Just walking onto the castle grounds gave her a deep sense of unease. The place absolutely stank of iron—so much so that even after Aurora’s efforts at removing it, she couldn’t help noticing the scent with a shudder. It brought back the sense memory of her skin blistering, of her helplessness when bound in its chains. It brought back the pain of her missing wings. It brought back the brutal satisfaction of standing in front of the first human she’d ever loved and finally finding a way to hurt him as badly as he had hurt her. And it brought back her standing over Aurora’s sleeping body and knowing that the person she loved best might never wake.

Maleficent tried to shake off all of that. Aurora had created the festival to unite her kingdoms, and Maleficent was determined to frighten as few humans as possible.

And she had to admit the festival itself was quite charming.

Humans were everywhere, both those dressed in finery and those in homespun. The tables outside the castle were full. There were tureens of soups and elderberry jam–filled pastries in the shapes of angels and goblins, moons and towers, wolves and mermaids. There were cakes dusted with gold flakes and dotted with edible flowers. There were jellies and crèmes in jewel colors, molded into improbably tall and slightly wobbly shapes. There were fruits made of marzipan and rolled in sugar so that they shone in the candlelight.

And there was a riot of flowers everywhere—familiar flowers. Maleficent scowled. They were the work of Flittle, Thistlewit, and Knotgrass, she was certain. They adored their own wing colors so much they matched not only their clothing to them, but absolutely everything else. She could even see where they’d been fighting with one another: some daisies became peonies halfway across a single bloom.

A wicked smile turned up the corners of her mouth. It would be a small thing to unify the decorations. She flicked her fingers in the air, sending out sparks of magic.

All around her, the flowers began to change. The petals grew larger and darker until enormous black roses crawled over every surface that had previously been decorated with peonies, daisies, or bluebells.

“Much better,” Maleficent said with satisfaction.

“Oh, yes,” said Diaval. “Not menacing at all.”

Faeries had begun to explore the feast. She saw some wallerbogs tasting the soup and a foxkin nibbling on the bread. One tiny winged butterfly faerie took an enormous bite out of a marzipan plum and spat it out in disgust when he realized it was made of almond paste. A tree woman was causing golden pears to bloom on her arms and offering them to passersby.

The humans appeared nervous, but not entirely ungracious. However, that nervousness turned to outright fear in Maleficent’s presence. People hastened to clear a path at her approach.

Then she heard a familiar voice.