“They aren’t all like that,” Aurora said, thinking of how she had said much the same thing about humans to Maleficent—and might have to say something very similar to the rest of the faeries that night.

But the townsfolk and farmers all had heard the story of Aurora’s curse; all knew she had indeed pricked her finger on the spinning wheel, knew that only True Love’s Kiss had saved her. Some of them might have fought beside King Henry.

“They’re greedy,” said a boy. “They have treasure in the Moors, and they won’t share it with us.”

Aurora looked at him sternly, wondering if he had been involved in the kidnapping of the flower faerie, if it was his friend who had been cursed with ears and a tail.

“I’ll tell you a story of what happened in my neighbor’s house,” said a farmer with a scraggly beard. “There was a girl who preferred to gossip with her sisters rather than do her chores. Well, she figured out that if she left out a bit of bread and honey, one of the faeries would milk the cows and gather the eggs and feed the pigs. But one day her brother came upon the food and, not knowing what it was for, ate the bread and honey before the faerie could get it. And do you know what that creature did? Cursed the boy, even though it wasn’t his fault! Now any milk curdles as soon as he comes near it. The lad makes good cheese, but it’s still a shame.”

“The faeries frighten us,” said a woman in a stained apron, putting her hand on the man’s arm.

“It wasn’t always that way,” said an elderly woman with a patch over her eye. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun, and her clothes were homespun. As she stood, the room quieted.

“Nanny Stoat,” several people whispered.

“When I was a little girl, before King Henry came to the throne, we’d seek out faeries for a blessing when a child was born. Many of us would leave out food—and no silly boy would think to eat an offering placed on a threshold—for the Fair Folk are a hardworking people and bring luck with their favor. Used to be that you’d not dare to deny succor to a stranger for fear of giving offense to the ‘shining ones’—for that’s what we once called them in those simpler times.”

Aurora rose from her carved wood throne and walked to Nanny Stoat.

“What changed?” she asked.