Aurora wore a flowing dress of pale ivory, which blew in the slight breeze. Her hair was loose and fell around her shoulders in a river of gold, with a garland of flowers at her brow in place of a crown. She looked so beautiful that for a moment he felt as though every other thought had been struck from his head.

“Hello, Phillip,” Aurora said, walking down the hill in her bare feet.

She petted his horse’s nose, laughing as it snuffled in her hand.

Watching her, he had a feeling of such intense love that it was not unlike agony.

“You look well tonight,” he said, and immediately felt like a fool. Surely he knew how to pay her a better compliment than that.

One of the hedgehog faeries came and took the reins of his horse. He jumped down, his polished boots immediately sinking in the mud. He looked down at them sadly.

He was wearing a doublet of the darkest blue velvet, with a bit of golden rope across the chest and at the shoulders. And muddy boots.

Maleficent walked to the edge of the isle, the feathers of her wings ruffling in the wind. Her hair was hidden under her black cap, and there were jet cuffs at the bases of her horns and a necklace of jet beads around her throat. Or at least he thought they were jet beads. Upon second look, they appeared to be shimmering black beetles. When she saw him, her lips stretched into a wide smile—perhaps slightly too wide for Phillip’s comfort.

Beside her were Diaval, the raven-man, and a host of other Fair Folk—wallerbogs, tree sentinels, mushroom faeries, pixies, hobs, and foxkin—some which loomed and others which scampered. They all stared at him with eyes that seemed more animal than human.

“You came,” Maleficent said, as though that was a surprise to her, and not necessarily a good one.

Phillip offered his arm to Aurora. She took it, her body a warm and steadying presence as he moved away from the embankment and toward Maleficent.

“Godmother,” Aurora said, “shall we sit?”

Phillip’s gaze went to the banquet table. Along the vast length of it, a scarlet cloth was draped. Plates of silver at various heights were piled with food, some of it familiar, but much of it not. There were heavy pitchers, black glass goblets, and clusters of fat candles, their wax running over their sides to clot in pearls and runnels.

“Yes, of course,” Maleficent said, her hand stretching toward the table in invitation. “I wouldn’t want either of you to go hungry.”