NINETEEN
“PRINCESS, WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR HANDS?” BETSY turned Aurora’s burned palms over, examining the raw flesh and barely formed scabs in the early morning light.
“I knocked over a candle,” Aurora said. Betsy tutted and fetched a salve to soothe the pain, but she accepted the explanation without question. Aurora could not forget the incident so easily.
She flicked through books, trying to lose herself in the words, but every time she turned a page, her fingers ached, and she wondered whether these tales, too, were lies. A servant brought in a harp, and she plucked at it with stiff fingers, but the strings hurt her burns so much that she had to stop.
Although Rodric came every day to play, they did not talk about anything more compelling than the weather and the delicious food Rodric heard the servants were preparing for their engagement banquet. Once, Aurora dared to ask if anyone had caught the instigators of the violence at their ceremony. Rodric shook his head.
She ran her thumb along the healing burns, over and over, tracing the raw smoothness and the fierce blisters. The candle had left a spark of something in her. Not boldness, not resolve, and not a part of her old self—meek and adventurous, loving and resentful, hiding and smiling and curtsying and reading—but something secret and dangerous and entirely her own.
Or entirely its own. Although Aurora tried, again and again, to set something else on fire, shatter the vase on her table, knock a book off her shelf, she could not create even the slightest shift in the air. The hope of it flickered inside her, that spark that promised she was not as weak as she seemed, but it was unwilling to bow to her demands. If not for the red blisters that still covered her skin, she might have called it a dream, another moment of madness and flame.
She ran her fingers through her own story, The Tale of Sleeping Beauty, once again. She had spent a hundred years under a spell. Perhaps that magic had seeped into her, giving her power that she could not entirely control. Power that the witch now wanted back.
“Good morning, Princess,” Rodric said when he arrived at her door a few days later. He hovered at the threshold, his cheeks pink. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“No,” she said. She pushed her breakfast tray away and stood. “Of course you aren’t.”
“I have a surprise for you,” he said.
“A surprise?”
“I thought it must be getting a little tiring,” he said. “Being stuck in here all the time. So I thought we might go into the gardens.”
Aurora smiled. The gardens were not exactly her idea of an adventure, but even embroidery with the queen would have been preferable to staying locked up in her room for another day. The fresh air would clear her head.
“That would be lovely,” she said.
“I know it might be a bit cold,” Rodric continued. “The sun won’t be fully over the castle walls for another couple of hours, but . . . well, my mother is otherwise engaged this morning. She won’t be wanting us for hours.”
“And she wouldn’t approve of what you’ve got planned?”
“I don’t think she would not approve,” Rodric said carefully. “But it may be better if she doesn’t know until after it’s done.”
Rodric, being mysterious? Aurora had not imagined it possible. “What exactly are you planning?” she asked.
Rodric only smiled. “You’ll see. Shall we go?”
As they walked through the corridors, followed by guards, Aurora tried to puzzle out what Rodric intended. It was too cold for a picnic, and they could play most games inside easily enough. Perhaps they would be taking Isabelle for an outing, but surely he could have told her that before.
When she finally glimpsed the garden, she paused, a smile spreading across her face.
Two horses stood on the path, held in place by a groom. The one farthest from Aurora was pure black with a lush mane and tail. The horse tossed its head, as though it were fully aware of its beauty and eager for everyone to appreciate it. The one nearer to Aurora was smaller and a little stockier, with a creamy gold coat and a white mane and tail that fell in rough waves. It had a pale splotch on its nose, and it was nuzzling the back of the groom’s hand with its upper lip.
“You said before that you’d always wanted to ride a horse,” Rodric said. “So I thought—I mean, it isn’t exactly riding through the forest, that wouldn’t be safe, but—we could try it. For a little bit. If you’d like.”
“Yes,” she said, and the word came out more like a breath. “Yes, it’s wonderful. Thank you.” Gratitude rushed through her. She spun on her toes and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. He touched her gingerly on the back in return. “Really,” she said. “Thank you.” She let go and turned back to the horses. “Which one is for me?”
“The smaller one. Her name’s Polly. The black one is my horse, Shadow. Best horse in the kingdom. But she’s a bit big for you.”
Aurora crept closer, her arm outstretched. Polly stopped chewing on the groom’s knuckles and turned to look at her. Aurora brushed her fingertips down the horse’s nose, feeling the softness of her fur.
“She likes it if you scratch under her chin,” the groom said. Aurora tried it, slightly scared that the horse would nip at her fingers. Instead, Polly’s lower lip shook, and she tilted her head to butt Aurora lightly with her nose.
“How did you get them here?” she asked. The garden was entirely enclosed, solid castle walls on all sides.
“Well, to be honest,” Rodric said, “I just led them through the corridors and hoped no one would tell me not to.”
“And they didn’t?”
“No,” Rodric said. “One of the advantages of being a prince, I suppose.”
“Ready to ride her, Princess?” the groom said, and Aurora felt a jolt of panic. The idea of riding had always excited her, but now that the opportunity was before her, with a horse whose back was higher than her head, she realized she hadn’t the first clue how to go about it.
“All right,” she said. “If you’ll help me.”
The groom held the horse’s head while Rodric helped guide Aurora’s left foot into the stirrup. Aurora jumped up, putting all her weight in the metal loop, and felt the saddle shift slightly as she scrambled with her right leg, trying to find her balance. Then she was sitting on the horse, reins loose in her hands, her skirt tangled around her.
“Now swing your right leg back this way,” the groom said, “and put it between these two pommels here.” She did what he asked, wobbling as her foot brushed across the horse’s neck. Her leg slipped between the grips, and she sat back. It was a lot more comfortable than it had looked. As the groom adjusted the saddle straps on either side of her and fetched her a whip, he explained the basics to her: pull back to stop, kick to go, steer with your feet on one side and the crop on the other.
Polly turned her head and nibbled Aurora’s toe.
For all his talk about being afraid of horses, Rodric hopped into his own saddle without any apparent problems. He adjusted the straps from where he sat, and then turned to Aurora with an expectant look on his face.
“After you,” he said.
The groom still held the front of Aurora’s bridle, but Aurora dug her heels into Polly’s side anyway, and Polly plodded forward. Her footsteps clopped on the cobblestones, her whole body tilting from side to side as she walked. Aurora grabbed the front of the saddle.
“Are you all right?” Rodric asked. He was smiling, but he at least tried to sound concerned.
“Yes,” Aurora said. “She just surprised me.”
“Hold your reins a little tighter,” Rodric said. “So that you can feel tension in her mouth, just a little bit. And then relax your hands in front of you. Yes, like that, that’s good.”
The reins rubbed against Aurora’s burns, but Aurora found she did not mind. She could feel the horse’s body heat beneath her, the sway of her steps, the way she nodded her head slightly as she walked. She felt connected, and even though they were moving slowly, even though they were still locked within the castle walls, she felt lighter, freer. She dared to lower her reins slightly and run her fingers through the fur at the nape of Polly’s neck.
Rodric urged his horse alongside her.
She had clearly been given the gentlest, slowest horse in the stables. Polly followed Aurora’s every tentative instruction without complaint, and her simple lack of majesty was almost comforting. Occasionally, she would yank her head to the side to chew on flower buds or tree branches, almost pulling Aurora’s arms out of their sockets in the process, but the groom would pull her firmly in the other direction. “If she eats any of those flowers,” he mumbled, “the queen’ll have my head.”
After a couple of loops of the gardens, Rodric suggested, with slight trepidation in his voice, that Aurora might like to try a canter. “You only have to sit back,” he said. “Put all your weight in your saddle. Kick her on, one big kick, and then pull back when you want to stop. Polly’s a good mount. She’ll take care of you.”
“All right,” Aurora said. “Yes. I’ll try it.”