Aurora knew them well enough to be sure that nothing would make them think otherwise, so she held her tongue.

Knotgrass broke in. “Just the other day, we told the cook all about your favorite dishes. Of course, I told her you love trifle, especially the kind with raspberries….”

Flittle put her hands on her hips. “And I informed Knotgrass that raspberries give you a rash.”

“Tripe,” said Thistlewit.

“Rude!” exclaimed Flittle.

“No,” said Thistlewit. “Aurora loved it. I am almost certain. I have a distinct memory—”

“My favorite food is most definitely not tripe,” said Aurora. “And I haven’t gotten a rash from raspberries since I was very small—which I no longer am, although no one seems to realize it.”

With that, she swung herself onto her horse’s back. And without another word, she rode out to join the courtiers waiting for her in the courtyard.

By the time she got there, she felt guilty. She knew the pixies meant well. She was just tired. And cranky. And overwhelmed.

“My queen!” Count Alain called at her approach. He wore a velvet jerkin. His horse was black, its coat brushed to a high shine. A bow was strapped to the side of his saddle.

Beside him was Lady Fiora, his younger sister, dressed in blush pink. She waved eagerly to Aurora as she approached, and then she turned to say something to Prince Phillip. He was astride a white horse, with a sword at his side. When he looked at Aurora with a half smile on his face, she felt lighter than she had all day.

But before she could ride to him and pour out her troubles, Lord Ortolan drew his horse beside hers.

“What a fine idea of Count Alain’s,” he told Aurora.

Ahead, Prince Phillip said something to Lady Fiora. Her laugh rang out, and Aurora wanted nothing more than to tell Lord Ortolan to go away. It was only her memory of her rudeness to her aunties that made her bite the inside of her mouth and nod. “Yes. Indeed, I ought to go and thank—”

“You know,” Lord Ortolan said in his usual ponderous tones, “I was there when your father took his throne.”

King Stefan had done that by slicing the wings from Maleficent’s back and presenting them to Aurora’s grandfather. Aurora hated to think of it, and she hated the way Lord Ortolan’s tone made it sound as though, to him, this was a good memory.

“I was the one,” Lord Ortolan went on, “who showed him how to behave like a ruler. You know he grew up very poor, a shepherd’s son. Thanks to my tutelage, no one remarked on his humble beginnings. He presented himself as a king, and a king was all anyone saw. I can teach you the same things.”

“I am not like my father,” said Aurora, and the hardness in her tone surprised her.