Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
The ride back to the castle was an easy affair.
Phillip's steed was clearly happy with his stay in the Enchanted Forest. The grass there was greener, the air fresher, and the magic did something to pick up both man’s and horse's steps.
Though Phillip was certain it was a certain magical woman who had lightened his step.
Now he pushed open the heavy doors to the council chamber. Conversations halted as his shadow caught the morning light. The council members turned to glance at him. Their faces were a mixture of surprise and discomfort—he wasn’t expected. That much was clear.
He scanned the room and caught the soldier’s voice mid-report.
Phillip recognized him immediately. It was one of the men who had tried bulldozing the sacred tree ring.
The man stood stiffly, speaking with the clipped tones of someone carefully treading the line between truth and what the council wanted to hear.
“Progress was... halted. A fairy appeared at the site. She... she obstructed our efforts to clear the area.”
There was no distortion as the words traveled unobstructed to Phillip's ears. No muffled syllables. The soldier's voice came through clear, unclouded by the cursed effects that had obscured Maleficent’s name in the past.
“Powerful?” Lord Queros asked. “And yet you returned unscathed?”
The soldier hesitated. “Yes, Your Grace. She... she stopped the machines but did not harm us directly.”
“These creatures are more beasts of the field than anything. I'm sure the fact you escaped was an oversight. We need to push forward. End this blight infesting the edge of our borders, borders that should not exist.”
Phillip's hand rested against the pommel of his sword, not out of necessity but to steady himself. Before he could interject, Aurora’s voice cut through the air, sharper than he’d ever heard it.
"Prince Phillip has secured the borders where we were in danger. The Forest Folk are making no advance. Our men weren't harmed. This does not change the plan that our prince, soon to be our king, has set out for us. Has it?"
The council members exchanged glances, some straightening in their seats, as if startled by her sudden change in tone.
Phillip felt the shift, too—a subtle tension that set his teeth on edge.
Aurora never raised her voice. Not to him, not to anyone.
She was always sweet, always composed. Her words had come out too quick, too hard.
Lord Queros pursed his lips together so firmly that Phillip suspected a lemon might pop out of him.
Aurora's gaze snapped to Phillip. He saw the change as if a mask had slipped back into place. Her expression softened instantly, her lips curving into the delicate, practiced smile. It was the first time since knowing her that his interest was piqued. But that pique never left the ground.
“There you are, my love. I have to assume we have you to thank for the diplomacy in this matter?” Aurora rose gracefully from her chair, smoothing the folds of her gown.
She moved toward him, her every step measured, her gaze warm—too warm.
"I assume that's where you've been all night, working hard on your diplomatic mission. "
Phillip kept his expression carefully neutral. He was looking for it now—the subtle shift, the crack in her serene exterior. "I was in the forests all night meeting with old friends."
Aurora’s smile faltered, almost imperceptibly. Just a flicker, but enough to send a prickle of unease down his spine. He'd seen that flicker before. Felt that prickle whenever he brought up Mal. Aurora's jealousy was on full display to his eyes only.
Why would she prickle if she thought Mal was dead?
“Oh?” she said lightly. “Which friends?”
“You remember Doran?”
The corners of her mouth softened, almost like a valve being released. The jealousy-prickle flickered out.
"The one that's a tree?"
"He's a dryad."
"Oh, right. Forgive my ignorance of your forest creatures. My kingdom was surrounded by the sea and its kind. The sea folk rarely came out of the water."
"Having a dryad like Doran sitting on the council would eliminate any misunderstandings like the one yesterday."
Lord Queros slammed his hands down on the armrests of his chair as though he were about to rise. A glance around the table showed he had no support. No one else was half or even a quarter out of their seat.
“You are the sovereign,” she said with a graceful incline of her head, the words smooth but hollow. They sat wrong in Phillip’s ears, as if she were reciting a line she didn’t believe.
Before he could press her further, Aurora’s voice sounded again, gentle, like a lullaby.
“You look tired, Phillip. Are you sure you shouldn’t rest from your… excursion?”
The words carried a strange weight, an almost imperceptible tug.
His head throbbed faintly. The kind of dull head ache that made him want to take to his bed for a nap.
There it was again—that familiar pressure in his fingertip, that subtle ache that hadn’t left him since the day Mal was taken from him.
Phillip inhaled slowly. The scent of Mal was still on his tongue. It gave him a spark of energy. But he didn't let that show. Instead, he allowed Aurora to take his arm and lead him out of the council room. This visit, he realized, was going to take longer than he'd planned.