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Blood dripped from Aurora’s hand, the crimson droplets pooling onto Tristan’s plate. Tristan’s eyes stretched wide, his body frozen in shock.
Then, it happened.
The plate before him transformed into solid gold. He glanced toward the dagger, still clutched in Aurora’s bloodied hand, only to find it had undergone the same transformation. “Are you…?”
Aurora blew out a defeated breath. “King Midas’ daughter. Yes.”
Her gaze then locked onto Millie with a piercing glare as the golden hue shimmered in the candlelight.
The fairy’s smile grew wide as her features relaxed. “Would anyone like dessert?”
TRISTAN
Tristan’s mind whirled, struggling to grasp the enormity of what he’d just discovered. He rose from his seat, a mix of astonishment and anger twisting his features. He turned his gaze from the golden plate to Aurora, searching for answers within her eyes.
But she was too busy digging into her satchel. Pulling out a jar of honey, she drank from it. Then she took a sheepskin bottle and a cloth from the table. After pouring the liquid on the cloth, which Tristan assumed was some kind of medicine, she wrapped it around her bleeding hand. To Tristan’s surprise, the cloth did not transform into gold. Instead, a blotchy crimson stain spread across the white material.
The fairy’s laughter echoed through the room. “Oh, how fate has twisted your paths,” Millie mused, her voice dancing with a mock fascination. “The daughter of Midas and his enemy, united by destiny’s cruel hand. Long live the king’s legacy.”
Aurora’s gaze hardened. “If you think I will succumb to the same desires that consumed my father, then you’ve never known me at all.”
Millie twirled a purple strand of her hair between her fingers. “Oh, my dear, how noble your intentions may be, in a world where power tempts even the purest of souls, will you truly resist the allure ofabsolutecontrol?”
Instead of responding, Aurora’s eyes shifted to Tristan and she frowned. “Tristan—”
He raised a hand to stop her from talking. His head was spinning. He had a million questions, but darkness covered the world outside and he realized that the solar eclipse was almost complete. He had to leave.
“I will be back,” he said. “And when I do, I want the whole truth.”
Without another word, he went outside to the edge of the cliff. Giving Aurora one last glance, he jumped off.
Tristan shot his eyes open, and as his consciousness returned, he found himself surrounded by towering trees. The familiar scent of earth filled his senses, and the sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor.
Confusion swept over him like a gust of wind, and he scrambled to his feet.How did I end up in the middle of the forest?he wondered. Uneasiness settled in the pit of his stomach as he tried to piece together the fragments of memory that lingered in his mind.
As he pondered the possibilities, a sudden clip-clop of hooves broke through the silence, drawing his attention to a carriage approaching from a nearby path. Two figures emerged from within, their faces obscured by the hood of their cloaks.
“Prince Tristan!” one of them exclaimed. “We have a message for you!”
They climbed down the carriage, then they each pulled out a knife.
Tristan stepped back, alarmed. “Who is the message from?” he demanded, watching the men carefully.
They flashed him a sinister smile. “From Rumpelstiltskin.”
Before Tristan could react, one of the men lunged forward and pain exploded in Tristan’s side. He grunted, a hand instinctively flying to his ribcage. His fingers came away slick with blood, and his vision swam. The attackers attempted to seize him, their grips tightening around his arms.
“Cousin!” Ryke came into view, launching himself at one of the assailants. His iron hook slashed at the man’s face, sending him reeling backward.
Tristan, fueled by adrenaline, fought back against the other attacker. With a swift strike, he disarmed the man, his weapon falling to the ground with a thud.
The commotion alerted the prince’s guards, and their thundering approach sent the attackers fleeing into the woods, disappearing like shadows in the fading light. Ryke rushed to Tristan’s side, supporting him as he swayed unsteadily.
“Easy now, cousin,” Ryke said, concern etched on his face. “You’re bleeding. We need to get you back to the castle.”
Tristan nodded weakly, his vision blurring around the edges. The world spun, and darkness threatened to engulf him. He fought against the encroaching unconsciousness, clinging to Ryke’s shoulder. But Tristan could feel his mind slipping. He was mentally drained and he wondered if it was because of his extended stay in the Dreamworld.
As the prince’s guards arrived, their shouts of alarm were muffled in Tristan’s ears. Finally, he succumbed to the pull of darkness, his body slumping against Ryke’s supporting frame.
