Being in love had nearly destroyed Maleficent. Denying love had destroyed King Stefan. And King Stefan’s inability to love Queen Leila had probably ruined her life, too.

Love was terrifying in its power.

Love was just plain terrifying.

Marjory smiled at her, looking a little skeptical. “I hope so, Your Majesty.”

For a moment, Aurora couldn’t recall what they’d been talking about. Then she remembered. Humans and faeries, getting along.

“They will,” she insisted. “They must.” She had to get something right.

For now, Aurora insisted on wearing a simple dress of gray wool that buttoned all the way from her neck to the floor, with pocket slits that showed the red lining.

“I will come back and put on my prettiest gown for the festival, but there’s so much still to do,” Aurora said, pulling it on.

“My lady, no one expects you to get dirty,” Marjory replied.

“But I mean to help out any way I can,” Aurora said, “and there’s no telling what that might entail. I promise to return.”

“See that you do,” Marjory chided. “Wouldn’t you be a shock to your people, dressed as you are.”

Moments later, Aurora was down the stairs and in the kitchens. Despite her head cook’s assurances that she wasn’t needed, she helped take pies out of the oven, climbed a ladder outside to stir enormous vats of soup, and even turned a spit to help cook a mess of fresh-caught fish. Feeding the whole village was an undertaking, and the kitchens were a buzzing hive of activity.

After a breakfast of a bowl of cream, which she shared with a castle cat, Aurora hastened out to the gardens, where servants were setting up long tables and benches for the hundreds of people expected to come. Soldiers were setting up stations to make sure no one brought weapons onto festival grounds. Ribbons and garlands of flowers were being strung from the trees.

Knotgrass, Flittle, and Thistlewit flew around, enchanting ever more ribbons and blooms. An abundance of flowers sprouted from the tops of poles. Ribbons wrapped themselves all the way around the supports of tents and the backs of chairs and occasionally the hilt of a guard’s sword, to his surprise and consternation.

“Isn’t it glorious?” asked Knotgrass. With a wave of her hand, more peonies rained down around a maypole, carpeting the grass in pink. “I do hope everyone behaves themselves.”

Aurora hoped so, too, although she saw Thistlewit turn several bouquets of peonies into daisies. Flittle, for her part, was sneaking off to add bluebells everywhere she could, but at least she wasn’t changing either of her sisters’ flowers. It did seem to Aurora that there were a lot of flowers and a lot of ribbons—and more all the time. The maypole was starting to look a little bit top-heavy, and the tents were sagging under the weight of the many flowers tied to their supports.