“Oh, darling, don’t be grumpy,” Maleficent said with a smile. “Enjoy your party, dear! Look how much fun everyone is having, thanks to you!”
The queen indicated the crowd with an elegant and dramatic wave of her fingers. While she was looking away, Aurora quickly used an agile foot to sweep a few of the cards out of sight, under the train of her gown. Only then did she follow her aunt’s example and look around.
Lianna was clapping along on the far side of the room; she never danced. When she saw the princess looking at her, she nodded her head slightly. Aurora turned to follow the direction of her nod and saw, dressed in a worn velvet doublet that was certainly not his own, the stable boy, Cael. He had his head thrown back in laughter at something one of the serving girls said, his thick brown hair tossed behind him like…like…like a mane. But his eyes were directed at Aurora, and he grinned.
She didn’t particularly fancy him, but grinned back anyway. A young man who wanted to dance was a young man who wanted to dance, and in the castle at the end of the world, there weren’t a whole lot to choose from.
On the other hand…there was also Count Brodeur, who never looked away from her eyes when they talked, who flattered her and spoke sweetly. An older and wiser man than a silly stable boy. Someone she could discuss things with.
She picked up her skirts—and, secretly, the cards—and hurried down to join him.
“Your Highness,” the count said, turning and executing a low, sweeping bow the moment he saw her. His blue cape flew out behind him like the tail of a magnificent bird: a peacock or a badger or something similar. His peppered-gray mustache tickled the back of her hand as he kissed it.
“A word, if you would?” she asked, trying not to simper and giggle, though she couldn’t stop the smile forming in the corners of her lips. It was also hard not to look at her hands as they stuffed the cards back into her bag.
“You may have all my words, forever, Your Highness,” he promised, only the twinkle in his eye betraying any admission of hyperbole. “Also, all my dances.”
He put his arms out, and Aurora gracefully scooped up the train of her gown and let him lead her delicately out onto the floor. Their fingertips just touched in this most proper of dances. When she spun, she saw Cael miming an arrow striking his heart and feigning big tears. But he had another drink of cider and didn’t seem overly concerned as he chatted up the maid who had brought it over.
“May I ask you a question, Count Brodeur—discreetly?” she asked, turning so she avoided looking at the stable boy.
“Always, Your Highness,” the count said, his interest definitely piqued. “Intrigue? Schemes? Anything to relieve the boredom around here?”
Aurora chose not to think about the rumors concerning how Brodeur relieved his own boredom. She also chose to ignore Lianna, who was watching them closely with what looked like a frown on her otherwise placid face.
“Nothing, perhaps, so interesting,” she slipped a hand into her pouch and pulled out the feather. “What do you think of this…?”
The count squinted at it, disappointed. “It’s just a feather. So what?”
The princess bit her lip, a little taken aback by his reaction.
“But…it’s not a pigeon feather,” she pointed out. “Or a sparrow’s, or…”
“Is this for a scavenger hunt?” he asked, getting excited again. “Is someone organizing another scavenger hunt?”
Aurora frowned. Scavenger hunt? Were there all sorts of games going on that the royal princess wasn’t invited to?
“No,” she said impatiently. “The minstrel said he got it from the Outside….”
“OUTSIDE?”
The count stopped dancing and grabbed her by the shoulders in an entirely indecent and improper manner.
“Good sir,” Aurora said as politely as she could, looking around nervously.
“When did he go? He’s back in? How did he get out? What did he see?” the count demanded, almost hissing like her aunt.
“I don’t know. He was drunk. He’s always drunk. He may have been lying,” she stammered.
“DID HE REALLY GO OUTSIDE? Is the air out there good and sweet? He survived? You must tell me!” he said, practically shaking her.
“Please—you’re hurting me,” Aurora said, fighting tears. People were watching. Despite the occasional breach of etiquette in the endless confinement of the castle, attacks on the royal princess—in public, no less—just didn’t happen.
Two of Maleficent’s servants were instantly on either side of her, bronze spears held at the ready.
The count paled and immediately let her go.
“My apologies, Your Highness,” he said, making an extremely low bow and touching his heart. “I was…overwhelmed.”
His face was red and his eyes were darting, unsettled.
Aurora noticed that, despite this, he had carefully phrased his apology such that it could be misinterpreted as to mean he was overwhelmed by her—her beauty.
Everyone was staring.
Including Queen Maleficent, whose yellow eyes watched unblinkingly to see what she would do.
The princess wanted nothing more than to run away. To pick up her skirts and run out of the room, away from the faces—to run to bed and her solitude and her silence.
But she was a royal princess in the Thorn Castle at the end of the world.
And the wrong word from her would send this stupid man to his death.
She drew up her shoulders, trying to channel her aunt.
“There is no trouble here,” she said, voice quavering. “As the count said, he was merely overwrought. You may return to your posts.”
The creatures slumped but obeyed, looking disappointed they didn’t get to rough someone up. The crowd turned away—also disappointed that the excitement was over.
The count gave a subdued, if sullen, bow. She hurried away from him, anywhere—toward Mistress Laura, who was sporting an extremely bright orange dress instead of the aquamarine she was supposed to.
And Aurora kept the feather and the minstrel’s secret to herself from then on, as safely locked in her heart as they all were in the castle.
A MONTH PASSED.
Soon it was time for another ball.
This time the theme was “Gold.”
People assumed it was the bright metal kind, in coins and necklaces. But that wasn’t the sort of gold Aurora was imagining.
She was imagining the sun.
She tried not to think about it. She tried not to wish for it. She tried to be like Lianna—thankful and grateful just for being and there being a sun somewhere up in the sky at all. She spent a lot of time lying down these days, trying very hard to be grateful—when she wasn’t just staring into space. Trying not to feel restless and caged. Once in a while, the sun would push one ray through the protective vines on her bedroom window and its thick, heavy light would make its way to her bed. She would lie in its warmth for hours, like a cat in front of the fire, wishing it would cover her entire body.
Sometimes she would spend a whole afternoon watching little motes of dust doing their slow dances in the golden light like lazy, otherworldly fairies. Sometimes it seemed that if she just concentrated hard enough, she could make them dance the way she wanted them to. They performed whole ballets and routines just for her, each one unique, each little dancer jagged and golden. Sometimes she drifted off during the performances, which might have been rude but was also unavoidable.