She realized that she would have been burned worse had someone not put a bundle of cloth under her cheek, had someone not placed her hands so that they were on her chest and not the floor.

On the other side of the cell sat Prince Phillip of Ulstead, pressed against a metal wall. He was awake, his eyes shining in the gloom. His hand was against his side, where she’d seen a blade sink into him. He must be hurt, but perhaps not as badly as she’d feared.

A horn scraped against the ground as Maleficent shifted into a sitting position. She tried to make sure the cloth of her gown was between her skin and the iron floor. Part of her wanted to stand, to declare herself ready for whatever came, but the dizziness she felt just being upright told her how unwise it would be to push herself further.

If only she had her magic…If she had her magic, she would make them all pay.

“Are you badly hurt?” she asked.

Phillip shook his head and then, appearing to think she might not be able to see him, said, “I don’t think so. I got lucky. One of the soldiers stuck a blade through my side, but it went cleanly in and out. I wrapped it with some of my shirt, and the bleeding seems to have stopped.” His tone had the calm, relentless cheerfulness she’d disliked in him, but right then, in the face of unknown dangers, it was a relief. “How about you?”

“The iron,” she said, not even bothering to pretend.

Phillip’s expression was sympathetic, his gaze focused past her shoulder. He couldn’t see her, Maleficent realized. Human eyes weren’t made for darkness.

“Do you have anything that could be a weapon?” he asked her.

“I suppose we could scrape one of your bones against the floor until it was sharp as a knife.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. It wasn’t an unreasonable question for him to have asked. She shouldn’t be threatening him just because it made her feel a little better.

Although it did make her feel a little better.

A sound came from the door—a scratching, then metal against metal, as though a key was turning in a lock. In the distance, she heard a cry, like that of a boy.

Then the door opened and light flooded the room.

Phillip flinched back, closing his eyes and throwing his arm up to shield them.

Maleficent’s eyes adjusted perfectly well, so she was able to see Lord Ortolan walk into the room with two prison guards holding torches.

She bared her fangs, a hiss crawling up her throat.