It had seemed so real but, when he’d woken up in the hall beside the princess’s room, the door had been fine. He’d even touched the lock, still remembering the steaming, molten mess from his dream, but the metal had been solid and cool to the touch.
It had been a dream, he was sure. But how he’d ended up in that hallway was still a mystery to him.
Shrugging off the curious thoughts, he headed back to the great hall, hoping that the memory of destroyed cake was just part of the dream too.
He stopped just as he rounded the last few steps of the large, spiraled stairs. There in the middle of the now silent and stunned hall was Mab, the evil mistress of Shadow Mountain.
Trouble.
He could hear the baby princess cry, her coughing tears ringing almost songlike through the hall. He could feel the tension gripping the crowd of royalty and nobility gathered and huddled around yet away from the danger.
Someone had to do something.
He had to do something. Crouching low and reaching for his dagger strapped to his side like a saber, Phillip peered into the room, searching his mind for plans to attack the witch.
“I, too, have a gift for the darling princess,” he heard the witch say with a sneer.
Phillip knew he had to protect the princess. He was a hero—or at least, he was going to be when he grew up. It was his royal and sworn duty to rescue her.
So, action in mind, he studied the large, open space as the evil queen talked. “For sixteen years,” Mab continued to the room, “Princess Aurora will grow into a great beauty. For sixteen years, she will dazzle and enchant others with the melody of her voice. For sixteen years, she will be hailed and loved by the entire kingdom.”
Ignoring her and her words, Phillip weighed strategies.
If only he could reach the banners. Then he could swing down from them, sliding down the golden trim, to the center of the floor where he could plunge his dagger into the witch’s black heart.
“But, this I swear and seal with a curse,” he heard her intone, her voice echoing with power and force, “at sunset on her sixteenth birthday, your precious, beautiful, graceful princess will prick her finger on a spindle of a spinning wheel and die.”
Phillip clapped his hands over his ears as the whole room erupted in horrified gasps and indignant shouts. Tipping his head back, he spied a balcony high up near the hall’s ceiling where the servants could pass to clean and perform other duties among the rafters.
Perfect.
Scurrying back up the stairs, he left the twittering crowd content to stare in shock. He wouldn’t stand still. He wouldn’t let the fear of some fairy stop him. He had a princess to save.
Rushing, he pushed past panicked servants as he ran up to the balcony.
This was his fault. The fairy girl and the melting door and the black, choking smoke weren’t a dream. They’d been real. He knew that now. The black winged, sparkling fairy girl and the cloaked witch were in league with each other, plotting against the princess, and he’d led that girl right to the princess. He’d allowed this to happen because he’d been duped by a pesky, lying pixie.
She would pay for this. She and Mab.
They thought they could get away with this evil, but they were wrong. He’d been in training with Sir Galan and his knights for more than three months now. And even though he wouldn’t be finished with his training for many years, Phillip knew that he knew enough to vanquish Mab.
He’d seen the knights train. All his life, he’d been watching them spar and fight. All he had to do was follow them, do what they would do.
So, surveying his options, he decided that he’d come swinging down the balcony, swooping down upon the vile villain. He’d crash into her and make her take back her spell.
And then he would end her.
He would save the princess and save the day.
He was a hero.
Panting, Phillip pushed open the door to the thin, brick aisle just big enough to permit a single person to cross. Peering over the brick ledge suspended more than sixty feet in the air, he reached for the nearest banner as the cursing fairy threw back her head and laughed at something the smallest good fairy, Cami, had said.
He hopped up onto the ledge, the sturdy fabric gripped in his hand. Planting his feet as Sir Galan had taught him, Phillip bent his knees low as he focused his aim at Mab. Grabbing his dagger tight in his hand, he sliced one of the ropes holding the large, long banner to the wall.
Taking a deep breath, he jumped, swinging his feet forward so he could kick the fairy down.
But just as he swept down mere feet away from Mab, she waved her black cloak, making it flutter like wisps of smoke, and vanished, leaving nothing behind but the echo of her cackle still ringing against the high stone walls.
Phillip landed in the center of the great hall with a hard grunt. On his hands and knees, his dagger still clutched in his hand, he could still feel the warmth in the stones where Mab had stood.
That was now just an empty space in the middle of the deathly silent room.
Looking up into the shocked, frightened faces of his parents and King Walter and Queen Deanna, Phillip felt his stomach turn and his eyes begin to well with frustrated and self-disgusted tears.
Turning, he stared at the princess, fussing in her bassinet, her skin still touched with a faint, glowing green.
He’d failed her.
He’d come charging in, weapon in hand and aim true, and failed.
Phillip bent his head as his face fell.
He was no one’s hero.
READ CHAPTER TWO HERE
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