At the top of the stairs was a single tiny white flower, the kind that had been braided into the girl’s hair. For a moment, Maleficent held it cupped in her palm.

“Count Alain’s rooms are nearby,” Phillip said. “The third door on the left. But I can’t think why she would come here with him.”

Maleficent thought of the spindle Aurora had once pricked her finger on. She thought of all the dangers that could not be anticipated.

She swept down the hall, Prince Phillip and Diaval on her heels.

At the door, she did not bother to check if it was locked but magicked it open in a swirl of golden sparkles. Inside the room were soldiers, ten of them at least, heavily armed. They rushed toward her.

But before she could react, an iron net fell over her from the ceiling. Pain raced through her, along with a terrible helplessness. She screamed in horror, but also with the memory of another iron net—one she knew had been destroyed.

Diaval was pulling on the net, attempting to lift it off her.

She tried to turn even as the iron scorched her skin. It glowed red where it touched her.

“Phillip, run!” Maleficent called to him. He had to get away. He had to find Aurora.

But more men-at-arms were coming up the stairs, blocking his way. She recognized one of them from the hunt. Count Alain’s man.

Phillip’s gaze met hers. She could see in his face that he knew just how much trouble they were in. He grabbed for a sword mounted on the wall. You’re a fool, she thought, but a brave fool.

Reaching her hand through the net, she caught hold of Diaval’s arm. There was only one thing she could think to do, and she hoped she had the magic for it. “Into a raven,” she said with a swirl of glittering gold from her fingers. “Watch over her. Warn her!”

A moment later, Diaval was gone and in his place was a black bird, his feathers gleaming. Maleficent felt queasy with exhaustion, but she’d managed it. She’d changed him. Diaval the raven cawed and flew from the landing, past soldiers who tried to grab or swung at him.

In horror, Maleficent watched as one of the blades caught the edge of his body and knocked him from the air.

Rough hands grabbed hold of his flapping wings.

A clang of metal brought her thoughts back to where she stood. Three soldiers were trading blows with Prince Phillip. Back and forth they sallied along the narrow hall. She tried to struggle free of the net with renewed fear.