It hadn’t, because he didn’t love her. It hadn’t been True Love’s Kiss—which, she told herself, was a relief. After all, love had been the cause of all of Maleficent’s pain. Friendship was better in every way.

“Tell me this,” she said to Phillip. “In your land, is hunting ever done all in fun?”

“In Ulstead,” he said after giving the matter some thought, “while many find hunting enjoyable, we always do it in deadly earnest.”

Aurora turned back to Count Alain. His smile had stiffened. She felt a little guilty.

“I would love to ride in the forest,” Aurora told him. “But it must not be a hunt. And we must not cross into the Moors.”

“Of course, my queen,” replied Count Alain, the spark back in his eyes. “It is well known you take an unaccountably generous view of the faeries.”

Her instinct was to snap at Count Alain that it was the humans who had waged war against the Fair Folk for generations and not the other way around, but she bit back the words. He had grown up being warned about the Moors. Like most of the nobility, he had no experience with the beauty of the place—or the joyful wildness of the beings who lived there.

He’d grown up with lies. She had to convince him that what he’d heard was wrong and believe that he could learn a new way of seeing the faeries. A new way of seeing the world.

If she could get him on her side, he would be a powerfully ally in negotiating the treaty and in changing the minds of her people, especially the younger courtiers, who admired him.

Perhaps the ride was a very good idea.

“We must not cross into the Moors, but we can ride close enough to view them,” Aurora amended. “In fact, the whole court ought to come. We can go tomorrow afternoon and picnic up high enough that we can see inside. The Moors are nothing like the wall of briars that used to surround them. They’re beautiful.”

Count Alain sighed and gave a smile that was only a little forced. “As you wish, my queen.”

Chapter 2

Would you like to know what it’s like to lose your wings?

First you have to imagine tasting clouds on your tongue and diving through the sky as you might dive into a pool of water on a hot summer day.

You have to imagine the sun on your face when you’re above the clouds.

You have to imagine never having to be afraid of heights.

And the wings themselves, folded on your back, soft and downy. You have slept every night of your life covered in their warmth.

Then they’re gone. Cut away. A part of you missing, a part that’s still alive and beating against a cage you can’t see.