by May Sage
Maleficent looked perplexed, inquisitive, and her lips twitched when the girl shot her her best toothy grin. The fay managed to prevent herself from returning the smile, but most of her ire vanished.
“This,” he said, recalling that Mal hadn’t been in for almost a year now, “is Aurora Evermore. My daughter.”
Mal sniffed the air and grimaced.
“This is not—”
Never had he said anything that could possibly resemble an order when addressing her, for Maleficent didn’t belong to the world of man. She certainly wasn’t a subject of his. but he interrupted her, using his most demanding voice to dictate, “Never allow those words to cross your lips in her presence.”
Someday, when she was old enough to comprehend these things, perhaps he might mention it to her, but the little bundle who’d just started walking and mumbling would not yet hear that her mother was a faithless idiot.
Mal nodded, sniffing again.
“There’s fay around her, not enough to be in her blood though. She’s been blessed.”
“Yes, she has. By Rumpelstiltskin, Fernan, Wench, and just about every fay who has responded to our invitation.”
Rupert didn’t hide his hurt; he had really not thought that Mal’s dislike for his wife would keep her away for his daughter’s baptism.
The fay’s dark eyes narrowed.
“I was sent no invitation, old friend.”
The king immediately shook his head, recalling the event, but his mouth clapped shut. He’d said he’d invite her and Marina had replied that she’d already sent a letter to every fay she knew of.
Why, oh, why had he believed her?
“Your wife’s doing?” Mal guessed.
There was still something dark in her gaze, something he’d never seen before and never wished to see again.
“It would appear so. It’s nothing but petty jealousy, Mal. We’re friends and she can’t stand it. Why? I don’t know, as she doesn’t want me for herself either.”
“I’m done playing nice, Rupert. I’m done controlling myself around her. I swear her next offense will be her last.”
That’s when he should have at least tried to placate her, told her that he’d handle his own wife. But he was tired of the Alenian madam’s antics, so he shrugged and said the words that condemned his daughter, his reign, his everything.
“Do as you please.”
Chapter 6
Now
Everything had gone off without a hitch at first—no differently than what had occurred with Hook. This time, Aurora was prepared for the eyes to be shut, prepared for the long seconds it took before the heart started beating progressively. That didn’t stop her from losing the ability to move, think, or breathe properly as she helplessly observed the medical instruments supposed to detect vitals.
Bip.
Bip. Bip.
She breathed out in relief. Done. It was done. Anytime now, her king would open his eyes and…
Bip. Bip. Bip. Bip. Bip. Bip.
She watched in hopeless horror as the rhythm increased. The rates recorded by the heart monitor were off the chart, exactly like what had occurred with their queen, according to her research.
They’d all been right, and in her haste, her arrogance, she hadn’t seen it. They weren’t ready. She had just killed the king.
No.
Aurora didn’t even stop to think about the consequences of her actions; what would happen to her was of no bearing. She didn’t—couldn’t—lose him.
The silence was sudden, and she felt like the floor had opened up underneath her feet when the heart monitor failed to pick up anything.
He was dead.
No.
To her surprise, her hands were steady. She gently moved the body, lying it down on the floor before pumping in rhythm, her palms on his chest, counting out loud. She could barely see through the tears, but at least her hands knew what to do.
Then, her lips went to his, intending to breathe some life into his lungs, but she froze the instant they touched.
It was strange; an electrifying, disturbingly strong force kept her there, as concrete and domineering as gravity. She’d felt something of the sort once, when she’d whispered the words that had cursed Prince Aiden, turning him into a beast.
Magic.
That explained it. She hadn’t failed because she’d done anything wrong; the king was under a curse.
Dammit.
She opened her lips a little, intending to use her second wish; fay descendants had a godmother and a godfather, from whom they could exhort one bidding. She’d childishly wasted her first when she’d felt jealous and betrayed, but there was no questioning that this was what her second was for.
The words didn’t pass her lips; instead, she froze.
At first, the lips under hers moved a little. Then she felt a bitterly cold hand at the back of her neck, threading though her hair and pulling her closer. Then finally, there was a breath on her lips.
Confusion, shock, and disbelief faded as she got lost in the kiss of her king.
Someone had thrown him off a cliff, a horse had trampled him, and shat on him for good measure. His eyes and tongue swam in acid, and his balls had been cut off. That was the only plausible explanation he could come up with; nothing other than the worst kind of abuse would have made him feel like this.
Everything hurt: fingers, toes, elbows, dick. Everywhere burned. His heart was held tight, not quite free to beat properly.
Rupert didn’t scream. He deserved pain.
Everything came back to him instantly. A ball. A silver plate. A joke. A curse.
His fault. Ultimately, Maleficent had done most of the damage, and his wife was responsible for the rest, but it was all his fault.
Forcing his eyes open, he saw nothing at first. Everything around him was black. Eventually, he could see a silhouette. He wasn’t alone.
“When?” he’d meant to say, but what came out of his dry, aching throat was an indiscernible grunt. He tried again, and more or less managed this time around.
“Year three thousand, one hundred and five of the new era, sir,” a sweet, charming voice replied.
A woman.
Why was a woman there?
“You’ve been asleep for a while.”
A hundred years exactly.
This made no sense. None whatsoever. He should be dead, according to the terms of that damn curse.
But he wasn’t. Running every word Maleficent had said through his mind, he reasoned that his friend must have found a way around the curse over the course of the last century.
If he’d been able to, he would have exhaled in relief, but his lungs weren’t cooperating; instead, he coughed out so hard it felt like his lungs would come up through his nostrils.
Damn, he was rusty. Always one to push himself, he tried to stand up and failed miserably. His legs were in no condition to help him, uselessly refusing to carry him, but a solid form stopped his fall.
A slight and rather weak form. It stumbled back under his weight. It smelled fresher and sweeter than just about anything else he’d ever scented. It definitely was a woman. He thought of Maleficent first, but the voice was completely different from her sarcastic trademark tone. He knew no other woman—none who would have survived a hundred years in any case.
“Who are you?”
“Aurora,” she replied, and his heart contracted in his chest. “Aurora Stephenson,” she specified, as a soft fabric touched his sensitive flesh, covering him. “It’s become quite a popular name these last three generations. Use my shoulder to lean on, we need to walk just a few steps.”
He followed her slowly, tentatively. To distract himself from the ineptitude of his limbs, he tried to discern more about the strange woman in front of him. His vision had cleared up enough for him to catch her coloring and the outline of her form. She wore something white, and her hair seemed fair.
“Stephenson. Like my advisor?”
“Very much so. Your
first advisor became your regent in your absence. The title has gone from him to his son and from his son to my father. I’m his great-granddaughter, sir.”
He grimaced at the thought of a woman related to the mousy little man who looked like something out of the wrong end of a dog.
“And we’re alone,” he remarked.
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, sir. I wasn’t exactly authorized to revive you.”
That made him raise an eyebrow.
“It’s kind of a long story… If you’d step into the tub first, we’ll run through a hundred years of politics while you bathe.”
Getting him inside the bath took some effort, but it was all worth it. The instant his limbs came in contact with the deliciously warm, fragrant, thick liquid, they started to come back to life. His pain level only increased, but it was a necessary evil.
“Very well,” he said, blinking.
When his eyes opened, they finally were operational. He took in the strange room, full of metal instruments and foreign machines he couldn’t name, and the woman in front of him, stranger than just about anything else.
The white had been a coat that she wore open over an attire that seemed indecent. She had on pants that revealed the delightful curve of her lean legs up to her crotch. Her hair wasn’t curled in ringlets or held up with pretty ribbon; instead, she’d simply pulled it at the top of her head to keep it out of her face.
She dressed like a man, and damn if it didn’t suit her.
As his balls tightened, he was delighted to learn that they hadn’t shriveled up like he’d first thought. No, everything was working just fine down there.
He was responding to the woman, and there was a feral, basic part of him that wanted to address the attraction right then, but he had other priorities.
King Rupert raised his eyes and gave his first order in one century.
“Talk.”
Chapter 7
King Rupert wasn’t one to simply listen while thinking of something else at the back of his mind. No, when you had his attention, he gave every part of himself to you. His eyes, his hands folded under his chin, and his whole self seemed immersed in her words. He didn’t interrupt her, not once, as she ran through the history and politics of the last hundred years. Aurora watched him when she delivered the news that his wife had been lost, but he didn’t betray any emotion. Not even a twitch.
Aurora wasn’t used to being so closely scrutinized. People didn’t care about what she said enough to look at her like that while she talked. She found it… unnerving. Yes, that was the right term.
His attention, already keen, seemed to double, triple even, when she explained her own course of action in her efforts to revive him.
Finally, she was done. Rupert remained still, his fingers brushing over his lips.
“So, you’d proven the procedure was quite safe and yet, they dismissed you still.”
She winced. Saying it like that was nothing short of accusing the Council, her father amongst them, of treason. Of not wanting their rightful king back. But that was quite exactly what they’d done.
She tried to be fair. “They made a sound point, made more obvious by the fact that, in my arrogance, I could very well have killed you today.”
It had been a close call. Everything had worked as planned, until he’d been revived. Then his body had seemed to give in, as if…
Spelled.
“You didn’t,” he reminded her, not unkindly. “What of my daughter?”
Aurora smiled. “She’s still frozen. I wish to run through additional tests now, before we even think of attempting to—”
“No.” He hadn’t raised his voice, yet, although she’d lived her entire life around politicians and nobles, she’d never heard anyone who sounded quite so firm and dominant. He said no, so Aurora wouldn’t. No questions asked. She didn’t recognize herself, as she generally balked at any attempt to control her.
Thankfully, Rupert was no tyrant; he explained himself.
“No tests. No science. You know as much as you need to know of your process, I’m sure.”
The vote of confidence made her blush like an ingénue.
“Perhaps, but if the same thing happens with Little Aurora….” She’d taken to calling the princess that, as they bore the same name.
“The same thing will occur,” the king stated simply. “You’ve managed to thwart fate this once, but it may not work with Aurora. We’ll need help. Pray tell, is there news of Maleficent?”
Aurora’s eyes bulged.
Maleficent. The creature that dwelled in the nearby forest beyond walls of thorns. They said so many dreadful things of her, Aurora shivered every time her lands came into view. And the king was asking about her?
“Maleficent?” she repeated.
“My late wife, myself, and Aurora slept under the same spell. I’ll have the aid of the one who cast it to ensure it may be lifted safely.”
Spells. So, she’d been right. She frowned, confused, wondering what she could have done to bypass the fay’s magic.
“But how did I awaken you in that case?”
The king smiled then—a slow smile that started at the corner of his mouth and ended with his eyes.
“A gentleman never tells, Aurora.”
Having a fay for his closest friend had made him quite the scholar when it came to all manner of magical things. With a keen understanding of elemental spells, plenty of powers, and the help of potions readily available, Aurora may have saved him, with luck. None of that had been at her disposal, however. Nothing but herself, her wits, and her pretty lips.
She loved him, and she’d kissed him; it was just that simple. His experience had made him so wary of women, he might not have believed it, but his breathing was absolute and irrefutable proof.
Maleficent had had enough of Marina. They all had. She, who didn’t have anyone to answer to, moved to bespell her, underestimating the queen’s wickedness. Marina was quite dumb, but she hadn’t provoked one of the most powerful fays alive without a contingency plan.
Marina had worn an artifact meant to deflect any spell cast on her; a trinket created by an amateur, or at least, someone who’d never rival Mal in affairs of magic.
Her spell didn’t spare Marina, but it nonetheless spread to those around her. Namely, Rupert and Aurora, who’d been in his arms at the time.
“What have I done?” Mal cried.
She tried to undo her spell. Tried and tried again. Yet it remained, hanging over their heads.
Her cursing words: Next time you get a prick to satisfy your selfish desires, you’ll die.
Marina valued her life enough to stop seeing her lovers, but still, they fell. Rupert wasn’t sure how.
By that time, Mal had altered the spell; they weren’t going to die, she said, just sleep until came a time when they could be safely reawakened. “I’ll not rest until I know how to beat my curse, that I promise you.” And she assured him that she’d take necessary steps so that their bodies wouldn’t fall to the trials of time.
So, she’d frozen them.
The curse had still been upon them. He should have fallen right back into his endless slumber, and yet, here he was. Rupert would ask Mal, of course, but there was little doubt in his mind that the scientist had used Love’s First Kiss.
There were different sorts of love: the kind one felt for a parent or a child, for a sovereign, or a man. Aurora loved the idea of her king, and that had been enough. He couldn’t count on the same trick functioning on his daughter though. His own kiss wouldn’t do either; he’d dropped his lips on her forehead or her cheeks plenty of times. The only kiss with real power was the very first.
Still, now that he was conscious, he wouldn’t rest until his daughter breathed. For she was his, despite the fact that his blood didn’t run in her veins.
They had other problems in the meantime.
“You’ve served me well, Rory,” said he, because it wouldn’t do to use his child’s nam
e on a woman who looked like this. “But brace yourself. The Council will come for you.” There would be no forgiving her betrayal. “They’ll come for us both.”
Chapter 8
Aurora nervously ran her hands on her skirts, hoping that her sweaty palms wouldn’t leave a mark. The king’s plan had been sound, indeed, the only sane course of action, but she bit her lips nonetheless, her heart full of what-ifs. It could go wrong. In fact, it probably would. And even if everything went perfectly as they hoped, what then? What of her? Her entire world was going to be swept into oblivion.
Still, she went, keeping her head down and ignoring the whispers around her.
They all wondered who’d called the meeting. At first, they’d assumed it was her father, the only man with the authority and means to push the red button in his valise. The fingerprint recognition software validated the identity of the regent before connecting to the network of noblemen of Ferren and letting him summon them.
Ferren had always been a few steps ahead of the rest of the world when it came to matters of science, which was one of the many reasons why no one had stepped into the king’s rooms since his fall. They couldn’t. Each night, a system locked his apartments, and more importantly, his office, and no one but him or his named heir had access to it. Retinal recognition. The technology was a hundred years old, but it still worked quite well.
They’d moved between the walls, taking secret passages Aurora had never known of, until they’d arrived in front of the Red Door. A door she’d passed a thousand times. Seeing it open in front of her made her heart tighten in her chest. She was witnessing history.
His rooms were dusty. Spiders and rats had taken residence in the silver and blue royal quarters, eating at the curtains and crapping on the floor. It was also quite cold and smelled dreadful.
“You can’t sleep here,” said she, holding her hand over her nose.
“Nor do I intend to.” He’d seemed quite indifferent to the disastrous surroundings, moving in his familiar apartments until he’d reached his desk. He sat on the chair, sharing it with a large spider that made Aurora take three steps back.
