Maleficent

Chapter Three

MALEFICENT STOOD ATOP THE HIGH CRAG. THE SHEER, FOREBODING ROCK MONOLITH WAS THE HIGHEST POINT IN THE MOORS. FROM IT, MALEFICENT COULD LOOK OUT OVER THE ENTIRE KINGDOM. Although she was welcome in Aurora’s castle, she was more comfortable here. On the crag, she was alone and free from the incessant chatter of the other faeries.

As the only one of her kind, Maleficent had never had the camaraderie that came with growing up among others like oneself. She did not understand the faeries’ need to constantly check in with one another or tell each other about their days. She preferred her solitude. And if she was being honest, she knew that most of the faerie folk were fine with that. She had earned her reputation as a strong and fierce Dark Fey the hard way — through war and violence. Even now, years after peace had come to the Moors, that reputation hung over her. Her presence still often made the smaller, more lighthearted faeries nervous.

In truth, the only one she had not grown tired of was Aurora. The girl, who was more daughter than friend, never ceased to amaze Maleficent. She was never bored with or weary of her. When she was around Aurora, she never felt uncomfortable or self-conscious about the huge wings and dark horns that were hers alone. Maleficent could spend hours with her, wandering the Moors, delighting in how the girl still found such joy in every corner of the kingdom. The love that had grown between them was stronger than ever, and it was made even greater by all they had overcome. It seemed there was nothing that could break their bond.

Hearing the familiar sound of flapping wings, Maleficent waited as Diaval, her trusted raven and companion, landed behind her. He squawked.

“What?” she asked. She twirled her hand, and a small flicker of green magic flew out, transforming Diaval from bird to human.

Maleficent raised an eyebrow. The man looked terrified. He was often skittish and a little bit flighty — an effect of spending more than half his life in bird form. But the fear she saw now was unusual.

“Mistress,” he began, “I, uh, I bring some news.” He stopped and took a few quick breaths. “But before I say this news, you need to promise you won’t…execute me.”

Maleficent sneered, revealing her perfectly white teeth and the pair of small fangs that made even her nicest smile seem menacing. She knew that there were those in the Moors who believed she had gone soft when she made a human their queen. But most knew better. They knew that while Maleficent loved Aurora, she was still a Dark Fey. And no one doubted the damage Maleficent could — and would — inflict on the fools who dared try threaten her. “Tell me,” she said, losing patience with Diaval, “or you’ll wish I had.”

Gulping, Diaval went on. “It’s nothing of consequence, really, no reason to overreact.” He paused, realizing his voice sounded as shaky as he felt. He had known Maleficent far too long. There was no chance she wouldn’t overreact to what he was about to say. “It’s just that Prince Phillip has—”

“Leprosy?” Maleficent interjected hopefully.

“No, mistress,” Diaval said, shaking his head. He tried again. “Phillip has—”

“Black plague? Yellow fever?” Maleficent asked.

“Mistress,” Diaval said, growing exasperated. His next words came out in a rush. “Prince Phillip has asked Aurora — and here’s the part where I’m going to remind you not to kill me — asked her if she will become his…”

Maleficent’s face somehow became even paler. It turned out there was something that could get between her and Aurora: Phillip.

As Maleficent lifted her head, her green eyes bored into Diaval. “Don’t ruin my morning,” she warned.

Around them, the wind picked up — slowly at first, but then it whirled faster and faster. The air crackled with electricity. The sky turned darker as Maleficent spread her wings. A storm was brewing. Then, without another word, she took off into the air.

Diaval shivered as he watched her go. “You’re taking this incredibly well!” he shouted. A moment later, there was a flash of green as he transformed back into a bird and followed her into the sky.

Phillip couldn’t stop smiling. Aurora had said yes! For days he had been nervously planning and thinking, worrying and hoping. And now it was over, and everything had gone perfectly. Well, except for the whole part when she fell into the pond. But still. She had said yes. She had said yes even before he could properly ask. And they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. He thought his smile couldn’t possibly get wider, but then it did.

Phillip’s horse galloped through the main gates of Ulstead, and he rode toward the castle. It loomed large, its huge white facade sparkling in the sun. The two towers that dominated the building rose high into the sky, their tips appearing to vanish into the clouds. Everything about Castle Ulstead was big, lavish, and ornate. The village that lay at its feet mirrored the wealth of the castle in its own way. The buildings were smaller and their sides were more muted than the blinding white of the castle, but they were strong and well built. The roads Phillip’s horse now cantered over were smooth, and the people he passed looked healthy and happy.

Phillip slowed his horse to a walk when he spotted Percival waiting for him in the town square. He and Percival had grown up together and remained friends — despite the fact that Phillip was a prince and Percival was now a general in Phillip’s father’s army.

“So, tell me, sire,” Percival said when Phillip arrived. “Will I be the best man? Or did you choose a filthy creature from the Moors?”

Phillip’s eyes darted toward his friend. The young general did nothing to hide his hatred of the Moors and any creature that made the place its home. Despite his open, kind face, Percival had a dark and angry streak when it came to the Moors. Phillip could usually just ignore the man’s opinion, but every now and then, Percival said or did something that crossed the line. In those moments, Phillip did his best to keep his mouth shut and his hands by his sides. But every so often Percival found himself at the end of Phillip’s sword and would, for a good length of time after, be sure to temper his tone.

“General,” Phillip said now, trying to keep the conversation on lighter — happier — ground, “if you’re asking if she said yes—”

Percival cut him off. “Oh, I know she said yes,” he said. “What human wouldn’t want to escape that place?”

“What do you have against the Moor folk, Percival?” Phillip asked. He was not in the mood for Percival’s sour attitude. Not that day. Not on the day of his engagement to the woman he loved, who ruled over those very folk Percival showed such hatred for.

Percival didn’t answer right away. Instead, he scowled and kicked his horse’s sides. It was time to go. Together the two men moved through the square and toward the castle. “Moor folk?” Percival repeated. “Is that what we call winged beasts and murderous trees?”

Phillip frowned and gave Percival a warning look. “You mind your tongue, General,” he said. “You know nothing about them.” Percival’s opinion was based on tales and adventures he had not participated in. He had not been part of King Stefan’s battle. He had not been there to witness the atrocities committed by the humans against the faeries. Yet like many others, Percival believed that the exaggerated stories were true — and that evil lay outside the human heart instead of within it. To him, Maleficent was a monster.

Percival went on. “I know Maleficent is a killer of men. Destroyed half an army by herself—”

“She’s not like that, General,” Phillip said, coming to the defense of the Dark Fey. He almost smiled. His future mother-in-law, if that was what he could call her, would have laughed at hearing him defend her. She barely acknowledged him when they did interact. And when she did, it was usually to ask if he was feeling well — with the obvious hope he wasn’t.

“It’s my job to protect this kingdom,” Percival went on. “And I’ll do so, old friend — without hesitation.” Once again, he kicked his horse and galloped forward, leaving Phillip to follow. Behind him, Phillip sighed, some of his earlier happiness fading. He and Aurora were sure of their love for each other. They had spent hours daydreaming about uniting their kingdoms and showing both faerie and human that they could coexist. But the road to that unity was going to be bumpy. Phillip knew Percival wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t be happy about his engagement.

Clucking at his horse, Phillip trotted toward the castle and his parents with butterflies in his stomach. They, too, were sure to have strong reactions to his news.

King John longed to stretch. He had been sitting for hours on his throne under the weight of his ornate coat and heavy crown. At his wife’s request, a fur blanket — with the animal’s head still attached — was draped over him. And he held a long scepter. The throne, uncomfortable on a good day, felt like it was stabbing into his backside after hours and hours of posing for his royal portrait.

But he would do what he must to make his wife happy.

Noticing movement from the corner of his eye, King John smiled — but only slightly. He had already been reprimanded enough by the artist. “Ingrith,” he said in greeting. “You’re the only one I can trust. Be honest — how do I look?”

The queen stepped farther into the dark room. Even without light to illuminate her skin, it glowed the same color as the moon. Her dress clung to her body, accentuating her thin frame, and her blond hair, nearly white, was pulled back tight to her scalp. Her eyes, as she scanned the canvas, were cold. It was she, not the king, who looked like a piece of art. A cold stone statue.

“Like the greatest king in the history of Ulstead,” she finally said, her tone flat.

The king either didn’t notice the tone or chose to ignore it. “And see your place of honor,” he went on, apparently pleased with his wife’s response. “Right beside me.”

Unable to move his head, he couldn’t see the grimace that contorted the queen’s objectively beautiful face. Nor did he notice as her hands clenched at her sides and she took a sharp breath. When she spoke, however, her voice was even and calm. “And that’s where I’ll always be.”

Ingrith despised that as queen, she was always seen as second to her weak and ineffectual husband. Just the sight of the man made her feel ill. When he spoke, his words full of flowery nonsense and foolish romantic notions, she wanted to put her hands over her ears and scream. Theirs was not a love match. It had been a match of convenience. The chances Ingrith would adore him had been slim and the silly stuff of John’s favorite fairy tales. But at least she could have married someone she admired. Or even liked. Instead, she had married a man whose constant declarations of love and adoration made her skin crawl.

But the kingdom — and her husband — expected her to be the doting wife. So she was. She smiled for portraits. She forged alliances, instigated wars, and expanded their rule while John talked endlessly about impossible peace and waxed poetic with his son about the power of love.

She did it for one reason, and one reason alone: she needed John and the power his title and her marriage had brought. So let others believe he was the leader. Let the kingdom believe that she had no agenda, that John was the reason they lived under such prosperity. They would soon discover how wrong they were.

Hearing the doors open once again, Queen Ingrith turned, happy for an excuse to stop looking at her husband. Gerda, the royal engineer, walked in briskly, carrying a large crate. She was one of the few members of the royal court who was not intimidated by Queen Ingrith. Gerda had been part of the court for years and provided the king with wisdom, advice, and, when asked, weaponry. But she was, at heart, loyal to the queen.

Stopping in front of the royal pair, Gerda nodded. Leaning down, she placed the crate on the ground in front of them. It was filled to the brim, the wooden sides strained by its contents. “Your Majesty,” Gerda said, addressing the king, “spoils from the annexation of the Midlands have arrived.” She pointed to the top of the pile. “Weapons.”

King John shook his head, earning himself a sharp glare from the portrait artist. “We have no need for arms,” he said. “Our days of war are over.”

The queen bit the inside of her cheek. Her husband was a fool. There would always be war. It was part of running a kingdom. If there wasn’t war outside, there was war inside. If there were not enemies far away, there were enemies at the gate. Or in their case, across the river. But John had always seen the world through the eyes of a child, naive and hopeful. He believed war should be a last resort. Ingrith thought otherwise.

She reached into the pile and pulled out a crossbow. While the weapons Gerda had acquired were antique, they still worked. Lifting it, she cocked the bow, holding the weapon with practiced ease. “One can never be too careful,” she said, turning so that the bow was aimed right at the king.

Gerda watched the queen, her expression blank but her eyes curious. “Your Majesty, it’s cocked,” she warned.

There was a tense moment as Gerda looked at the queen, and the queen looked at the king. “Is it, now?” Ingrith asked, feigning ignorance. She tossed the bow to Gerda, who caught it. When she did, the weapon fired. The arrow flew wildly through the air and slammed into a statue next to the doorway.

“You need to be more careful,” Ingrith said, eyeing the quivering arrow.

Gerda nodded, taking the blame as expected. As she went to retrieve the arrow, Ingrith moved farther into the room. Bright beams of sunlight poured through the windows at the back, illuminating the gray tiled floor and making it shine. Ingrith sidestepped the light, avoiding it as if it were a puddle of mud.

The doors to the throne room opened again. Her expression turned happy — or rather, less cold — when she saw her son. Phillip’s handsome face was full of joy as he strode toward his parents.

“Father, Mother…” he began.

“Well?” King John said, standing up. He didn’t even care that the moment he stood, the artist began to mutter under his breath. “What did she say?” the king pressed him.

Phillip’s smile broadened. “She said yes!”

“That’s marvelous news!” King John said, throwing his arms around his son. “Two kingdoms will finally be one!”

Ingrith looked at the two men as they embraced — one old and foolish, the other young and reckless. She should have known Phillip would go to his father for advice about his relationship with Aurora. The boy had never sought her out for heart-to-heart conversations. Lessons on strategy and war were more her cup of tea. But she couldn’t blame him. After all, she had never hidden her feelings about Aurora. She just wished her oaf of a husband had warned her that a betrothal was imminent.

Pulling free from his father’s hug, Phillip turned to Ingrith. “Mother,” Phillip began, doubt creeping into his voice, “I know this goes against your wishes. But if you’ll spend some time with Aurora…”

Mother and son shared a look and an awkward silence.

If I had had a heads-up, I could have planned this better, Ingrith thought, wishing, yet again, that her husband wasn’t completely incompetent. But she knew she needed to say something to her son. Finally, she nodded. “Yes,” she said, trying to keep her tone soft. “Perhaps I’ve been selfish, looking at this the wrong way. I owe you and Aurora an apology.”

“Mother?” Phillip said, not hiding his surprise at her response.

“You’ve made your choice,” she went on, surprising him still further, “so now is a time to celebrate.” She walked to him, and she, too, hugged him. The gesture felt foreign to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had embraced her son. But the moment seemed to call for it.

In her arms, Phillip stood awkwardly. “I’m glad you finally approve,” he said.

“Much more than that,” Ingrith said, pulling back. Her mind had begun to race. A delightfully wicked idea had just come to her. She had been seeing this all wrong. The union wasn’t a problem. It was a solution. She could use it to further a plan she had hatched years earlier. Because of circumstance and position, she had been unable to do more than plot. That had changed. Phillip’s engagement had handed her an opportunity on a silver platter. She couldn’t, however, let Phillip have any inkling that she had anything but the best of intentions. She needed him to believe that she was behind his marriage — disgusting as she found it. If he remained in the dark, she would be able to right the wrongs from the past and bring her life’s goal to fruition — an end to the faerie folk once and for all. Pulling her lips back in a smile, she went on. “I’m ready to welcome your fiancée with open arms. Why don’t we have her over for dinner?”

Phillip looked shocked. But he smiled. “That would be incredible,” he said.

“But under one condition,” Ingrith added, causing Phillip’s smile to momentarily falter. “She will bring her godmother.”

The room became silent. Ingrith had known her statement would bring such a reaction. She had never — not once in the five years Aurora had been in her son’s life — set foot in the Moors. Nor had she opened her doors to the girl or Maleficent. She had also never made her feelings toward the faeries secret. All who knew her knew of her disdain. And now she was inviting the queen of the Moors and the girl’s Dark Fey godmother to dinner?

“We will meet the one who raised her,” she went on. “Right here in this castle.”

Unaware of what his wife was really plotting, King John clapped his hands together happily. “The queen is right,” he said.

“I’m not sure her godmother will—” Phillip started.

But Ingrith stopped him. Lifting a pale thin hand in the air, she shook her head. “But I insist,” she said. “After all, we will soon be family. There is no other way.”

“The queen is right,” King John repeated. “Let it be known throughout the kingdom: My son is going to marry Aurora. And Maleficent is coming to Ulstead.”

As the king returned to his portrait, Ingrith kept a smile plastered on her face. It was just like John to take her decree and make it his own. She let him…for the moment. Soon enough he wouldn’t be her problem.

But first she had a dinner to plan. A few ideas had already come to mind. First course: polite conversation. Dessert: a hearty helping of Maleficent humble pie. And then, finally, destruction of the Moors — and every last faerie who called that disgusting forest home.