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When Diaval finally gets enough nerve to confess to his mistress, it comes as a surprise to no one but Maleficent herself.
“I’m not a raven,” Maleficent says, and for the first time since she got her wings back, she doesn’t know how to hold herself. She shifts her weight from one foot to another, wings ruffling behind her. Right now, the only thing she wants to do is to take a step back and fly away, pretend that Diaval doesn’t mean what he said the way she thinks he does.
“I know that, Mistress,” Diaval says, and by the way he rolls his eyes, Maleficent can tell he’s thinking, Obviously.
“What are you doing, then, asking me to be your mate?” Maleficent crosses her arms over her chest, eyes narrowed as she looks expectantly at Diaval.
“I’m bound to you, Mistress,” Diaval starts. He looks almost as nervous as Maleficent is confused. “At first, I was happy enough to be alive, but after all those years by your side—from spying for you and raising Aurora to helping you protect the Moors and rebuild our relationship with the men—I realize I can’t ask for someone to better spend the rest of my life with.”
Maleficent doesn’t know how long she stands there, lips parted and eyes wide in surprise. Diaval doesn’t say another word, doesn’t even take back his words like she expects him to. He shuffles nervously in place and his hands are curled into fists at his sides, but he doesn’t drop his gaze and he doesn’t lose his resolve.
“This is absurd,” she says finally. “You always talk back and sometimes, you’re so bizarre that I don’t even bother to try to understand you.”
Diaval’s face is stricken, flushed, and it’s the reddest Maleficent has seen him. That time he got angry because she turned him into a wolf doesn’t even compare. “I’m sor—”
“Diaval, shut up,” she says, cutting him off. “You might be absolutely infuriating but I’m more likely worse, and you’ve stayed with me this long, haven’t you?”
Maleficent takes a step forward, arms open, and it’s as much of an invitation as it is her approval. Diaval doesn’t waste any time; he rushes forward and wraps his arms around her. He buries his nose in her hair, and feels the very same amazement that jolted up his spine the first time he saw her fly over the Moors, the very picture of a protector.
“Thank you, Mistress,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over the shell of her ear.
“Don’t be daft,” Maleficent says, rolling her eyes. She snakes her arms under Diaval’s, hands meeting over the small of his back. “Call me Maleficent.”
When Diaval laughs, it lights up his whole face, his scars riding up his temples as his eyes crinkle. It’s one of the most beautiful things Maleficent has seen, right on the same level as the sight of Aurora’s eyes opening, breaking her curse.
“Maleficent. Alright then, but don’t say you didn’t ask me to.”
It turns out like this: he abuses the use of her name, taking any and every chance to call her Maleficent. The other fairies giggle at his antics and Aurora, supportive darling that she is, provides openings for him. Maleficent pretends to be miffed, rolling her eyes and sighing loudly every time he makes an attempt.
The truth, of course, is that she doesn’t regret her decision for even one second.
*
Maleficent and Diaval decide to get married under the shade of their tree. Diaval, proud raven that he is, wants to decorate the tree himself, but after some cajoling and plenty of reassuring kisses from Maleficent, he allows their fairy friends to prepare the whole ceremony for them. There are no invitations, mostly because all of the Moors will come anyway, not wanting to miss the event that everyone has been waiting for. Until Diaval tells her a week before the wedding, Maleficent doesn’t know about the bets on how long it was going to take for them to get together. Apparently, a brownie called Begonia Glitterbee won twenty handfuls of pretty flowers, two handfuls of seeds, and five apples.
So that’s how all the fairies end up gathered in front of Maleficent and Diaval’s tree, chattering and squealing in excitement. The tree is decorated in fairy light and glowing flowers the color of Maleficent’s eyes, and it’s so beautiful that Aurora gasps the first time she lays eyes on it and stops for a moment to appreciate the sight.
Maleficent and Diaval hardly notice their surroundings, though. Before the ceremony, Diaval does nothing but shift his weight from one foot to another, startling at every tiny sound and failing to shake off his nerves. He fiddles with the collar of his white shirt, feeling uncomfortable in the clothes Prince Phillip was kind enough to gift him. Fortunately, when Maleficent walks in wearing the blue dress Knotgrass, Thistlewit, and Flittle spent weeks sewing by hand, all his worries disappear in a flash, leaving only an explosion of awe and longing and excitement.
“You look beautiful,” he says when she reaches the end of the makeshift aisle. He reaches out to take her hand and helps her onto the platform up front.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” she replies, her red lips quirked up in a wicked smile.
It’s all a blur from then. Diaval remembers fondness, remembers Aurora’s bright voice amplified around the glade, never once stumbling over her words. He remembers thinking, she’s officiated weddings before, what with being the Queen, and he remembers pride surging through his body.
Mostly though, there is Maleficent. The feeling of her hand in his, the fleeting glances he shoots her way, the many times he catches her looking at him as well. There’s her ever-present smile, the way she nudges him whenever he needs to speak, the moisture in her eyes when they say their vows, and how he knows she’s going to deny it until her very last breath. The most vivid memory, though, is the moment when he’s about to kiss Maleficent, because behind her is the most beautiful sunrise he’s seen his whole life, but it could never compare.
Diaval doesn’t remember much of the cheers or the well-wishes and congratulations, but he’s given all the important stuff a big room in his mind, and that’s what matters.
*
“Well, that was tiring,” is the first thing Maleficent says once they’re alone.
They’re in the cottage Aurora used to live in, splayed side by side on the bed. They didn’t want to stay in the Moors, fairly sure that the other fairies wouldn’t leave them alone, and they didn’t want to go all the way to the castle. This felt like the safest option, away from curious fairies and unfamiliar humans.
“I’m just glad I didn’t get involved in planning it,” Diaval says, because he is. The nerves were enough to shake him.
“You would have made a mess of it,” Maleficent teases.
Diaval rolls his eyes but he doesn’t retort because he very well knows she’s right. Instead, he says, “You know, it doesn’t feel that different.”
Maleficent turns her head to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“Marriage,” Diaval clarifies. “I mean, I don’t feel like I need to stop being sarcastic just because you’re my... well, my wife.”
“I suppose we’ve been acting like a married couple long enough.” Maleficent rolls over so she’s on her side, her hand coming up to rest on Diaval’s ribs. “Aurora thought we were a couple up until she asked me how we fell in love.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her you were my servant.” Diaval lays a hand over hers, twining their fingers together. “And that I’d rather have you and your loyalty than any other man.”
“Ah. Yet another compliment.” Diaval chuckles. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m in a good mood.”
“Is there any way to make that mood last a bit longer?”
Maleficent tilts her head to the side, as if in challenge. “If you can handle it.”
Diaval raises an eyebrow. “It can’t be that hard, right?”
It is quite difficult, but he manages to pull through with flying colors.
*
Pregnancy is unfamiliar and odd and terrifying for Maleficent. She’s happy, of course, so very happy, and after looking after Aurora for sixteen years, she definitely knows how to take care of a child. She just doesn’t know what to do when the baby’s still inside her. She’s temperamental and all over the place and most of the time, she just feels ridiculous.
It does help, however, that Diaval takes to her erratic moods like a fish to water. He’s a bit dumbfounded at first, frantic whenever she has a request, but two months in and he seems to know exactly what she wants. Whenever she asks for something, he just nods his head and scurries away, no questions asked. Most of the time, anyway.
But really, Diaval is wonderful. The fairies, though, are tough to place.
*
“I wonder what it’s going to be!” Knotgrass says, flitting around excitedly, occasionally poking at Maleficent’s tummy.
“Oh, I do hope it’s a girl,” Thistlewit says, sitting on the sidelines, probably daydreaming about spoiling the child.
“We have to start making dresses for her!” Flittle says, clapping her hands excitedly. Of course, this only makes the two other pixies rush go her side.
“But what if it’s a boy?” Thistlewit asks, wringing her hands.
Knotgrass rolls her eyes. “Don’t be silly. That’s what we have magic for.”
“Are you sure you want them to be our baby’s godmothers?” Diaval whispers.
Maleficent sighs. “They mean well.”
“They almost killed Aurora because they forgot to feed her,” Diaval reminds her slowly.
“We’re not asking them to babysit,” Maleficent says, swatting Diaval’s arm lightly. “Besides, you know they’re only going to that thing of theirs if we don’t.”
Diaval turns to look at Maleficent, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What thing?”
“That thing where sigh and pout and get in your face until you give in to what they want,” Maleficent replies, and even though she sounds calm, her eyes are narrowed and she’s all but vibrating with magic. “They did it when they wanted to make my dress. It’s absolutely irritating.”
Diaval wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Now, now. Calm down before you turn them into worms.”
“They’d deserve it,” Maleficent says, though she relaxes in Diaval’s hold.
“Don’t stress yourself.” Diaval presses a kiss to the crease between her eyebrows. “They won’t bother you now that they’ve something to do.”
Maleficent smiles, grateful. “They’re not that bad when they’re not hounding you,” she agrees.
“Let’s leave them to it, yes?” Diaval nods his head towards their tree. “There are better things for us to do.”
“And what, pray tell?” Maleficent asks wryly.
“You know. Parent things,” Diaval says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“I’m pregnant,” Maleficent says, rolling her eyes.
Diaval laughs. “I was jesting. What about a foot massage, love?”
“That’s more like it,” Maleficent says, humming approvingly, and when he tugs at her sleeves, she lets him steer them to their tree, climbing up the trunk and looking for a perfect spot on its branches.
The foot massage is lovely, perfected by Diaval after years and years of practice. Back when Maleficent was without her wings, she often felt the strain after a long day of patrolling the Moors or after the long roundabout from her tree to Aurora’s cottage. She never asked it of Diaval, of course; she could ask him to spy and fight and make sure the child lives, but it never even crossed her mind to ask for something like that.
So imagine her surprise when one day, Diaval sat down next to her and asked her to put her feet on his lap. She didn’t want to, of course. She told him to leave and threatened to turn him into a dirty rat, but he got his way eventually. At the end of the day, Maleficent was all but purring in delight, and it isn’t exactly something she can deny, considering it’s already happened countless times. It was probably the first time she let Diaval hear anything but sarcasm and condescension from her. More than that, it was the first time she saw him not just a servant, but as a person.
Now, it’s one of her fondest memories.
*
“Diaval, darling, do you remember that purple fruit from Aurora’s eighteenth birthday? The one from Phillip’s kingdom? I need to eat one right now.”
“Maleficent, the market isn’t open in the middle of the night,” Diaval says, his voice cracking from disuse.
“But there should be some in the castle, yes?” Maleficent says. Her hands are on his shoulders, shaking him to alertness.
“Well, yes, but everyone’s asleep, love.”
“Diaval.” Maleficent pinches his side, making him jerk into a sitting position. “I need them.”
Diaval opens an eye cautiously, only to see her looking dejected and wistful and hopeful. He groans. “Alright, mistress.”
“Beg pardon?” Maleficent narrows her eyes. “What did you call me?”
“Nothing! I’m going to go now,” Diaval says, and in his scrambling to get away, he falls off the tree, landing on a heap of leaves with a resounding thump.
“No, you called me mistress.”
Diaval struggles to get up, but finds himself rooted to his spot by Maleficent’s magic. He looks up, gaping in disbelief. “I was only teasing. I meant nothing by it, love.”
Maleficent huffs. “Don’t even bother with those fruits. I’m going back to sleep.”
“Maleficent. Love, I’m so—”
“Keep talking and I turn you into a dog,” Maleficent hisses, cutting him off. “A small one, even. A pup.”
Diaval stops, of course he does. For one, he’d rather not make his wife more upset than she already is. Secondly, he knows that right now, he can’t do or say anything to improve his situation. So he flies away, thanking the gods above that Maleficent decided to give him free reign with his shapeshifting.
In the morning, Maleficent wakes up with a bowl of fresh fruits beside her and a tired Diaval snoozing against their tree’s roots.
*
“Have you thought about names yet?” Aurora asks one day. They’re having a picnic out, because Maleficent wanted to get out of the Moors for a change of scenery. Aurora and Phillip were kind enough to share their special spot with Maleficent and Diaval, while Knotgrass, Flittle, and Thistlewit—called The Terrible Three by Maleficent on her less lenient days—were clever enough to hide themselves in the bread basket so they could go too.
“Yes,” Maleficent answers, “though we’re a bit short on girls’ names.”
Phillip’s eyebrows furrow in concern. “Oh no. Why is that?”
“Nothing’s good enough, you know?” Diaval says, scrunching his nose. He tugs Maleficent’s hand into his and glancing at her as if to ask whether or not he’s saying the right answer.
“I suppose it can only be expected,” Maleficent says, squeezing Diaval’s hand comfortingly. “We only want the best for our child.”
“Oh, I have an idea!” Thistlewit says, jumping to her feet so she can flutter to Maleficent’s lap. “What about Glittertwirls? That’s a wonderful name, isn’t it?”
Maleficent and Diaval share a look.
“Well, yes, it is quite an impressive name,” Diaval says slowly. “But it’s not our... style.”
“Yes, don’t be silly, Thistlewit,” Knotgrass says, rolling her eyes. “A name like Dapplewhisk is much, much better.”
“Oh, and Mistywhistle!” Flittle says as she stares dreamily at the sky. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“What are you two going on about? Those are horrid. Now, what about Cottontwinkle?” Thistlewit says, stomping her foot on Maleficent’s knee. It’s a good thing that she barely weighs more than a melon, because Diaval doesn’t know what he could have done if she hurt Maleficent.
“Don’t get too excited,” he says, attempting to get them off the subject. “We’re still thinking about it.”
“I’ve a suggestion too, if you don’t mind,” Phillip says shyly, and of course Diaval nods for him to continue. He’s only been a friend for two years, but both Diaval and Maleficent have come to adore him. Of course, Aurora will always be their favorite human, but he has a special place in their hearts as well. “I’ve always liked the name Cateline.”
“Oh, we can’t possibly.” Maleficent reaches over the basket to pat Phillip’s hand. “That’s something you should save for your own little girl, dear.”
“Godmother! No talks of children until we’re married,” Aurora chastises, her lips twisting downwards into a delicate frown. She purposely does not look at Phillip or acknowledges how they’re both blushing red to the roots of their hair.
Maleficent smirks. “Of course, Aurora.”
“Does that mean we can talk about marriage, though?” Diaval asks wryly.
“Oh, stop it,” Aurora says, ducking her head in embarrassment. She doesn’t see the pointed look Diaval shoots Phillip’s way, and she doesn’t see the half-annoyed, half-sheepish expression Phillip adopts after.
“Very well,” Maleficent says, sighing dramatically. “How are your negotiations for trade with King Elric going?”
They don’t touch the subject of Aurora and Phillip’s relationship again, but a fortnight later, Phillip finally asks for Aurora’s hand in marriage. Diaval and Maleficent have known for a while, of course; he asked for their permission, what with them being Aurora’s parental figures. They’ve just been waiting for him to make a move, giving him encouraging looks every once in a while.
They only hear about it the morning after. Aurora visits them, all smiles and giggles, shining with happiness and looking so radiant and beautiful that everyone she passes sighs in admiration. When she Maleficent and Diaval sitting by a pond, legs submerged in the water, she runs up to them, already chattering on about Phillip’s surprise for her.
It takes her a while to get to the most important part, and she almost forgets to say anything about it in all her excitement.
Maleficent has to ask her, “Well, what did you tell him?”
Aurora said yes, of course.
*
It’s a beautiful day. There are enough clouds so that the sun isn’t blinding, and the breeze is gentle, refreshing enough for the early morning.
“Let’s go flying,” Maleficent says as she puts away the last apple core for breakfast.
“I’m not sure you should. It’s dangerous,” Diaval says after a moment’s hesitation, running a hand through Maleficent’s hair.
“I’m pregnant, not helpless,” Maleficent retorts, grumbling.
“Yes, I know that. I’m not saying you can’t fly; I’m saying that we don’t know what might happen,” Diaval says slowly, trying as best as he can to make Maleficent understand without provoking her.
Still, despite his best efforts, Maleficent huffs. “I’ve had wings for most of my life, Diaval. You might as well have forbidden me to take a walk because I might bump into a tree and hurt the baby.”
“Yes, but I’ve seen how you fly these past few days. You’re not as agile as before, and there were too many instances where I thought you were going to crash. It’s much more dangerous when you’re in the air, love, and it’s a longer fall to the ground.”
“Don’t insult me,” Maleficent hisses. “My wings are strong.”
“Yes, they are.” Diaval sighs, squeezing her shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “Just do this for me, yes? Please? I’m worried.”
Maleficent frowns, but she turns her head so that their lips touch in a brief peck. “After everything, you are going to take me out flying.”
“We can fly for as long as you want,” Diaval promises, his lips quirking up into a relieved smile. “And I won’t whinge even once.”
Maleficent breathes out a laugh, her expression melting into fondness. “You always complain. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I never,” Diaval says, his tone mock-hurt. He doesn’t keep the pretense up for long, dissolving into chuckles when Maleficent rolls her eyes and scrunches her nose in distaste.
“Well,” she says. “What are we going to do now?”
Diaval bumps his shoulder against hers.
“How does a game of chess sound?”
*
Maleficent gives birth to a beautiful baby girl, and the moment Diaval takes her in his arms and sees her eyes, exact replicas of her mother’s, he knows what he wants to call her.
“Aria,” he says, settling by Maleficent’s side. “We should call her Aria, for air.”
Maleficent hums approvingly, taking their baby in her arms, careful with her touch. “It’s a pretty name.”
“She’s a pretty girl,” Diaval says, nodding. “She looks exactly like you, you know.”
Maleficent’s smile widens, her eyes crinkling. “She does.”
*
Aria at three years old is already a charming ball of energy and is growing up to be a good-mannered, darling child. She’s a bit mischievous—gets it from her father—but the tricks she plays are harmless and can never be traced back to her. Maleficent and Diaval know, of course they do, but they don’t mind.
Whenever Aria has done something, her nose twitches and she acts more sullen and pouty than usual, as if that would make her look innocent. It’s impressive, though. She never even cracks a smile—at least, not in front of either of her parents.
There’s this time with Flittle, Knotgrass, and Thistlewit, where she turns all of their dresses black. They just wake up one day and find that no matter how many times they try, they can’t change their clothes back to the normal colours. The three pixies all but make a mess of the Moors, flitting around, asking fairies to try because maybe, their magic will work.
“Oh, please, please, please?” Flittle begs, tugging on the skirt of another pixie dressed in a bright shade of orange. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Begonia, don’t you look lovely today? Listen...” says Knotgrass, an arm wrapped around the shoulders of a resigned elf.
“I can sing! I can sing and sew and take care of babies and... oh! I can lick my elbow! Do you want to see?” Thistlewit says to a group of children gathered in front of her, demonstrating the skill right away and smiling at the awed gaping of her audience. “So who wants to tell their mummies that Auntie Thistlewit needs help with her dress?”
They don’t convince a lot of people, of course, and nothing works anyway. At the end of the day, they learn to deal with it. Knotgrass acts like nothing’s wrong. Flittle spends the whole day hiding, tucked in a nook somewhere. Thistlewit makes the most of it, though. She practically owns the dress, swaying her hips and striking a pose or two as she saunters around the place. Thistlewit may dress in yellow, but she isn’t as aggressive as Knotgrass and Flittle when it comes to her favourite colour.
The next morning, things are back in order. Flittle’s absolutely delighted, and even Knotgrass heaves a sigh of relief. Thistlewit is actually a bit disappointed, but she’s happy that the others are happy.
None of the other fairies would even think of the possibility of Aria being responsible for it, probably because they adore her so much—as if she hung the moon. More than anything, it amuses her parents, makes them feel oddly proud.
*
Sylven is born four years after Aria. He’s a noisy baby, always crying for something or the other, so unlike his sister that Maleficent and Diaval feel a bit out of their depths. It’s a good thing that Aria adores her brother enough to volunteer for taking care of him. She wants to feed him, wants to carry him around, wants to be by his side every waking moment. It’s terribly sweet and also quite convenient, considering that not only does it mean that Maleficent and Diaval have fewer things to worry about, but there has also been a significant decrease in pranks around the Moors.
Aria does a good job of being a sister though, that’s for sure. All she needs is to observe how her parents handle Sylven, and the next day, you’ll see her doing the exact same things they did. It’s impressive, and it reminds Diaval of Maleficent, of all those times when they were looking after Aurora, running on instinct and advice from the other fairies. It was never easy, but they grew to love caring for Aurora. Diaval had no qualms admitting it, though Maleficent was too late in realizing it.
Aria had no such problems; she’s flawless at it, which is probably why it isn’t so surprising that Sylven’s first word is his sister’s name.
“Does it really feel this amazing?” she asks, not taking her eyes off her brother even as she speaks to her parents.
“Yes,” Maleficent answers, with Diaval nodding along beside her, because it is. It always feels amazing, seeing a baby grow up, breezing through various milestones, knowing that you play a part in its progress, that you’re one of the reasons it’s here, living and breathing and doing so well.
So Aria revels in the feeling, so that one can never find Sylven without her or her without Sylven. She all but spoils her brother, and once he’s old enough to use his magic, they get even closer. Thick as thieves, those two are.
Surprisingly, Sylven doesn’t end up like a male version of Aria. Sure, they’re both charming, confident, and outspoken, but where his sister is cunning and clever, Sylven is brash and carefree, the poster boy for a devil-may-care attitude. Unfortunately for him, his attitude is the reason he gets blamed for all the pranks his sister plays. Or, well, fortunately—it really depends on how you look at it.
Sylven’s more than happy to take all the credit. Only the gods know why, but he really does love the attention. Whenever Aria does anything devious, they whisper about it while they perch on the top of their tree, and then Sylven jumps down and starts bragging about it. For the first few months, Maleficent and Diaval have absolutely no idea why he’s doing it or what he’s getting out if it. After all, he’s the one who has to take all the punishments.
They find out when Sylven is four years old and Aria is eight. Maleficent and Diaval are supposed to be out to visit Aurora and Phillip. It’s that time of the year, where the King and Queen host a ball for humans and fairies alike, and as per usual, they’ve asked the Moors’ closest thing to leaders for help in organizing it. Maleficent has Knotgrass, Flittle, and Thistlewit do all the work for her, of course, since they’re perfectly willing, but she and her husband do need to be there for official meetings.
This time, though, they comes back early. Aurora had everything under control, and the Terrible Three—Diaval’s still convincing her to call them the Terrific Three instead, since they’re more helpful than irritating these days, but Maleficent claims sentiment for the insulting endearment—were there to help so there really was no reason for Maleficent and Diaval to stay. So they go home, only to find their children playing in the pond.
“Of course I can,” Aria is saying. “I saw Uncle Phillip making one.”
“Will you teach me?” Sylven asks, grasping his sister’s hands and tugging them so she would answer more quickly.
Aria clucks her tongue disapprovingly, “Well, I can’t do it now, of course.”
“But you’re going to? You’ll teach me?” Sylven asks, splashing his sister with a handful of water—which isn’t really much, considering he’s got tiny four-year-old hands; Diaval is going to have to give him pointers on making up for youth and a short height.
“I already promised, didn’t I?” Aria says, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t retaliate, wading through the waist-deep water to sit on the edge instead.
“Yes, but how do I know if I can trust you? You could be crossing her fingers right now,” Sylven replies, not missing a beat. He doesn’t hesitate to follow his sister, laying his arms on the space beside her and propping his head on them.
Aria snorts. “Don’t be silly, Ven. My fingers aren’t crossed. See?” She holds her hands up in front of his face, only returning them back to their place on her lap when Sylven sticks his tongue out at her. “Besides, I’ve never lied to you and I never will.”
“But you lie all the time,” Sylven says, a crease forming between his eyebrows.
“Yes, but not to you. You’re my brother,” Aria says simply, and Sylven relaxes against her hip.
“When do we start?” he asks, sighing longingly, though longing for what, Maleficent and Diaval still don’t know.
“The day after tomorrow. Mum and Da are going away for another meeting so we can go to the cottage and try.”
Sylven giggles, doing a little shake of his shoulders in his excitement. “I’m going to make a bow an’ arrow!”
“Yes, well, you’re only going to help me make a bow and arrow,” Aria says, messing his hair up fondly. “You’re too young to do it by yourself, and you’re definitely not allowed to use them when we’re done.”
“But I can hold them?” Sylven asks, jutting his lower lip out in a pout and willing tears to gather in his eyes. “Pretty please?”
Aria rolls her eyes. “Fine. But no more than that, okay? We might play tricks behind their backs but we have to ask for permission when it comes to things like this.”
“Okay, okay. I know,” Sylven says, grinning up at his sister. “But we don’t have to tell the right away, hm?”
“Why don’t you want them to know, anyway? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to learn archery,” Aria says, scrunching her nose in thought.
Sylven’s smile twists into a slight frown, just a downturn of his lips. He shrugs. “It’s not magic.”
“Well, what makes you think anything’s wrong with things that aren’t magic?” Aria asks in a tone that screams Don’t be daft. “Apple pies aren’t magic. Chess isn’t magic.”
Sylven groans. “Alright! Not gonna talk about it anymore,” he says, though it sounds less like he got her point and more like he just doesn’t want to explain himself, and Aria doesn’t let that go over her head.
“Ven.” She sighs, her shoulders slumping as she runs a hand through her brother’s hair, stopping every once in a while to massage his scalp. “You don’t have to use magic all the time. You can be like Da and Aunt Aurora and Uncle Phillip.”
“But I’m a fairy.”
“Look at me.” Aria tugs lightly at a lock of Sylven’s hair until he meets her eyes. “Who says fairies can’t do human things?”
Sylven squares his jaw, narrowing his eyes to glare at his sister. “Not going to talk about this.”
“Stop being so stubborn,” Aria says, pinching his nose. “Do you want to learn how to shoot or not?”
“I do,” Sylven admits, voice low in a grumble. He tries to hang his head but Aria doesn’t let him, tipping his chin back up.
“Then stop sulking and talking about it like it’s worthless,” she says softly, her hands retreating to her lap as she finally lets him go. “You’d just be wasting my time and yours.”
“Fine,” Sylven says, and it’s not biting, not sarcastic. He presses his lips together, sighing through his nose. He raises a hand to tickle Aria on her side, the telltale sign that he really is considering her words, which only makes her get back in the water to tackle him, giggling and shrieking as she retaliates.
They go back to playing, splashing water everywhere and trying to reach each other’s ticklish spots. At this point, Maleficent and Diaval could walk in and pretend as if they didn’t hear anything, but they don’t. Diaval holds out his hand and when Maleficent takes it, they tiptoe away, making faces at each other as they try to figure out where to go.
In the end, they stay at the cottage until sundown, with enough time to pass that Diaval manages to convince Maleficent to bake Sylven’s favorite apple pie. When they see their son’s face light up that night, he reckons he did the right thing.
*
Florian is born six years after Sylven, which leaves a bigger age gap between them than there is for the two eldest siblings. It’s one of the reasons why he isn’t as close to them as Sylven and Aria are with each other. They adore him, of course they do, but his personality is very different from theirs.
Florian is quiet and soft-spoken. He doesn’t fly very much, and he never asks anyone to accompany him. No one really knows what he does on his day-long walks; they can only assume from what he brings home. They think he spends his days reading and exploring the Moors by himself, sniffing at the soil and picking up every curious thing he spots, considering that at the end of the day, his knapsack is full of random things like uprooted plants and shiny stones.
He always looks disheveled and tired when he comes home, sticks and grass sticking out of his jet black hair and dirt clinging to his rumpled clothes. Sometimes, he has a bruise or two, but he assures everyone that he got them from something as trivial tripping on a root or a scuffle with a tree.
There’s this one time, though, that instead of dropping off his bag and rushing to his parents to either tuck himself into Maleficent’s side or climb onto Diaval’s back, Florian only mutters a quick Hello before running off to his little nook in the shrubs near the ents’ haunt. His parents worry, of course, and Maleficent’s just about ready to stand up and follow him—he hasn’t even had dinner yet—but Aria beats her to it, already flying away with a surprised Sylven in tow.
Aria and Sylven stay just outside of the cave, though from the way Florian’s eyebrows furrow in concentration, it doesn’t really seem like he’ll notice them. Still, they hide, squinting at the bundle in Florian’s hands.
“Can’t we just ask him?” Sylven whispers.
“Don’t be silly. We can’t do that,” Aria replies, her voice just as quiet.
Sylven scrunches his nose. “Why not?”
“We just can’t,” Aria says, her tone final.
“You just want to sneak around,” Sylven accuses, his eyes narrowing.
“I do not,” Aria says, indignant, but Sylven can tell she’s lying by the way she avoids his eyes, pointedly staring at their younger brother instead.
Sylven rolls his eyes, but before he could come up with a smart retort, he sees Florian empty his knapsack, holding it by its seams and shaking its contents onto the ground. Sylven can make out strips of black leather, a clump of golden brown metal as large as a melon, and clusters of blue-green fronds of rue, and he can’t help but wonder what his brother intends to do with these things.
Apparently, Aria’s wondering the same thing, because she turns to him, eyebrows raised in question. Sylven only shrugs in response; he never has any idea what goes on in Florian’s head. They’re distracted once again by the familiar yellow-green sparks of magic erupt from Florian’s hands, drifting in the air until the metal is enclosed in a blob of light.
It doesn’t take long for Florian to finish with the help of magic, and when he does, the chunk is unrecognizable. It has turned into seven thin charms fashioned in the shape of rue, piled in the middle of the leather strips and the plants. Florian smiles, satisfied with his work, before he takes the leather and starts looping them through little holes he included on top of the charms.
Aria and Sylven watch until Florian stands up, dusting off his pants and gathering his things back into his knapsack. They jump in surprise, realizing that they should have left long ago, considering that they already had a vague idea what Florian was doing.
Sylven barely keeps himself from stumbling over his two feet, rushing to run away, but thankfully, Aria has enough sense to smack him upside the head to get his attention. She points to their right, and Sylven nods, following her behind a huge slab of rock.
“What were you thinking?” she says when Florian finally leaves, probably skipping off to ask whether or not Mum saved him dinner. “You were about to go to the ents. You know you can’t trust them right now.”
Sylven groans. Of course. Only two days ago, he and Aria put acorns all over the ents and let loose a small army of squirrels. They made sure that the ents couldn’t shake off the energetic little critters or their food, which meant that the poor tree fairies experienced a good half hour of non-stop tickling as the squirrels off their branches.
“What’s the big deal anyway?” he asks, rolling his eyes. “He was just making trinkets.”
“Well, yes, but he was hiding for a reason. He can’t know we were spying on him,” Aria says. Then she stands up slowly, looking around for anyone who might see them and tugging on his sleeve when she finds no one. “Come on, we should go back. He might wonder where we are.”
Sylven nods, opening his mouth to agree, but then he’s struck with a thought. “You think Mum and Da are going to cover for us?” he whispers, his tone half-worried, half-horrified.
“Calm down,” Aria says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “They want to know too. They’re probably just going to ask us once Florian’s fallen asleep. Now come on.”
Sylven heaves a sigh, three parts relief and two parts exasperation, before following Aria back to their tree. She might not care much for his sudden bouts of dazed confusion, but she makes up for it by always having a clear head. Sylven trusts that she’s right.
*
Aria was right. There isn’t a fuss when they come back. The knapsack is nowhere to be seen, but Florian is munching on grapes, sitting between his parents and acting as if he wasn’t just making questionable trifles minutes ago. Aria and Sylven don’t comment on it, muttering about having dropped something earlier that day and getting it back.
Everything goes on as usual. Contrary to Aria’s guess, Maleficent and Diaval don’t ask them about Florian, and they don’t bring it up either. They spend a few hours lounging in their tree, relaxing until one by one, they fall asleep to the sound of crickets and the feeling of a cold breeze kissing their eyelids as they close.
The next morning, they wake up with the necklaces Florian made tucked in their clothes. Maleficent finds it first because she’s the first one up. She can sense the magic in the pendant, and at first, she thinks Diaval gave it to her as a surprise, but then she spots a necklace exactly like hers tied around her husband’s belt and other ones on her children. So she wakes her family up, even Diaval who usually gets up only when breakfast is ready.
“Have you any idea where these are from?” she asks once they’ve all seen their new accessories.
“No,” Diaval answers, though he sounds a bit out of it. Whether it’s because he’s still half-asleep or because he’s overwhelmed by confusion, no one really knows for sure.
Aria and Sylven don’t say anything but they do share a look, and Maleficent can’t help but feel suspicious.
“I’ve got to go pee,” Florian says suddenly, which almost makes Aria and Sylven burst into laughter. He looks so flustered and nervous and guilty that Aria vows to herself then and there that she and Sylven are going to teach their little brother how to lie and evade better.
“That was odd,” Maleficent muses as she watches Florian shuffle away awkwardly. Then, turning to her two other children, she says, “Now what was that about?”
Sylven immediately turns to his sister and shoots her a wide-eyed look. Aria sighs. She’s going to have to speak up for this one.
“They’re from Florian. He rushed off last night so he could make these,” she explains.
“Do you think he knows?” Diaval asks, and even though his eyes are glued to the necklace in his hands, they all know he’s talking to Maleficent.
“Most likely,” Maleficent says, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “Maybe he read about it?”
Diaval’s forehead wrinkles as he racks his brain and his lips part in comprehension when something clicks in his mind. “Ah. Aurora gave him a book on medicinal herbs a fortnight ago.”
“What’s going on?” Sylven asks, because honestly, he’s been watching his parents from the start, head whipping around as if watching a game, but he still has no idea what they’re talking about.
“It’s an amulet,” Diaval explains, still staring, still amazed.
“It’s a very good amulet,” Maleficent agrees. She puts the amulet on, hiding it under her collar. “It’s for protection.”
Aria and Sylven share a look.
“What book did Aunt Aurora give Florian again?”
*
After breakfast—still no sign of Florian—Aria and Sylven fly off to the market. It takes them an hour to dig up the book in the shop, and after that, they head to the apothecary.
“We want everything in this book,” Sylven says, glaring expectantly.
“Everything?” the shopkeeper parrots, jerking back slightly in disbelief.
“Everything,” Aria confirms, thumping both hands on the counter in an attempt to intimidate the shopkeeper into getting to work. Unbelievable as it is, he jumps to attention and scrambles to the storage room to do just as they asked.
In a mere quarter hour, they’re skipping out of the shop with wide grins on their faces and bags full of medicinal plants like thorn apple, mandrake, vervain, and betony in their arms.
*
“What is this?” Florian asks when he sees their tree decorated with the newly-bought plants. Some of them are hanging onto the branches; some arranged in a neat circle around the trunk. No one can blame him for freezing up, his muscled tensed and his eyes wide in confusion.
“We’ve started a garden,” Aria says simply, an eyebrow raised in challenge, as if to say I dare you to doubt me.
“They’ve started a garden,” Diaval confirms, nodding enthusiastically.
“We’re gardeners now,” Sylven says, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement.
“Yes, right,” Maleficent says, though her voice is dripping with sarcasm. She narrows her eyes at her husband and her two eldest children, appraising, and then, shoulders slumping in defeat, she turns to Florian. “Well come on, then. Sit down.”
“Yes, mum,” Florian mumbles, approaching his family slowly, cautiously, until he reaches his usual place and settles in. “I have a question, though.”
“Yes?” Maleficent prompts, passing him a basket of freshly baked bread.
“Well,” Florian says, “how can it be a garden if you haven’t planted them in the soil?”
Aria and Sylven share a look.
“It’s an aesthetic garden,” Aria says eventually. When she spies Sylven mouthing aesthetic, his eyebrows furrowed in obvious confusion, she adds, “They’re going to stay there and look pretty until they die. Unless someone thinks of a way to use them, of course.”
“We even have a deal with the apothecary,” Sylven says, now back on track. “We’re friends with the shopkeeper now,” he adds, which is most definitely a lie. If anything, the shopkeeper would have banned them from ever visiting again if it weren’t for the bags and bags of coins they gave him for his trouble.
“Oh,” Florian says, though he feels like he has even more questions than before. “Alright then?”
“But you know, it’d really be a waste if they just die, right?” Aria says. Her hands are folded in her lap, her back ramrod straight, and her look in her eyes mean business. “It’d be such a waste of perfectly good plants.”
A moment passes where there’s a lull in conversation. Maleficent is staring blankly into the air, trying her best to keep her exasperation off her face. Diaval looks like it’s his birthday with the way he’s grinning ear-to-ear—it’s like he’s actually enjoying this. Sylven’s just sitting there, nodding. It takes him a while but eventually, he does notice Aria glaring at him. She jerks her head to indicate Florian, silently asking Sylven for some help as she presses her lips together in irritation.
Scrambling for something to say, he all but shouts when he opens his mouth. “We don’t really know anything about plants though so we can’t do anything.” He pauses. “Uh, do you have any ideas? Maybe you’ve read something?”
At this point, Sylven has given away enough because of his sudden inability to lie—right now, he’s being worse than Florian, and that’s saying something—that Maleficent feels like it’s time to put them all out of their misery.
“What your brother actually means to say,” she starts, fixing Aria and Sylven with a pointed look, “is that they bought all this because they wanted to thank you for the amulets you made us.”
“What?” Florian squeaks, jumping in his seat. He glances around, his wide eyes filled with guilt and embarrassment at getting caught.
“Mum, why did you tell him?” Aria whines, pouting miserably.
“Yeah, love,” Diaval says, winking discreetly. His eyes are shining with amusement. “We had him going.”
Maleficent plays along, no matter how badly she wants to roll her eyes and snort. “Yes, but he was going to find out anyway. Besides, I don’t see what’s wrong with what you did.”
“We wanted to be sneaky,” Sylven says, his shoulders slumping in disappointment.
Then, Florian finally speaks up, though his voice is small and his head is hung in an attempt to hide his flushed cheeks. “You didn’t have to buy me anything.”
“Yes, but we wanted to,” Aria says. “I have my tricks; Sylven has his bow and his arrows. Now, you have your plants.”
“Besides, now you can patch us up when we get cuts and bruises,” Sylven says, his lips quirked upwards in a smile.
“You’d really let me?” Florian asks, looking up at his siblings.
“Of course we would,” Aria answers softly. She stands up, goes to sit by Florian’s feet, taking his hands in hers. “And I’m sure you’ll do a right good job of it.”
“Thank you,” Florian says, smiling shyly at his sister. Then, to everyone, “Did you really like the amulets?”
“We did,” Maleficent says, not missing a beat. She presses a kiss against Florian’s temple. “They’re great.”
“You learned how to make them yourself?” Diaval asks, ruffling Florian’s hair affectionately.
“I did! But Aunt Aurora gave me the leather and Uncle Phillip gave me the metal,” Florian says excitedly.
“That was very kind of them,” Maleficent says. “Did you say thank you?”
“Yes! And I gave them amulets too.”
“That’s a good boy,” Diaval says. “You’re an angel compared to your siblings.”
“Hey!” Sylven exclaims, indignant, but then he realizes that he can’t really argue with that, and deflates.
“Well, we do need someone to be the voice of reason,” Aria quips.
Needless to say, after that, Florian spends more time with his siblings.
*
When Florian is eight years old, Sylven fourteen, and Aria eighteen, Maleficent and Diaval have another baby. It comes as a surprise to all of them, though they take it in stride, falling into the now familiar buzz of preparations and excitement. Everyone’s absolutely delighted at the news, of course. The children have grown up now. They haven’t changed much, yes, but they’re older now all the same.
Aria’s still a trickster, but she’s started offering more of her time to patrolling the Moors. If any of the kids is going to be the Protector after their mother, it’s going to be her. Sylven has started going to the castle for formal archery training. He’s also taken an interest in swords, and his parents definitely will not be surprised if he asks to be a knight. Florian started working in the apothecary when he was six, and now he flourishes under the shopkeeper’s tutelage. Besides daily lessons held in the lull between customers, Florian runs errands. Sometimes, he goes out to buy candles and metal. Sometimes, he fetches some food for him and the shopkeeper to snack on.
They all have their own lives, their own roads to take, but at the end of the day, they come home to their tree and they’re still family. They tell each other about their days, keep themselves updated on each other’s lives. Everyone knows about Aria’s adventures has, disappearing for days at a time to visit other Kingdoms and find other fairies. Everyone has laughed about Sylven’s stories of men, of the friends he’s made back at the castle, of the misleading grandeur of knighthood. Everyone has committed to memory Florian’s excited updates on the project he’s working on, combining magic and medicine. He’s also made new friends, sons and daughters running errands around the market, regular customers of the apothecary amused by his enthusiasm to learn.
Maleficent and Diaval are spending more time together. Sometimes, the children push them to go on a romantic trip, assuring them that everything will be fine at home, so they never have any reason to say no. These days though, they mostly spend their time near the edge of the Moors, building themselves a small, humble cottage that they can settle down in. It’s getting a bit crowded in their tree after all, what with the kids growing into their gangly limbs.
It’s just as well, because with the help of their fairy friends, they manage to finish the cottage just a few days before Thistle is born. And yes, Thistle, named after Thistlewit. It never even crossed Maleficent’s mind that she’d one day name one of her children after one of the—still—Terrible Three, but alas, here she is now. Blame Florian and his odd taste.
“Can I please please please name my sister?” he asks. It’s the morning after his youngest sibling is born, and Maleficent is holding her, putting her to sleep after feeding her.
“Did you have anything in mind?” Maleficent asks, because neither she nor Diaval have thought of a name; they’ve always had trouble with girl names. Besides, Florian looks just about ready to get on his knees and beg, probably make promises about being good that he’s actually going to keep, so Maleficent can’t really deny him his request.
Florian hesitates before answering, blushing. “I want to name her after Aunt Thistlewit.”
Maleficent barely keeps herself from sighing. Thistlewit, of course. Maleficent doesn’t know how she did it, but the damned pixie has Florian wrapped around her finger. When he’s not chattering on about his plants, she’s all he ever talks about. Aunt Thistlewit this, Aunt Thistlewit that. Apparently, she makes the warmest, softest coats so she deserves to be gifted with flowers and fancy amulets for grace and good fortune. Maleficent would be happy for her son finally getting a taste of having his heart beat after a girl if it weren’t for the horror of the girl being one of the Terrible Three.
Maleficent loves those pixies, she really does, but she doesn’t think she’d be able to handle them marrying into the family. The grandchildren she’d have would be right nightmares.
Nevertheless, she gives in, lets Florian have this one.
“Very well,” Maleficent says, smoothing the cloth wrapped around her baby. “Thistle it is.”
No matter how alike their names are though, they look nothing alike. While Thistlewit has fair hair, rounded cheeks always dusted pink, and a bright smile that lights up her whole face—the kind of person you want to see every day to cheer you up—Thistle’s charm is more subtle, yet her beauty more striking.
Thistle has raven black hair, even darker than Sylven’s, in contrast with her pale skin that, even when she cries, shows no signs of color. She’s her father through and through, from her dark eyes to her delicate-looking wings, sleek and perfect for speed, and it comes as a pleasant surprise after three children who mostly take after Maleficent.
She isn’t the only one who thinks so, apparently.
“But we just want to see her,” a brownie named Walnut says, whimpering sadly as he clutches a single red carnation to his chest.
“Yes, but it’s already sundown and she just fell asleep a few moments ago,” Diaval says, his tone apologetic. He gives them a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, but you can always come back tomorrow.”
A gnome named Lily sniffles, looking up at Maleficent and Diaval with teary eyes. She holds out her hand to show them a bright purple gem, glowing even in the limited light of night. “Will you at least give her our gifts?”
Maleficent and Diaval share a look. It has only been seven months but there have been so many gifts for Thistle that they her room is starting to look like a messy nest, full of shiny trinkets and a variety of colorful flowers.
“Of course we will. She’ll be happy to see them when she wakes,” Diaval says anyway, taking their gifts one by one until his arms are so full that he has to use his shirt to hold them.
The fairies leave shortly after, murmuring happily among themselves, and a few of them yell their thanks and goodbyes over their shoulders.
“Do you think they’ll ever stop?” Diaval asks, heaving a sigh as he watches their forms shrinking in the distance.
Maleficent’s lips twist into a slight smirk. She really shouldn’t find this funny, but Diaval’s acting like such a protective father and it’s more than a little adorable. “I doubt it. You know how they are. They were exactly like this when Aurora was still new to the Moors and even now, she still goes home with a bag full of gifts whenever she visits.”
Diaval groans. “You’re right. They’ve set their sights on my little girl and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.”
“She’s only seven months old and yet she already has admirers left and right,” Maleficent says, taking a step towards Diaval, and another, and another, until she’s right beside him. She wraps an arm around his waist, tugging slightly. “Come on. Don’t worry so much about them. Let’s put those gifts away and relax.”
Diaval pulls back slightly, just enough so he can look Maleficent in the eye. “But she’s my baby,” he says, his forehead wrinkled and his face set in an expression of absolute horror.
“Yes, and everyone loves her,” Maleficent says slowly, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t see what’s wrong.”
“You don—what do you mean, you don’t see what’s wrong?” he says, and he almost throws his hands in the air, almost drops everything he’s holding. “She’s seven months old and there are already people who come every single day to give her gifts. The next thing we know, they’ll be competing for her hand in marriage.”
“You’re overreacting again, you drama queen,” Maleficent chides, rubbing Diaval’s back to calm him down. “Now come on. We’ll freeze out here.”
Diaval’s face falls, but he lets Maleficent tug him inside. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Maleficent rolls her eyes. “Stop it. You’re starting to sound like you did back when Phillip was courting Aurora.”
“Well, I couldn’t very well trust him. He was a foreigner,” Diaval says, crossing his arms.
“And look how he turned out. Besides, for all we know, Aria could have someone of her own in one of those Kingdoms she visits. Sylven could be flirting with one of the chambermaids or one of his squire friends. Florianlikes Thistlewit, for gods’ sake.”
Diaval sucks in a breath, making a frankly pitiful sound that’s half a sob and half a scream. “Don’t say that!”
“You need to face the truth, dear,” Maleficent says, pressing a kiss against his cheek in an attempt to comfort him. “Our children won’t be children forever.”
Diaval sighs. “I know that, love. I just can’t help it.”
“That’s why we moved here, yes? So we’d have an excuse to spoil and coddle them when they do drop by and visit.” Maleficent raises a hand to wipe a tuft of hair from Diaval’s forehead, tucking it behind his ear. It’s getting long again. “Do you want hot chocolate?”
Diaval smiles, looking up at her through his eyelashes. “Yes please. Thank you.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Maleficent says, but she leans in to give him a peck on the lips before she heads to the kitchen.
“You love it when I’m ridiculous,” Diaval calls after her, grinning smugly.
“Yes, I do,” Maleficent admits, “but you’re always ridiculous, so consider yourself lucky.”
Diaval should really be disappointed that Maleficent had the last laugh, but then he does consider himself lucky. So he follows her into the kitchen to ask her to bake cookies even though, just to tease her.
*
Once a month, they get together for family bonding. It’s that one day off where Aria feels too lazy to fly a long distance, Sylven’s not in the mood to do any more reading or training on his own, and Florian’s in a daze after a particularly gruelling lesson, trying not to overload his brain with information.
“Come on, children, get up. You can’t sit around all day,” Maleficent says, clapping her hands to get their attention. The kids are all piled on the bed while Maleficent and Diaval watch them from the doorway.
“But Mum,” Sylven groans, “my body feels like jelly.”
“Then you can sit out on the grass where you can get some fresh air. There’s even going to be food,” Diaval says, cocking his hip to the side.
Sylven narrows his eyes. “Is there going to be oats stew?”
“Uh.” Diaval shoots a questioning look to Maleficent, who only shrugs. “No?”
Sylven sighs in relief, leaning his head back against the bed. “That’s good.”
“I want strawberries,” Florian says on the tail end of a sigh. “Are there going to be strawberries?”
Diaval opens his mouth to answer, but Aria cuts him off with a question of her own. “What about pie? It’s been so long since we’ve had pie.”
“Yes and yes,” Diaval replies cheerily. “We came prepared.”
“I want to go flying. I feel like I haven’t stretched my wings in so long,” Sylven says, and Florian nods in agreement, probably thinking of the congested marketplace and his cramped corner of the apothecary.
“Then we’re going flying,” Maleficent says. Then, to Aria: “You can look after your sister, can’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” Aria says after a beat, suprised but grateful.
“Let’s go, then. It’s a beautiful day,” Diaval says before he strides towards the bed and starts pulling the children up to their feet. They let him, now that they’ve been thoroughly convinced of the benefits of spending a day outside.
“I’ve missed you all,” Maleficent says, giving each of them a kiss as they file out the door—even Diaval.
“We missed you too, Mum,” Florian says.
“And your pie!” Aria adds.
Then, from Sylven: “And your nagging. I always forget my shoes when I fly out in the morning.”
“What about me?” Diaval says, pouting even though the children can’t see it because he’s walking behind them, alongside Maleficent, their hands intertwined.
“Of course we missed you too, Da,” Aria says, clucking her tongue. “Don’t be jealous.”
“We missed your goodnight hugs and goodnight kisses,” Florian says, with the touching sincerity only a child can have.
“And your attempts at good morning jokes,” Sylven says, and no one needs to see his face to know that he’s grinning widely now.
“I make excellent jokes,” Diaval says. “I am the funniest person in the Moors and no one can deny it.”
“Sure, Da,” Aria says, her tone overly cheery. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Love, the children are bullying me,” Diaval whines, leaning his head against Maleficent’s and sniffing loudly.
“Children, stop bullying your father,” Maleficent says, though there isn’t any bite to her words.
The siblings glance at each other, sharing a look that’s two parts amused, three parts yes, of course, that’s what we’re going to do.
“Yes, Mum.”