"By tearing up the forests he loved?"
"Oh, yes, I heard there was a misstep at the boundary this morning. You could've warned us ahead of time had you attended any of the council meetings over the years. Since you hadn't, we had to make our best guesses about the stumps."
Blades clanged up and made a clashing sound inches from her neck. It wasn't the threat of her blood spilling that had Mal backing down. It was the tang of iron weakening her power.
Her gaze flicked down to Aurora’s hand, where a familiar ring gleamed on her finger—Phillip’s engagement ring. The sight of it twisted something deep inside Mal.
Why was Aurora still wearing it? Likely only to bait Mal.
"I've already lost Phillip. Why must you try to take my home, too?"
Aurora lifted her hand as though admiring the ring, turning it slowly in the light. Her eyes glittered, but her smile stayed soft, sweet—so saccharine it made Mal’s skin crawl. "Phillip chose his duty. He always did. He was never yours to keep."
"He would never have married you if he had a choice," Mal hissed. "You were nothing but duty to him."
"Believe what you want, deer. But I am doing what Phillip wanted. What you both wanted. Humans will live in the forests, and the forest folk will be welcomed in the cities. Humans need labor, after all. Domestic help. Someone to tend the floors and take the trash out."
And with that, Aurora made a shooing motion to the guards. They clamped their iron-gloved hands on Mal's forearms and shoved her bodily toward the door. Magic unfurled from her hands in shimmering tendrils of green and gold. But just as the magic rose, a sharp cramp shot through her hand, seizing the flesh where the tiny prick of her scar still lingered. Mal hissed in pain, flexing her fingers, trying to force the cramp away.
Aurora’s eyes gleamed with a devilish glint, as though she knew exactly what Mal was feeling. She stepped closer, leaning in until her breath brushed against Mal’s ear, her voice a low murmur meant only for Mal.
"There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Go home, Maleficent. Pull up the weeds. Make it nice and pretty for your new mistress."
Aurora straightened, her expression serene, as though she hadn’t just planted venom in Mal’s heart. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, her gown swaying gracefully behind her.
She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. The message was clear—that damsel wasn't the prey. Mal wasn't cornered. She was summarily tossed out of the castle on her ass.
CHAPTER SIX
Abreeze stirred the leaves overhead, carrying with it the faintest trace of wildflowers and the memory of rain. Phillip moved deeper into the forest, his boots whispering against the moss-covered ground. He'd left his horse at a stable at the top of the main road into the forests. Had he brought his steed any deeper, both the fauna and the horse would have spooked one another.
As he walked, the forest hummed with life. Everywhere he looked, memories flickered like ghosts just beyond his reach. He saw himself as a child, running through these woods, chasing after Mal as her laughter rose to the treetops. He could still see the way the light danced in her eyes, the way her horns gleamed when the sun kissed them just right. He remembered the feel of her hand in his—strong, warm, and always a little rough from her magic.
He brushed past a familiar tree. A flicker of their younger selves sitting together beneath its branches went through his mind. Mal’s voice, smoky and teasing, drifted on the wind. Phillip closed his eyes and let himself feel her fingers threading through his as they went on one of their adventures.
Gods, he missed her.
A rustle in the underbrush pulled him from the memory. He opened his eyes to find several forest folk emerging from the shadows—sprites, dryads, and fae. Their eyes were wary. A few faces were twisted in anger. A few others held postures that were tense and ready to strike.
"You finally found the courage to show your face here, prince of men?" one of them demanded, his voice sharp and bitter. "Why are you destroying our homes? We thought you were on our side."
Phillip held his hands up in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry for the destruction of the machines. I’ve already cleared up the misunderstanding. There will be no more bulldozing. You have my word."
The forest folk murmured among themselves, exchanging uneasy glances.
Phillip stepped closer.
"I’ve been away for too long. I left to fight off the trolls and ogres who were threatening the borderlands. Now our borders are safe, but I see that my absence at home caused harm. For that, I’m truly sorry. I will make this right."
The murmurs softened, but the tension in the air remained. It buzzed like the wings of the sprites hovering near the treetops. Some shifted uneasily, their gossamer wings twitching, while others stood with arms crossed, casting furtive glances behind him as if waiting for something—or someone.
Phillip caught the faintest motion out of the corner of his eye. Vines curled and uncurled along the ground. The movement sent a chill up his spine. He’d seen this before—long ago, when the forest answered the call of its Guardian.
Two warrior fae emerged from the shadows, their stance firm and commanding. Yet their movements were fluid, precise, almost as though they were being guided.
Memories rushed back—of a time when Mal’s mother had walked these very paths, the forest alive with her presence. The reverence the fae folk showed now was the same as it had been then, an unspoken acknowledgment of a power greater than any of them.
The vines writhed again, snaking along the ground toward him. He scanned the shadows but saw nothing save for the warriors with their heads bent toward an empty space as though they were conferring with it. The empty space rippled and shimmered like there was a presence there.
