed the sword into Phillip’s hand once more and added, “I’ve never been more proud.”
Phillip slowly holstered the sword, shifting on his feet as he got used to the weight of the object at his hip. Then he looked back at his father. He had come to the royal chambers for a reason and been distracted. He needed to talk about his mother. Before she had composed herself, Phillip had seen a flash of anger cross her face when she first heard his news, and it had been eating at him. Phillip had come to his father now because he had always done so when he was worried about something. “What about Mother?” he finally asked. “Is she upset?”
“She’ll learn to love who you love,” the king answered without hesitation. Then, clapping a hand on Phillip’s back, he began to tell him a story about when his and Ingrith’s betrothal had been announced.
Phillip only half listened. He hoped his father was right. But a piece of him wished that his mother didn’t have to learn to love Aurora. He didn’t expect her to love Aurora in the unconditional way he did. But why was it so hard for her to embrace Aurora when everyone else did with such joy and ease? Was Ingrith incapable — or simply unwilling?
Chapter Five
STANDING IN THE SHADOWS OF THE ROYAL CHAMBERS, QUEEN INGRITH HAD WATCHED AND LISTENED AS HER HUSBAND AND SON BLATHERED ON ABOUT LOVE AND UNITY. She had been glad that her face was hidden. At least the two men could not see her eyes as they rolled or the small grimace she bore when she heard she would grow to love Aurora in time. All the time in the world would not be enough. To her, Aurora was only a pawn in a game of chess she had been secretly playing for years.
Having heard more than she had wished, Ingrith slipped through the shadows into the sanctity of her dressing room. The space was off-limits to John and, for the most part, any of the castle staff. Besides a few very trusted maids, she kept the room empty of visitors, which was how she liked it. Walking into the center of the room, she exhaled deeply. This place calmed her. On either side, the walls were lined with lavish gowns of gray, silver, white, and black. Not one for color, she found the monochrome effect settling. Diamonds and other precious gems sat upon the shelves, and dozens upon dozens of shoes were paired together on a wall of their own. Against the far wall were several dress forms made to her exact measurements. The most fragile and lovely of her gowns adorned them.
Ingrith held out a hand as she walked toward them. But instead of gently running her fingers over the delicate lace on one, she pushed against it. The dress form tilted back until there was a quiet click. Behind the form, a door slid open, revealing stairs that led down into darkness.
The queen allowed herself the smallest of smiles. This was the real reason she loved her dressing chambers and did not allow anyone in. Or rather, the door led to the reason she kept her private rooms private.
Sliding by the dress form, Ingrith slipped through the door and began to descend the staircase. Her footfalls echoed off the stone walls as she went deeper and deeper. Every few feet, a sconce illuminated the stairway, revealing ancient stone that was always damp and cold. But Ingrith didn’t need the light to know where she was going. She had made this journey more times than she could possibly count.
As she approached the bottom of the stairs, the space grew lighter and she could hear water bubbling. Every once in a while, a clink sounded, as though something was hitting against glass. Finally, she arrived at a landing. Ingrith stepped forward and into a huge cavernous space. The arched ceilings rose nearly fifteen feet, and several stone bridges dissected the room, revealing an even larger room below. Ingrith walked to it and peered down.