There'll be no trace/ That one was once two/ After I fade into you

Within These Castle Walls | Three

Part v: Found

"The Queen said she would be somewhere near here."

"The Queen's an old hag. What does she know?"

"You'll do your best to keep your mouth shut. She's got the trees watching over us, I'm sure of it."

"If she had the trees spying on us, wouldn't we know beyond a shadow of a doubt where the girl is?"

Mal hears the two members of the Royal Guard creep towards her hiding spot. Their feet fall hard against the earth and their voices are deep. She crouches beneath the tall grass, concealed behind a large sequoia tree with a trunk as wide as her tower. The many fantasy books the Queen gave her prepared her well for this moment. Mal would find humour in the irony if she were not so terrified of being found.

The Royal Guard is running out of time. Nightfall nears once again and when it comes they must give up their search until morning. But morning brings with it the Prince's eighteenth birthday. The Queen—Mal can almost feel her desperation, as if all of those years she spent being tutored by the woman have somehow connected them. Can the Queen sense her own hopelessness and fear? Perhaps that is why the two guards have come so close to finding her, because the Queen has located her using this strange link.

They cannot get to her. Mal must keep running, but she wants so badly to see her tower one last time. Though it is invisible to the naked eye, Mal knows if she clears through these trees she will be in the field beneath her tower. Her home. Since she left the castle nearly three nights ago she has been on the hunt for this place. Dodging the Guard has not been easy, and she is greatly weakened by malnutrition and exhaustion. Sleep has been hard to come by. The ground is hardly comfortable, and the high levels of unease and panic running through her system keep her mind occupied so that she cannot stay asleep for very long. But she needs to find the tower. To say goodbye if nothing else.

Soon, she will be far away from this place. Unsure exactly where she is headed, Mal only hopes she finds somewhere that will accept her and hide her away from her past. Somewhere they don't fear magic or the name Maleficent. Knowing what she does now—that she has never been without her powers, and that they are stronger than she could ever have imagined—makes her sure she will escape Auradon. But, again, she is weak. Without her strength, she doesn't know how well her powers behave.

"I don't see her," the first guard says, his words drowsy.

"I don't see her either, Carlos, but you don't think we should keep looking?"

"It's nearly dark, Jay. I can see the stars. Let's head back before we get eaten alive by the bugs."

They are practically on top of her. Mal quietly and carefully moves around the tree and spots the two guards only a few feet away. Dressed in matching blue and gold uniforms, the men are tall and lean with dark hair and clean-shaven faces. They look kind, but if they knew she was watching they would attack her without hesitation and bring her straight to the Queen on her knees.

Leave, she compels, ducking her head behind the tree when one turns around. Mal flattens herself against the trunk, shutting her eyes and willing herself to disappear. She cannot be found.

"Did you say something?" the one called Carlos asks his partner.

"No," Jay responds. He sounds confused. "But I really think we should get out of here."

"Yes, I do too. Hopefully the Queen won't have our heads for not finding the girl."

The guards' voices disappear into the air as their feet carry them away from where Mal trembles against the bark of the tree. Sharp bits of the wood press into Mal's ragged gown. One bit pierces her skin where her once-pink dress is gashed. Pain and nausea collide within her, but she remains where she is, tree bark bearing down on her upper back, until she is sure she is safe. Even then, as she creeps from behind the tree and slowly treads further into the woods, she holds her breath.

Mal walks silently over browned, dead leaves, ignoring the pain in her bare feet, and searches for the open field where her tower hides. Minutes pass by in quiet agony and Mal senses herself growing wearier the longer she hikes through the unfamiliar trees and undergrowth. The sun truly is running behind the earth, like the tired guards said it was. Its bright rays lessen with each of Mal's steps. Soon, she will be thrust into darkness again and will have no hope of finding her forgotten home.

But she speaks too soon. The trees are beginning to lessen in number. An opening is before her bleary eyes and she steps through, her callused feet landing on the soft field. She sighs in relief as the tall stalks of grass brush her knees through the tears in her gown. Mal runs her hands over the tips. They tickle her sensitive palms. Mal smiles for the first time since her night with the Prince in the library; a small, barely-there smile that hardly reaches her eyes, but it lifts some of the weight off of her knotted shoulders.

Glancing up at the sky, Mal watches clouds move across the darkening expanse. Which one conceals her tower? She walks into the field, stopping when she starts to recognise her surroundings. Everything is so much bigger down on the ground. The wild flowers, pink and purple and blue in colour, glisten in the coming moonlight. Mal bends and cups a gorgeous blue flower in her hand, bringing it to her nose. It smells heady. Sweet. Like a perfume.

A gentle breeze picks up. The grass arches and the trees rustle. Mal's tangled hair moves in front of her eyes. She pushes it behind her ears, suddenly realising that this spot is where the boy and girl would meet. The flowers and grass are flat, making Mal feel like she's standing in a flimsily-walled cell.

It is strange being here. Here, one hundred feet below her hidden tower, where the Prince would bring Audrey. Images, memories of her time playing as a voyeur, seep into her head. Her stomach tightens and she attempts to shake away the pictures. Once, she would have gladly reminisced about the boy and his love lying here, their clothes thrown to the wind, but that was before that night in the library. Before everything—everything—changed.

Since she left the castle, nearly every time she closes her eyes she sees his face. The Prince—Ben—he is everywhere she looks, constantly hiding behind her eyelids. It is as if he is calling to her, asking her to return to him. Like he's gotten beneath her skin and is moving with her on her journey. In the split second before she opens her eyes and he vanishes, Mal is overcome by this urgent need to abandon her plan and run back to the palace. Funny how one simple touch has managed to alter her so. But she must continue on her path to freedom. It is the only thing she ever wanted. The only thing until that night, when the Prince's hand suddenly became warm. When he slithered his way into her pathetically weak and wanting heart.

During her time in the tower, Mal learned to fear another's touch. She would shrink when the Queen grabbed at her. Flinch away when the Fairy Godmother came to her once a year and conducted an inspection of her before following through with the power binding spell. What is it about the Prince, then, that has her agonising for his hands? She remembers how he would touch Audrey. How his hands would roam her naked body. She can't seem to stop herself from wishing he would touch her in that way.

He will never want you. Come to me, child.

No. No more.

Mal sinks to the ground, her knees crashing into the flattened grass. She holds her hands over her ears and shuts her eyes tight. The Prince is there, smiling at her. His blue eyes glow.

We must be together once more. Find your way to me!

Stop, please. I beg you, leave me be.

Mal pleads with her mother, whose voice has grown louder since she ran from the castle. She has tried shutting her out, but Maleficent's powers rival her own. Practiced and precise, she will stop at nothing to get at her.

Mal must keep moving. She needs to escape Auradon and finally be free.

"Mal!"

Go away, she implores, clamping her hands more fiercely over her ears. Go away, go away, go away.

"Mallory, where are you!"

It is not her mother's voice anymore.

Mal's eyes snap open. Fear invades her bloodstream. They have found her. She's spent too much time lollygagging, reminiscing about her time in captivity, and they have found her. Rising to her feet, Mal pushes through the onset of dizziness that clouds her mind and she looks frantically around the empty field, ready to fight off the Royal Guard if forced.

Wind whips through her knotted hair. Her dress flies. In the distance, heading towards her fast, is a single person. A boy.

The Prince.

Heart lodged firmly in her throat, Mal takes a step back. "Stay away," she warns as the Prince reaches her.

His light grey button-down is soaked through with sweat. He pants, disobeying her order and approaching her still. His thin, pink lips curve slightly, lifting his pink-tinged cheeks.

"I'm not afraid of you," he says valiantly.

"You should be," Mal responds. The wind has picked up. It roars in her ears like waves crashing over jagged rocks. She is the Little Mermaid, saying goodbye to her Prince for the final time. "The Fairy Godmother's binding spells—they didn't work. I have my powers and I won't hesitate to use them on you."

"You won't hurt me," he says, stepping forward.

"I will if I have to," she says. He moves again, but she is frozen, unable to will herself backwards. She puts a hand out. It shakes. "Please, don't come any closer."

"Why did you run?" he asks. He won't stop coming towards her.

"I had no choice. Don't you understand? I can't be trapped anymore. My whole life, eighteen long, torturous years, I've been a prisoner of this damned Kingdom. I won't live like that anymore. I refuse," Mal proclaims loudly, her words fighting against the wind. "I'm done being your mother's plaything. Her slave. I need to get away from this place."

The Prince says something that surprises her. Knocks the air right out of her lungs. "Let me come with you," he says.

"What?" Mal looks into his sea-blue eyes. There is sincerity in them like always. She shakes her head, frowning deeply. "N—no."

He has reached her now. He is standing right there, in front of her. Nothing but a thin strip of charged air separates their bodies.

She cannot think straight.

"Get away from me," she demands. "How did you get out of the castle anyway?"

Prince Benjamin flinches at her question. "It wasn't the first time," he says.

Of course. How could she forget?

Mal looks to the ground. They are standing where he and Audrey once stood. Where they once professed their love for one another, unclothed and locked together.

Why did he ask to come with her?

"Let me come with you," he says again.

"No," Mal repeats instantly, a fierceness attached to the single syllable. "Go home, Prince Benjamin."

"It's Ben. We talked about this, remember?"

"Go back to the castle," Mal orders, frowning up at him. She contorts her face into a bitter snarl. "I won't allow you to follow me. I don't even know where I'm going, but I have no doubt I will find some dangerous town far, far, far away from here. You have to stay."

Instead of responding immediately with words, the Prince reaches out and grabs ahold of her upper arms. His hands close around her biceps. His grip is brutal. She is caught in his trap, unable to will herself away from him. His touch is too calming. Too familiar and warm despite her only having come into contact with it twice before.

They stare at each other for a moment. Mal notices how his eyes seem to grow bluer as the moon rises.

This is madness.

"Ben"—Mal falters, her body ready to collapse once more. She is losing her adrenaline. She is fading quickly.

"I love you," he says, the three words falling out of his mouth in one big rush of air. They blow around Mal's face, moving her hair back behind her shoulders.

This truly is madness.

"What?" Mal breathes, but her quiet exclamation is lost to the wind.

Prince Ben nods animatedly, his fingers crushing her bones. "I know it sounds insane, but you have to believe me, Mal. I don't understand it myself, but I do know it's the truth. I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

"I don't believe you," Mal says, her throat tightening.

This is a trick, a horrible trick. The Prince isn't truly here; this is some apparition sent to lure her back to the castle. Back to the Queen where she will be punished for her escape. Death surely awaits her if she listens to the Prince.

Mal twists her arms, trying her best to release herself from the Prince. She is no match for his strength, though, and gives up within seconds.

"Please let me go. Let me leave," she begs.

The Prince steps closer. Their noses are almost touching. An electrical hum filters through the fierce wind. It crackles in the trees and settles in Mal's blood.

"Let me come with you," he repeats, his hands sliding from her arms to her back. Their bellies meet.

"No," she whispers, the word lost to the breeze.

"You know," the Prince says, tilting his head down. Their foreheads touch. Mal is frozen in time, her eyes blurring as she tries to focus on the man—or the ghost—standing so close to her. He's smiling. "I think I've dreamt about you. I think I've been dreaming about you. For a long time."

Mal's resolve is leaking along with her energy. She finds herself leaning more and more into Ben, allowing his warmth to shield her from the wind. "Dreaming about me?" she says mistily. "What does that mean?"

"It started when I turned ten," he explains, his mouth close enough to her ear that he does not need to shout to be heard above the howling wind. "The night of my birthday, I dreamt of a girl with skin so soft and pale, and eyes as green as the springtime leaves. I had no idea what it meant, but this girl came to me almost every night and invaded my sleeping mind. Even though Audrey was eventually with me, I was always, always dreaming of this girl. Then you came to the castle and I couldn't believe what I was seeing."

Mal lifts her arms and hugs the Prince closer to her body as he tells his tale, unsure of what has come over her. She only knows how badly she needs to be near him. It is as if without him she will perish.

"You were the girl in my dreams," he says, pulling slightly away. They are looking at each other again. Mal is sure there are tears in her eyes—she is an emotional wreck; she is sick and tired and hungry—but her body is so numb she cannot feel a thing. "I know what it means now. My mother may have promised us, but I think it was in the stars long before she made her decree."

Mal knows it is dangerous, but she believes the Prince. He is smiling wide. He is giddy with excitement. How could she not believe him?

But . . .

"What does this change?" she asks. "I am no ruler of Auradon. I am still the direct descendant of Maleficent. I still want to run."

"It doesn't have to change anything," the Prince—Ben—says, smiling still wider. "I am telling you these things so you will let me come with you. I want to be with you Mal, and I think, maybe, you want to be with me too."

"What makes you think that?" she says sharply.

"I can't be the only one," he responds, "to whom those dreams came."

Is he right, Mal wonders. Did I dream of him before we met?

Closing her eyes, Mal searches her remembered dreams for any sign of the Prince's face.

"You aren't," Mal sighs, slowly unlocking her eyelids. She has found him buried deep in her mind, from before he came to the field with Audrey. His blue eyes were kind even in her sleep. "You aren't the only one," she clarifies.

Ben dips his head, knocking his forehead against hers. "It is fate, then, Mal. Do you believe me?"

"It doesn't matter if I believe you. This is all too much. Your mother . . . if she found us"—

Ben does not allow her to finish her sentence. He moves his head just so, and their lips hover like two butterflies, centimetres apart. She can no longer see him clearly. His face has become a blur—he is so close.

But she feels his breath entering her parted lips, and she has no choice but to breathe in his warmth. And then, as if gravity has left him no choice, his mouth drops gently over hers.

Mal's eyes widen in shock before shutting of their own accord. She melts into Ben, going limp in his grasp. She has read of kisses before. Of commoners being swept off their feet by gallant princes, but none of her books, none of her times watching as Ben laid his mouth on Audrey's, prepared her for this.

This: True Love's Kiss.

She knows it as it happens. Knows beyond anything this kiss is magical unlike any power she has ever wielded. As the Prince moves his searing, soft lips in time with hers, the wind falls away. The storm raging inside of Mal calms instantly. Her mother's voice goes silent. What was once broken is suddenly healed.

When Ben pulls back, his nose brushing hers, his eyes are alight. They nearly burn through Mal. She focuses on them as she tries working out if this is a hallucination brought about by extreme exhaustion and fatigue, or if this—True Love's Kiss—has actually happened. She runs her hands up Ben's spine, feels the fabric of his shirt beneath her fingertips, and urgently cradles his face. His cheeks are smooth and wet, his mouth is swollen and shaded red. He is as real as the tower which kept her prisoner for eighteen years. As real as the moon shining down upon them.

Mal, overwhelmed, smiles up at Ben. Her Prince. Her True Love. She laughs, releasing his face and pressing a hand against his heart. It beats erratically into her palm; further proof this is no cruel dream.

"I'm here," he tells her, laughing as well.

Looking up at him, Mal nods. "Yes, you are. You're here and you love me," she says, still confounded.

"I do," Ben says, wrapping his hands around Mal's. She no longer fears he will snap her in two. "I love you."

"I—I love you too," Mal confesses breathlessly, sure now and unafraid of her feelings for her Prince.

Bringing his lips level with hers, Ben kisses her once more. Lighter this time and shorter, but enough to capture Mal's every thought.

"Come back to the castle with me," he says, breaking the kiss.

Mal tilts her head up, her face swathed in confusion. "No," she says. "I can't go back there. Your mother"—

—"Don't think of my mother. Think of us," he says, and Mal is compelled to do as he asks. "My birthday is tomorrow. A wedding has been planned for nearly two decades. It would be rude of us not to make an appearance."

The moonlight above casts harsh shadows over Ben's features. He looks almost like a wild beast, snarling at her.

But he is only smiling, and that smile manages to melt away Mal's fear of returning to her captor. Once, the idea of marrying Prince Benjamin of Auradon had ignited a fierce flame of hatred that sat, burning inside of her for nearly eighteen years. An arranged marriage went against every fibre of her soul. And to the son of the woman who took her from her mother when she was a babe in arms—Mal would grow weary, her body weighed down by anger, just thinking of the horrendous situation.

The situation has changed, though. Drastically and quickly. Mal no longer looks upon the Prince with contempt. Perhaps it is foolish of her, but with her heart fluttering in her chest and her body warm with love, Mal carefully nods her head.

"You'll come back with me?" He is smiling so wide Mal worries his face will tear.

"I will. For you. And tomorrow, after we are married, we will go away from this place until we are needed as its rulers."

Ben envelopes Mal, holding her closer to him than she has ever been before. She buries her heavy head against his chest, breathing in his scent. "I can agree to those terms," he says, stroking her matted hair. His voice is soft in her ear.

And so the pair separate, their hands moving together, their shared sight set on the castle.

Part vi: The Curse

It is past midnight when Mal and Ben return to the castle. Despite the late hour, there are soldiers from the Royal Guard walking about frantically, their swords banging against their legs as they move through the castle, yet unawares there are two people standing inside the doors. It is not until the doors crash to a close that everybody startles to a halt. A dozen pairs of eyes immediately direct themselves towards Mal and Ben, with several other guards moving into the entryway as quick as their feet can carry them. Recognising Ben as the future King of Auradon, the soldiers suddenly and in perfect synchronisation fall on bended knee.

Mal creeps closer to Ben so there is no longer any space between them, fear trickling into her body as she wonders what will happen when the guards figure out who the wild, woodland creature is standing beside their beloved prince. Ben holds her to him, picking up on how tense she has become since they entered the castle.

One guard, one of the guards who went to the forest and nearly found Mal, rises from the floor. "Your highness," he says, stepping forward.

Mal instinctively moves back, taking the Prince with her. As she moves, as Prince Benjamin moves with her, there is a sudden struggle as the soldiers clamber to their feet and draw their weapons. Their swords point directly at Mal. She can sense their hatred, their terror. It is tangible in the air and so predictable. What did the Queen tell them to frighten them like this? Perhaps, however, it was nothing more than a name falling from the mouth of the Queen that caused them to shake in their uniform boots.

Maleficent.

Ben, as the soldiers' swords wave in Mal's face, moves in front of her. "Weapons down," he says fiercely.

The Royal Guard stare at Ben in confusion, their stances never wavering.

"Sir," says the one who stood first, Carlos, "back away from the witch."

The witch. Of course. Save the Prince from the terrifying, battered witch.

"Her name is Mal," Ben says. "She is no more dangerous than I. Weapons down!"

"Weapons raised, men. Keep them up."

A new voice. A familiar voice.

Queen Belle.

Mal looks over Ben's shoulder, watching as the Queen, dressed in a breathtakingly gorgeous blue gown, races elegantly down the stairs. Mal is truly fearful now. She shivers behind her love.

"Mother," Ben says, "tell them to stand down."

The Queen's tongue makes a clicking noise. She reaches Ben and Mal, her hand going out to stroke her son's cheek. "My dear, I can't do that," she sighs. "She has been given too many chances. Now come, love, step away."

Mal's grip on the Prince tightens, the same as his does on her.

"I won't," he says, cautious.

Unreserved anger inflames the Queen's usually pale face. No longer is she the generous, kind Queen the public knows. She turns towards the soldiers. "Away, all of you!" she shrieks, and the Royal Guard, probably used to her sudden bouts of rage, scatter like frightened pests. They are gone within moments and Queen Belle once again faces Mal and Ben. Nostrils flaring, she looks moments away from imploding. "Go to your room, Benjamin. Now. That is an order."

Ben stands taller. "Look at the clock, Mother. I'm not a child anymore. You can't tell me what to do."

Mal wants to pull Ben away—it was a mistake coming here; they should leave now and start afresh someplace far, far away from Auradon's toxic walls—but she is paralysed, not able to move a single muscle. It is fascination stopping her from going through with her plan. She has only known the King to defy his wife. Never, Mal assumes, has her own son been daring enough to do the same.

The Queen is motionless as well, undeniably for the same reason as Mal. She blinks at Ben, her sweet son, her jaw tightly clenched. The apples of her cheeks go red. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, bulge.

"Your room, Benjamin," she says through her teeth. Her voice is quiet, but Mal senses danger looming.

Ben stands a little taller. He stares at his mother and utters, "No."

The Queen is motionless no longer. With a loud, screeching howl she lunges forward and pushes Ben away from Mal. He falls hard to the marble ground. Mal reaches for him, but Queen Belle gets to her before she can go to him, grabbing at the weakened girl and dragging her by her matted, purple hair towards the base of the grand staircase.

Yelping in pain, Mal claws at her captor's wrists, but her grip is unrelenting. The Queen brings her arm down, forcing Mal to kneel before her. Mal looks up at the monster. Her eyes have grown cold. Mal has known her as the woman who tore her away from her mother. The woman who kept her locked away for eighteen years. But she has never seen such evil in her. She is drenched in the stuff.

Queen Belle pulls her arm again. Mal's scalp erupts. "Don't move, sweetheart," she says, looking at where Ben landed. "This doesn't have anything to do with you."

"Like hell it doesn't," Mal hisses, tears singeing the corners of her eyes.

The Queen, startled by Mal's voice, drops her arm. "You dare speak to me," she says, incredulous. "I am your queen, you insufferable, horrid child!" With this, Queen Belle lifts her hand and quickly, harshly slaps Mal across the cheek.

Mal's head moves jerkily to the right. A sharp pang slices into her and she feels hot blood spill across her cheek. As she swings back, as Mal, through the ringing in her ears, hears Ben begging his mother to stop, the Queen captures Mal's chin and holds her head in place. Her sharp nails dig deep into Mal's relenting flesh, but Mal refuses to show even the smallest hint of pain. She stares down the Queen defiantly, pushing through the sickness in her stomach and the whirring in her head.

"You aren't my queen," Mal says, tearing her face away from Queen Belle's clasp. "You never were," she continues. She rises slowly to her feet. The Queen, startled, takes a quivering step back.

"Don't move another inch. I could have the entire Royal Guard in here with one snap of my fingers."

Mal sneers. "Do you know how I escaped this place?"

"Of course I do," the Queen laughs. "You're the daughter of Maleficent, my dear. No silly spell could ever be enough to squash your powers. I only had to make you believe they were bound. It worked, didn't it? Took you eighteen years to figure out."

Mal's eyes start burning. Around her, things are shrouded in a white haze.

"Do it then," Mal hears the Queen taunt. "Ignite the whole of Auradon with your disgusting powers."

The burning sensation disappears. "No," Mal snaps. "I won't."

Queen Belle tilts her head. "Your mother would be disappointed. Even I am disappointed. I thought you were the daughter of pure evil."

"Mother, enough," Ben chimes.

Mal presses on. "I'm not my mother's daughter, though, am I? I am a daughter of the wilderness, of books, thanks to you. But I love your son," she says, looking briefly at her beloved, "and in the morning I will be his wife. Auradon will be safe with me as its queen when you, you wicked monster, and your husband die. Until that day, however, Ben and I will travel. We will see the great world together, far away from this toxic wasteland. I will not be held down by you any longer, Queen Belle."

The smugness evaporates from the Queen's face. "You can't leave. Neither of you can leave."

"We can," Mal says, listening as Ben moves towards her. He reaches her, taking her hand in his. His thumb is soothing against her knuckles. "We will. There is nothing you can do to stop us. I am more powerful than you. More powerful than the Fairy Godmother. I swear, I will use my magic against you if you force my hand."

"When your father gets back"— Queen Belle starts to say, but Ben cuts her off.

—"No more of this, Mother. I stand by Mal."

Clinging to Ben, Mal presses forward, moving past the stunned Queen of Auradon with her True Love in tow. They climb the many stairs until they reach the Prince's chambers. Inside, Ben takes her to his lavatory and sits her down on the edge of the bath.

Kneeling before her, he takes her chin softly and examines her wound.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, rising to his feet. He finds some cream and a white washcloth. Wetting it, he returns to his knees.

"No," she gasps as he presses the cloth against her cheek. He swipes gently at the blood and clears the scratch.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, the two words holding a myriad of connotations. He bows his head.

Mal presses two fingers beneath his jaw, lifting his head until his gorgeous eyes meet hers. She drops her hand. "You have never done anything wrong, and I won't listen to you apologise for the sins of your mother."

"She's as wicked as any villain on the Isle," Ben says, returning to the task at hand. Placing the cloth in his basin, he takes the cream and squeezes a small amount onto the tip of his index finger. He rubs the tender laceration until the cream melts. "There. All done."

Mal's hands on his shoulders stop him from standing. She leans forward, emboldened, and kisses him. Excitement stretches through her body. Her fingertips tingle. Quickly, Ben yields to her, coiling his arms around her waist, opening his mouth to offer her his breath.

She takes it willingly, gladly, breathing him in until she feels stronger than she has since arriving at this castle a mere seven days ago.

When they break, the Prince is smiling. "I have something I want to show you before we retire," he says.

"So," Mal says, "show me."

He takes her to a hidden part of the castle. Another secret passageway built by his father. Mal has no idea where they are when they emerge into a large, stonewalled room decorated with artefacts and trophies. For all she knows, they could be in another building entirely. It did feel as though they had been walking forever.

Ben guides her out of the passageway, grinning like the child he no longer is.

"What is this place?" she asks.

"My father's museum," Ben explains. "It holds all of Auradon's history."

Mal looks around the cold room in awe. Nearly everything from her fairytale books is here. A half-eaten apple. A golden slipper. A lock of straw-coloured hair. Guided by her Prince, Mal digests each object, listening as Ben explains their origin. She listens to him speak happily. Already she knows the stories, but she is far too struck by his calming voice to reveal herself.

They reach the far end of the room as Ben's voice starts croaking. He says he has never spoken so much, and his throat isn't accustomed to being abused in this manner.

"This is what I wanted you to see," he rasps.

"Oh, Ben," Mal falters. It is a magnificent wooden spinning wheel. Her mother's weapon of choice.

"You said downstairs that you weren't your mother's daughter, and I suddenly remembered that my father kept this," Ben says. "I want you to see it—to know that you are more than she will ever be."

Mal keeps her eyes locked on the cursed object. She reaches out and runs the tip of her pointer finger down the large wheel. The wood is smooth and warm—

—"Mal, put your hand down."

Mal hears the Prince's voice and shifts to look at him. His eyes are wide and he is staring at her outstretched arm. Turning her head away, she watches as her hand moves and poises itself above the spindle of the wooden spinning wheel.

How strange, she thinks to herself. She cocks her head, mystified by the sharp object before her. She must touch it. She must.

"Mallory."

The Prince, again.

"Mal, put your hand down. Please."

"I can't," she says, only her voice comes out not as her own. She doesn't sound like herself, not even to her own ears, but she cannot dwell on that. She can do nothing else until she touches the spindle.

She is not scared as her finger descends upon the needle. She feels no pain when the needle pierces her skin. She feels only a release; a rush of something.

"No!"

Mal turns away from the spinning wheel. Before her stands a strange sight. Prince Benjamin of Auradon's face is as white as the sheet's on Mal's bed in the castle. His mouth hangs open, as if someone has pulled his jaw apart. His nostrils flutter like a butterfly's wings. She saw a butterfly once in her tower. It came right up to her the open space, presenting its gorgeous, velvety blue and black colouring. Before too long it had decided to leave, and thus showed Mal its freedom by batting those blue and black wings until it was far out of sight.

How she despised that butterfly.

The Prince is frozen. "What's happening?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" Mal implores, her wrists twitching.

"Your eyes," he says. "And your hands."

Mal looks to her hands and sees lines of black lightning spark around her fingers. She looks back at the Prince. "It won't hurt," she hears herself say. "I promise it won't hurt. Like falling asleep."

"Like falling asleep?"

"Dying," she says. "It'll be like falling asleep."

Springing into action, the Prince grabs her by the shoulders roughly. His fingers gnash like teeth into her thin flesh and he jerks her so hard her head snaps back and forth. "Wake up, Mal!" he shrieks. He stops thrashing, but he does not let her go. His hands slip to her cheeks. He holds her there, forcing her to look at him. "Wake up! The spindle . . . I don't know how, but it's cursed you."

Mal's breathing grows ragged. She blinks in quick succession, slowly coming aware of her surroundings. "Something's wrong," she gasps, seizing her prince's wrists. "Something's happening to me. I can feel her inside of me."

"Feel who?"

"My mother." She is there, bathing in Mal's blood. She has poisoned Mal with her wickedness and evil. Mal holds Ben tighter. "I have to kill you," she splutters, hysteric. Saltwater gathers in her eyes, forming teardrops that cling to her lashes. "It's the curse. I have to kill you."

Of course, Mal thinks, looking into Ben's eyes. Of course this is the gift Maleficent wishes to leave with her daughter. Somehow, she must have escaped her shackles before her banishment and found her beloved spinning wheel.

What would destroy the King and Queen, she must have thought. How do I enact my revenge from the Isle.

An eye for an eye. A child for a child. And she left her dear, departed daughter to fulfil the task.

"You don't have to hurt me," the Prince says. He presses his open palm on her face, moving her tangled hair out of her dripping eyes. "You can fight this. You are stronger than her."

Mal shakes her head. "I'm not. I'm not stronger. You have to get away from me before I hurt you."

"I won't," Ben objects. "I'm staying here with you until we figure out how to break the curse."

"No," Mal says, her lips quivering. The curse is thrashing away inside of her belly. It hurts. It feels as though someone is digging a jagged knife into her. "You don't understand. The only way to get rid of the curse is to do its bidding."

Mal will not have this any longer. Wrenching herself away from Ben, she pushes him as hard as she can. He stumbles, falling back into one of the displays. A line of golden thread curls by Ben's side. Mal looks at her hands as they continue sparking. Her vision begins to blur, casting a shade of blinding white over her surroundings.

Do it, my love, her mother calls. Kill him. When it is done, you can join me and we can once again be together.

"No, Mal!"

Hearing Ben's broken voice, the frightened Mal, through her partial blindness, sees her betrothed getting to his feet and shrieks at him to stop. "I can't control it," she cries, her voice strained.

"You can, Mal," he insists, like he knows. He doesn't.

"No," she says, defeated. She chokes on her words. "This has to happen. I have to do this. It's a part of me."

Yes, child. Do it now. Quickly, before that wretched woman finds you.

Ben is in front of her, the fool. He reaches out. He almost touches her. "I love you," he says, and she sees glistening crystals slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"You," Mal chokes, her lungs tight. "I love you. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Please, don't be sorry. We'll fix this. The Fairy Godmother, someone, will fix this. They'll make you better"—

But the Prince is not able to finish his sentence. With a loud, shrill scream, the curse explodes out of Mal. Her hands rise and the world around her goes white. Pointed at Ben, dark magic flies through the air from the tips of her fingers and strikes his heart.

Mal's vision returns in time for her to witness Ben slump forward to the ground, dead.

"No!" comes Mal's piercing cry.

Flying to where the Prince lies on the floor, Mal falls to her knees by his body. She turns him over, her shaking hands hovering over his chest. She cannot see him, but it has nothing to do with the curse. No, the curse is gone. She is free now. Maleficent's voice is silent in her ear. Her eyes, however, are blinded by tears.

In the distance, Mal hears running. Charging.

The Guard have come to find her. They burst through the door, filing inside the museum one by one, swords drawn, the Queen closing them out.

"My baby!" Queen Belle squeals as she sets eyes on Ben's motionless, pale body. "You've killed my baby, you foul demon! Guards, kill her. Here. Now!" The Queen rushes toward Mal, but she stretches out her arms and cradles the Prince. Presses her ear against his quiet heart.

"Don't make me leave him," she pleads.

The Queen has never been kind to Mal. Never has she looked upon the purple-haired girl with affection or even indifference. It has always been hatred. Loathing.

Tonight is something entirely different. The Queen looks down at Mal, her eyes burning with fire, and all Mal can see is straight depravity. Pure evil. Villainy.

"I should kill you myself," the Queen says. "I should slit your throat and watch as you bleed out, gasping for help. Get up!"

The Queen tugs on her arm, but Mal has it locked around Ben. "Don't make me leave him," she repeats, tears splashing over the charred portion of the Prince's breast.

"Somebody help me!" Queen Belle orders, and the two guards Mal saw in the forest come to her aid. They each grab a part of Mal and pull.

"I won't leave him!" Mal cries, feeling another burst of power surging through her. As the room goes white, she hears grunts and thumps as the Queen and the guards closest to her fly back. Forcing herself even further into Ben's body, she weeps freely, wishing her tears could somehow soften them both enough for her to crawl inside of him and perish herself.

"That is it!" The Queen bellows as she gets to her feet. Mal hears the sharp sound of a sword being drawn. "I will do this myself. You have taken too much from me, you bitch! On the count of three: One, two"—

The Queen is cut off by a loud gasp. Beneath Mal, the Prince's chest suddenly expands. She flies up, watching in shock the pink return to his skin.

He looks up at Mal, his face drenched in her tears. There is no hatred in his gaze. Only what she has come to know as love. Lifting his arm, he strokes her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Don't cry, my love," he says, and Mal, jaw unhinged, trembles. She grabs his hand and presses it against her mouth.

"You're alive. You're alive," she says. Over and over and over.

Part vii: The End

"Say it again," Mal asks. Behind her, Ben smiles. She cannot see it, but the room always grows warmer whenever he smiles.

Touching the roots of her wet hair with the bristles of a hairbrush, Ben runs the brush down to the tips. "The Fairy Godmother says only the tears of your True Love can bring you back to life," he says, and she can hear that smile. It is enough to make her smile.

Immediately after the Prince awoke, the Queen collapsed. She fell back into a member of the Royal Guard and slept for several minutes. The first words out of her mouth when she arose were a call for Mal's demise which was overturned by Ben after a long verbal battle Mal could hear locked all the way in her room. When Queen Belle finally relented, Ben came to find her and took her to his bed where he told her they would be safe in the morning after the wedding ceremony to leave Auradon.

Distantly, Mal hears the grandfather clock downstairs in the entryway chime out. Two o'clock in the morning. Some time has passed since Ben lay dead in Mal's arms, and they have been allowed, begrudgingly, to spend the night together. They are both showered—clean now of the grime that coated them earlier, and dressed in fresh nightclothes—and well fed. When they returned to his chamber, which is a cosy oasis compared to her room, Ben asked if he could comb through her tangled hair as they talked, so here they sit, Ben's nimble fingers guiding a brush down her scalp.

Mal is not truly there, though. Her mind is wandering far off, quivering with guilt and fear. Surely sensing this, Ben halts his activity and places the brush on his dark wood bedside table. He rests his chin securely on her shoulder. Their cheeks touch, and Mal is positive he can feel the hot blood pressed against her skin. She tilts into him, closing her eyes and shivering out of worry for her and Ben's future. How does one's week-old relationship mend after one party has murdered the other against their combined will?

"I'm so sorry," she says for the countless time since the Prince breathed new life.

"Hey." Ben lifts his chin. Opening her eyes, Mal turns over on the bed and faces Ben. His blue eyes are kind, and instantly a portion of her unease washes away. Ben reaches out to her and wipes the single tear trickling down her face, his thumb tracing the small scratch left by his mother. "Remember what the Fairy Godmother said, Mal."

She does remember. According to the Fairy Godmother, Maleficent's curse had been lying dormant inside of Mal since the wicked spell had been cast eighteen years previous. All of the anger Mal felt growing up, all of the evil she could have sworn she possessed, was simply a side effect of such a powerful curse. Mal had felt something give way when she blindly threw the curse in Ben's direction. Like a malignant tumour growing inside of her, polluting everything within her, had vanished.

She could breathe again when she completed her mother's bidding.

In spite of this, her resentment against Queen Belle has risen tenfold. That will never disappear. Her hatred of the Queen is wholly unrelated to her mother's curse.

But still, Mal feels lighter as she sits in front of her beloved. She feels good. For the first time in her life, she is undoubtedly happy.

"I love you," Ben says. He has been saying it again and again since the curse broke. It is his mantra, Mal believes.

"I love you," she responds. It is her mantra too. It keeps the demons at bay.

Smiling, Ben leans forward and kisses her gently. Warmth blooms inside of her, setting her body ablaze, and she opens her mouth to deepen the kiss. Tongues tangled in a desperate sort of dance, Mal snakes her arms around Ben's neck. She holds him there, sighing into his mouth when his fingers dig into her waist, hoping to convey just how much she needs him. How much she has come to love him in the days since they met.

She does not know why, but her hands go from his neck to the hem of his nightshirt. Slipping underneath the soft fabric, her fingers explore the soft skin of his belly. He tenses under her touch, but does not stop her. She goes further. Up and down, Mal feels every centimetre of his body above his hips. Eventually, she grows tired of his nightshirt and goes to lift it off of him completely.

"Whoa," Ben says, breathless. He breaks their kiss. Mal, holding tight to his shirt, stares at him wide-eyed. His pupils have expanded so there is only a small sliver of blue to be seen. She wonders if her eyes are the same. "Is this . . . is this okay?"

Mal understands what he is asking even without him saying the words. Mal has read books which talk of men and women ridding themselves of their clothes. She has witnessed the man in front of her taking part in various activities with another girl. Tonight, she wants this. After all they have been through, she needs this. This connection—this unbreakable bond.

Nodding, Mal says, "Yes."

Her single word is enough for the Prince. He dives forward, taking her mouth captive. They separate for only a second longer when Mal urgently pulls his nightshirt over his head. As their mouths continue moving in harmony, Mal unties the knot holding Ben's trousers. He does not ask her any more questions. He only guides her fingers.

Before she can tug his trousers, Ben's hands rest atop her thighs. His fingers burn her skin. Tomorrow, beneath her wedding dress, her thighs will have blackened marks where the Prince pressed his fiery fingertips into her. Her nightdress has ridden up and Ben pushes it up, up, up until it is beneath her neck. Bravely, her heart pounding like the galloping feet of a horse, Mal raises her arms and allows the Prince to expose her body.

"Beautiful," he marvels, diving to kiss her chest.

Mal gasps sharply, eyes rolling back. She claws at Ben's shoulders, tangles her hands in his dark locks. Her body aches as the Prince moves his lips over her body.

Before too long, they are both bare. Nothing separates them anymore.

Their ardent gazes locked, the Prince above her, Mal bites her tongue as he fills her smoothly.

Blood pours beneath her skin, turning it pink. Ben moves slowly, tenderly, kissing the tears that slip into her hair.

As they move together, their souls become entangled. Mal feels herself slipping further and further into the Prince until she is sure they have melted into one. She does not mind the sensation. No, she adores it.

Mal's body tightens. At first, she fears it is another curse coiling inside of her belly, but after floating on the ocean's surface, she feels sweet relief. She slips beneath the waves, her quiet whimpering swallowed by the Prince's mouth.

Ben's voice pulls her out of the water.

"Mal," he says.

She does not know how long she was drowning, but she feels as if perhaps she has died and is now in that place called Heaven. Where all is well and joy abounds.

Mal glances up, her eyes immediately finding Ben's. His pupils are no longer suffocating his irises. One arm holding him up, he strokes her jaw with his free hand.

"Is this love?" she asks him.

Ben laughs softly and kisses the tip of her nose. "Yes," he says, "this is love."

Continuing to recover, the pair spend the next little while talking, locked away in their bubble from the rest of the world. Alone in Ben's room, they are rulers of their own Kingdom. Eventually, the trials of the day, of a shared lifetime, wear on them, and they switch off the lights and crawl beneath the covers.

Ben holds Mal as they sleep. He keeps his arm wrapped around her, holding her naked body to his. Knowing they will be married come morning and free to wander the earth, she rests peacefully in her Prince's arms.

A/N: Thank you for your patience. It is so gratefully appreciated. You honestly have no idea how difficult it was to not only find time to get this chapter written, but to also just . . . write this chapter. Endings are not my strong suit, and it really showed as I tried finishing this story.

I hope the ending was satisfactory to you all. For those curious as to why it took place over such a short amount of time, I based the plot off of fairytales which are typically very brief.

And if anybody wants to know why it took so long to write this, I suggest you go to my tumblr account (I'm not very active) which is Rebelandhercaptain and read the post entitled "An Open Letter to Lizzywhitewolf." Oh, and the quote at the top is from a song called "Fade Into You" from the show Nashville. I don't watch the show, but that song always gives me the chills.

Again, thank you so much. So, so, so much. For your continued support and your patience.

Until next time, guys.

Bethany