فصل 26

PART III

26

In Darkness Comes a Queen

When Sophie woke up in the School Master’s tower, there was a dress waiting for her on the bed, spotlit by the dawn.

Now she stood at the window in the strapless black velvet, tight to her skin, with a long, flowing train that made her look like a sinister bride.

Across the bay, green fog snaked over the quiet black castles of Old and New, hazy beneath a morning sun no bigger than a yellow marble. So peaceful, she thought. All these years, she’d clawed and strained and agonized to be Good, trying to bully her way to Ever After. But as she looked out at her Evil kingdom, Sophie realized she never should have tried at all. Two years ago, the School Master had put her in the school where she belonged—the school she was meant to one day rule. And if she’d just embraced that fact instead of denied it, if she’d just loved herself the way she was, she would have saved herself a world of pain.

She glanced down at her arms. “No warts or wrinkles yet. When will I, um, turn into a . . . you know . . .” Rafal came up beside her, wearing a black velvet coat with a mandarin collar that matched his velvet trousers. “Professor Manley begins his first day of Uglification class by explaining why villains must be ugly to succeed. Ugliness releases you from the surface—from the prison of vanity and your own looks—and sets you free to embrace the soul within. The first time you turned into a witch, your soul needed you to be ugly so you could see beyond your beauty and access your own Evil. But you’re a different witch now, Sophie. You accept yourself as you are, inside and out. Ugliness would serve you no purpose. Just as it serves no purpose to me.” She expected to feel relief at keeping her beauty, but instead felt a strange hollowness, as if what she looked like no longer mattered after all she’d been through. Her eyes moved to the ring on her finger. “It’s black-swan gold, isn’t it? You knew it would lead me to Tedros.” His mouth tightened, as if deliberating whether to find out how she’d learned this or to let go of anything that might have happened during the time she had strayed. “Let’s put it this way,” he said at last. “As long as you didn’t destroy it, I knew it would lead you back to me.” “And what if I had destroyed it?” she asked, turning to him. “What if Tedros loved me?” “A kiss of true love has to go both ways, remember? I’m quite sure the prince felt as little from your kiss as you felt from his.” His face softened. “Besides . . . I’d rather you’d have killed me than deserted me forever.” Sophie looked down, quiet. Then she looked back at the beautiful, young School Master. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry for leaving—” He put his finger to her lips. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” “You’re not angry with me for betraying you?”

“How can I be angry when your betrayal made us stronger? If anything I should be thankful. That is, if it’s you I’m meant to thank at all.” “What do you mean?”

Rafal bit his lip thoughtfully. “Your friend Agatha used to have a rare talent—the ability not just to hear wishes, but to grant them too. Her first year, she wasted her talent on pointless concerns: setting a few fish free, befriending a gargoyle, standing up for some wolves. . . . But now I suspect she’s learned to use it on something more worthwhile.” He stared into Sophie’s eyes. “You.” “What?” said Sophie, jarred. “How could she—”

“Your wish was to have Tedros kiss you, was it not? And it was Agatha who gave you and Tedros the clean slate to let that kiss happen. Perhaps she even went one step further, giving you your kiss with a prince like a genie from a lamp, knowing all along that Tedros would feel nothing and return to her in the end—his love for her stronger, because it’d been tested. That’d be something now, wouldn’t it? Granting your wish in order to fulfill her own.” Sophie furrowed. “I know Agatha and Agatha doesn’t think like that—”

“Not consciously, perhaps. But her soul spins towards Good the same way yours does towards Evil. Maybe she even thought in your heartbreak and anger at losing your prince, you’d turn your back on me too and destroy my ring. Good would have its perfect Ever After, clean and efficient, all because of a princess’s secret talent.” Sophie’s face calcified. “So she wanted me to end up alone.”

“Indeed,” the young School Master smiled. “Only she hadn’t counted on you discovering the difference between me and Prince Tedros of Camelot.” Sophie gazed into his riddling blue eyes. “What’s that?”

Rafal’s hand found her waist, pulling her in, and he pressed his lips to hers. His mouth was delicate yet firm, and from the moment it touched hers, Sophie felt her thoughts go silent, rapturously silent, like a dark bomb had imploded in her head. Then came her heart, rioting between fire and chills, as if it’d found its other half. He’d kissed her before, but this time she kissed him back harder, and as a breeze blew her hair over both their young faces, in streaks of sun-tinged gold, she knew there was no more guilt or doubt or shame, because she’d found love . . . everlasting love . . . as beautiful as it was Evil . . .

Rafal’s lips floated off hers.

“The difference is to a girl like you, Evil feels good,” he said.

Sophie could hear the Storian behind them, inking their kiss in a vibrant splash of color.

“And it’s time I finally felt good, isn’t it?” she grinned, feeling the dark stirrings of her heart.

She kissed her beautiful boy again, biting his lip so hard she tasted blood. “I’m your queen now, in heart and soul,” she whispered.

Rafal licked his lips with pleasure and ran his hands through her hair. “Only one thing still missing, then . . .” The dress was no accident, it turned out. He’d planned the whole ceremony while she was sleeping.

Now Sophie waited outside tall double doors inside the old Evil castle, her chest drumming with anticipation.

With a baleful creak, the dark-wood doors slid open and eerie off-key music began, like a wedding march played backwards. She looked up at two black fairies perched on the door, sliding their green stingers across tiny violins.

“Are you ready?” his voice said.

She turned to Rafal, his young face framed by a wall of defaced old portraits in the leaky stair room.

“Yes,” she said.

His fingers slipped through hers and he led her through the open doors.

Everyone in the Theater of Tales stood up as Master and Queen paraded down the long silver aisle. Once divided into Good and Evil, the vast, torchlit room was now fully devoted to Evil, Old and New. On one side of the aisle, the Dark Army of zombie villains watched from crumbling wooden pews, bounded by scorched walls spattered with green mold. Most of the old villains wore crossbone pins over their hearts, except for some of the most famous, including Red Riding Hood’s wolf, Cinderella’s stepmother, Jack’s giant, and Captain Hook, alive despite the bloody sword wound in his chest. Hook flashed Sophie a cheeky smirk and she stiffened, reminding herself she was his queen and he could do nothing to hurt her.

“Crossbones mean they’ve killed their old Nemesis and rewritten their storybooks,” Rafal whispered, noticing her expression. “Pesky old wizard’s been hiding the most famous heroes in his so-called League. That’s why the shield over your world has yet to fall. But they’re running out of time. Soon Merlin and his League will come to us.” Sophie felt a hot glow of satisfaction at the thought of those foul old freaks being slain, after the way they’d bullied her in their cave.

“Readers are believing in the power of Evil, my queen,” he said. “The shield hangs by a thread now. Any one of those famous heroes dead and Readers will surely lose their last faith in Good. The shield will break and then you will seal Evil’s victory once and for all.” “How?” Sophie whispered back. “What do we need in Gavaldon?”

But Rafal only smiled.

Over his shoulder, Sophie glimpsed the other side of the theater and her young Ever and Never classmates, who’d trekked across the Bridge from the old Good castle, and were standing in ivory pews made of polished bone. The last time she saw them, they looked defiant and resentful of their new Evil school. Now all of the young students were goggling across the aisle at the old villains, finally seeing what the School Master had been hiding in the other school and looking completely scared out of their wits. But joining the two schools wasn’t the only thing that had brought the New students into line. Because as Sophie peered closer, she saw her former classmates had been sectioned into three groups.

In the front were the tracked Leaders, with gold swan pins over their hearts and new forest-green berets on their heads—Beatrix, Ravan, and Chaddick amongst them. In the middle pews, she spotted Reena, Nicholas, Arachne, and Vex amongst the tracked Henchmen, with silver swan pins and no hats at all. And behind these sidekicks, to Sophie’s astonishment, was the final group: the lowest-ranked students, with bronze swan pins, who’d already begun the process of mogrification. Kiko sniffled back tears, trying to hide limbs covered with white goose feathers; Tarquin snorted through a pig’s nose; Millicent itched at the deer antlers growing out of her red hair; and Brone’s arms were already sprouting fresh, green leaves.

Serves them right, Sophie thought, for being hopelessly incompetent. She assumed Dot would be amongst the Mogrifs, turned into a chocolate-guzzling cow, but she couldn’t spot her in any of the groups. Or Anadil for that matter, or . . .

Where were the witches? Sophie wondered, scanning the room.

But the only other people in the room were the Evil faculty against the back wall, with the Good teachers still nowhere to be found. Professor Manley and Professor Sheeks looked blissfully proud of their student-turned-queen, as did Castor, whose ferocious canine head had been reunited with his brother Pollux’s on their dog’s body. (Pollux waved at Sophie and dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, pretending to be happy for her.) Next to them, Sophie could see Lady Lesso, seemingly pleased she’d returned to Evil, while her son and fellow Dean stood at her side— Sophie recoiled. Because Aric didn’t look like a Dean anymore at all. He had a blackened eye, deep claw marks across a swollen nose, and the word “CREEP” had been slashed into the skin of his forehead and was only just starting to heal. He glowered back at Sophie, as if daring her to keep gawking.

Sophie turned away and caught her first glimpse of the raised stage at the front of the theater. The stone surface was cracked down the middle as always, but now there was a frost-blue mist seeping through the crack from beneath. If it was for magical effect, it was rather pitiful, Sophie thought, given the heft of the occasion. Unless it isn’t magic at all. . . . As Rafal led her up the steps, she squinted through the crack, trying to see if there was something below the stage— But then Sophie noticed what was above the stage.

A black crown of spikes floated high in the air, glimmering in the green flame light of a skull-shaped chandelier. It was the same crown she’d seen herself wearing in the E-V-I-L murals back at the old Good castle, her smiling, painted self wrapped in Rafal’s arms.

Sophie matched the smile now, clutching her handsome love, as they took center stage. Two years ago, the Circus Crown dangled above this spot the same way, awaiting the winning student of the first-year talent contest. She’d won her crown that night by disavowing Good and embracing Evil . . . just as she would tonight.

Only this time, she wasn’t alone.

So much for Agatha’s wish, she smiled bitterly.

So much for Agatha at all.

As the whole theater watched, Rafal magically lowered Evil’s crown onto Sophie’s head, before he gently fit it in place and kissed her on the forehead. His cold lips clashed with the iron at her temples, still warm from the chandelier flames, and she closed her eyes, imprinting the feeling and moment into her memory. When she opened her eyes, the young School Master was turned to his audience.

“Light fades over our Woods and darkness rises. And in darkness comes a queen,” he declared. “Like every true love, Sophie and I have gone through harsh trials to find and commit to each other. But doubt and pain have only made us stronger. Now we are as unshakable as any two Evers who loved for Good. But our love, bonded by Evil, is still not enough to win our Never After. For Evil to find its first happy ending in two hundred years, a happy ending that will bring forth a Golden Age of wickedness and sin . . .” He stepped to the edge of the stage. “We need each of you.” The theater was dead quiet now.

“In seven days, the Woods will go dark,” said Rafal. “We must enter the Reader World before the seventh sunset or all our lives will be at an end. With the most famous heroes yet to be killed, Readers still cling to their faith in Good. But that will soon change. For now that my queen has returned, the forces of Good have no choice but to attack our castle. Killing me is the only way they can win. I assure you, then, that Merlin and his heroes will charge our School for Evil before the week is done. Our mission is to kill these old heroes and break the Readers’ last faith in Good. That is our path into their world where we will seal Evil’s victory once and for all. Until Merlin’s heroes arrive, however, every one of us—young and old, Ever and Never, Leaders, Henchmen, and Mogrifs of future and past—must work together to defend our school. Our Deans of Evil and teachers shall lead our preparations and you will obey them.” He clasped Sophie’s hand. “In the past, Evil has lost every war because it had only something to fight against, rather than something to fight for. But now you have a queen who has given Evil a true chance at glory. A queen who once sat in the very seats in which you sit. A queen who will fight for you the way you fight for her.” Rafal’s face hardened. “And if anyone dare question that queen, then they will suffer the fate of all those who have failed their allegiance to Evil . . .” The stage began to rattle, as if shaken by an earthquake, and Sophie teetered against Rafal in surprise. All at once the stone stage tore apart at the crack, cold-blue mist spewing through the widening gap, until it cleared over a deep chasm and Sophie could see beneath the stage.

Hidden in the bowels of Evil’s old castle was a cavernous frozen dungeon, with hundreds of bodies encased in ice. The first face Sophie saw was Professor Emma Anemone, eyes shocked wide under manic, blond curls, sealed in an ice tomb cut into the dungeon wall. Next to her, Dean Clarissa Dovey had her own glacial grave, her silver bun and rosy cheeks blurred by the ice—though Sophie noticed a shattered hole at the edge, where Anadil’s rat must have burrowed through and borrowed Dovey’s wand the night Agatha and Tedros broke in.

“The Brig of Betrayers holds all those who’ve shirked their loyalties to Evil throughout the history of our school—including the old faculty of the School for Good, who were each given the chance to teach for their new school and all refused,” said Rafal.

Pollux sniffed grievously from the back of the stage, expecting acknowledgment.

Rafal ignored him. “And lucky for you, today we have three fresh inmates to the Brig . . .” Shrill squeaks echoed above him and the audience craned up to see Hester, Anadil, and Dot, bound together with rope, lowered over a pulley from the rafters by giggly Beezle.

“These three so-called Nevers conspired to let our enemies through our gates, while one even mutilated our own Dean with her Evil-given talent,” said the School Master, leering at Hester and her demon as both writhed against the suffocating binds. “Yet even the most guilty betrayers deserve a fair trial, before they’re condemned to the Brig for an indefinite sentence . . .” The three witches were hardly paying attention now, for they’d caught sight of Sophie, returned to the School Master’s side with her menacing crown.

“So I leave their fate to my queen, who, in addition to being intimately familiar with the accused, once even shared a room with them,” said Rafal, turning to Sophie. “So what do you say, my love? Spare them? Or condemn them?” Sophie saw the witches hone in on her, silently pleading for mercy. Even Hester, who’d rather pluck out her own eye than show weakness, looked scared out of her wits.

How much we’ve been through together, thought Sophie, she and the Three Witches of Room 66. For all their tempestuous ups and downs, she’d almost come to think of them as friends.

Almost.

For these were the friends who’d always believed she’d end up alone . . . friends who pushed Agatha to side with her prince over her . . . friends who’d spied on her inside her own school . . . friends who’d never been there for her when she needed them most . . .

And now they expected her to be their white-knight hero when they needed her.

Sophie’s face went cold. If there was one moral to her fairy tale, it was that the witches were right all along. Nothing good ever came of her trying to be Good.

“Condemn them,” she said.

“No!” cried Dot—

Rafal smirked at the terrified witches. “Then I’m afraid this is goodbye.” He raised his finger to sever the rope over the Brig— “Never was fond of goodbyes,” piped a voice above him.

Rafal looked up.

Merlin smiled down from the rafters, holding Beezle by the throat. “Mama!” the dwarf shrieked— Rafal stabbed out his finger, but Merlin shot first and a blast of fire exploded down the rope, hurling Rafal and Sophie off the stage and rocketing Beezle like a cannonball into the pews. From the ground, Sophie’s eyes fluttered open and she saw zombie villains stampeding the stage, Rafal lurching to his feet, the smoke over the rope clearing . . .

But Merlin and the witches were long gone.

The young School Master roared his fury and led the crush of villains from the theater to hunt the fugitives— Sophie scrambled up from the floor to join them, only to stall in her tracks. For there was something in the lap of her dress, something that wasn’t there before.

A small five-pointed star, smoking bright white against black velvet . . . like a wizard’s reminder of Good left behind.

As the sun ascended over the moors, Agatha leaned against an oak tree in a baggy brown shirt she’d borrowed from Lancelot, her hair greasy and bedraggled, her stomach groaning with hunger. She glanced down at a diadem of silver and diamonds, shimmering from a small wooden box in Guinevere’s hands.

“Did Lance give you that? It’s lovely, I think, but I’m clueless about jewelry and clothes and anything that involves, you know . . . girls,” she said groggily. After being up half the night with Tedros and scavenging a few hours of sleep, the prince’s mother had dragged her from the house this morning, insisting she had something to show her. If Agatha had known it’d be about frilly headpieces, she would have stayed in bed.

“It is a bit formal, though. The type of thing you’d wear to a Ball or a wedding, so not exactly practical for gallivanting on the moors . . .” Agatha’s voice trailed off. Where out here would Lancelot get silver and diamonds? Did he go spelunking into gem mines between shoveling horse poo and milking goats?

Half-asleep, she peered at the diadem and its loops of diamonds dangling off the silver circlet. It didn’t seem new at all, for that matter. And the closer she looked at it, the more a squeezing feeling rose through her throat, because suddenly she was sure she’d seen this piece before . . .

In a pond’s moonlit reflection . . .

Shining bright inside a Wish Fish painting . . .

Fixed atop her very own head.

Slowly Agatha raised eyes to Guinevere, who looked regal and imposing despite her weathered face and grubby housedress.

“This is . . . this is your . . .”

“I’m afraid it’s yours now,” said Guinevere. “Formal and impractical, as it may be.” “Mine? No, no, no—not mine at all—” Agatha croaked, backing into the tree.

“When Lance and I spotted you and Tedros together last night on the moors, I was so cross with myself,” Guinevere sighed. “I should have known Merlin had the names right that Christmas, if only from the way you stared at me during supper when I got it wrong. How could I be so daft? I suppose sometimes it’s easier to see the simplest answer instead of the truth. That has always been hard for me.” She smiled sternly, holding out the box. “But now there will be no more mistakes.” Agatha gaped owlishly at the crown and flicked the box shut. “Look, I can’t take this! I’m not queen yet! I’m not anything yet—I haven’t even taken a bath—” “Good cannot wait anymore for its queen, Agatha,” said Guinevere, hardening. “Last night, your friend Hort went searching for Sophie and discovered she’d vanished from our safe haven and magically returned to the School Master.” For a moment, Agatha thought she’d misheard or that this was all a sick joke, but nothing in Guinevere’s face suggested either. “What? Sophie went back to h-h-him? But that’s impossible—there’s no way to leave this place—” “The Lady of the Lake can only protect those who ally themselves with Good. All your friend had to do was wish to rejoin the School Master and he could break through the lake’s enchantments and rescue her,” Guinevere replied. “Poor Hort was gutted after he found her missing. Said he’d do anything to kill the School Master and get her away from him. So he stayed up with me and Lance and told us as much of your and Sophie’s story as we needed to know. And from what I’ve heard, Agatha, I have no doubt that your friend has committed to be Evil’s queen with all her heart. You must take your place as Good’s queen with the same resolve and belief. Or you and my son will not stand a chance.” Agatha said nothing, the words “my son” hanging between them.

A long moment passed. Slowly Agatha’s fingers crept into Guinevere’s palm and cracked open the wooden box just a sliver. “You, uh, kept your crown all this time?” “Arthur’s crown remains at Camelot until Tedros claims it,” the former queen replied patiently. “But I rode with mine the night I fled the castle, hoping the guards would assume I was on official business and wouldn’t wake Arthur from his sleep. All these years I wanted to destroy the crown so that Lance and I could forget that part of my story ever happened. . . . But the truth is, I’m still a queen and I’m still a mother, Agatha. Nothing can change that, even if I hide away from the world. And as the holder of the crown, one of my duties to my kingdom, my son, and myself, no matter how much I’ve failed all three, is to pass that crown on.” Her voice faltered and she composed herself. “I know I can never have a relationship with my child. I don’t deserve to. But I still have to protect Tedros as best I can. And the only way I can do that is by making sure he has the queen that Arthur never had. A queen who isn’t just sure of her crown, but is ready to fight for it when the time comes.” Her hand slipped down and lifted the diadem out of the box. Agatha could feel her heart throttling as Guinevere raised it into the sun.

“And that time is now.”

Agatha expected more protest to sputter out of her and her body to pull away . . . but instead she stayed in place, something changing inside. Looking up at Camelot’s crown, Agatha felt fear and tension melt away, as if the queen’s words had called up a part of her deeper than herself. Fire and purpose ripped through her, like armor beneath her skin, usurping the old Agatha and steeling her shoulders and chest.

Guinevere was right. This wasn’t about her anymore.

This was about two sides, warring for love.

She and Tedros fighting for Good. Sophie and the School Master fighting for Evil.

Once upon a time, she and her best friend tried to find a happy ending together. Now only one of them could come out alive.

Right then and there, Agatha knew why she couldn’t have an ordinary life.

She was never meant for one.

Because as long as her story was about her—her worth, her love, her future—she resisted her fate, as if living for herself was too much responsibility.

But the moment she saw her fate was bigger than her . . . as big as Good itself . . . she finally felt free to embrace it.

Slowly Agatha lowered her head to the queen as strands of light silver sprinkled over her forehead and a glare of red sun exploded against diamond edges.

Agatha looked up to see Guinevere clasp her hands to her mouth, fixed in a dazzling smile.

It was the only mirror Agatha needed.

Suddenly Guinevere paled, her smile gone—

Agatha spun to see Tedros across the field, watching them.

“I’ll go—” Guinevere started.

“No . . . stay,” her son ordered.

He moved towards Agatha in a grass-stained shirt and rumpled breeches, his eyes on his princess. “Everyone just . . . stay.” As he approached, Agatha could smell dew and sweat on him and see the sleepless circles under his eyes. He ran his fingertips over the diadem, remembering its every bump and crevice, but his focus was still on her, his hand drifting down from the crown to her cheek to her mouth. Without a word, he bent and kissed her, long and slow, as if to make sure it was still the old Agatha inside and out.

“You’re not allowed to take it off,” he whispered.

“Not even a ‘good morning’ before you start bossing me around,” said Agatha. “Besides, are you trying to give orders to a queen?” “Oh, so today you’re a queen,” Tedros said, pulling her closer.

“Late bloomer if you haven’t noticed,” said Agatha.

“Well, even so . . . a king is still a king.”

“Which means that your queen is beneath you?”

“No, only that you should do as you’re told.”

“Or what?” Agatha chortled. “You’ll put a death sentence on my—”

She saw Tedros’ face and her whole body went cold.

Both of them turned to Guinevere, still there, white as a ghost.

“What’s this?” Lancelot’s voice blustered, as the knight galumphed into the grove with Hort. “A coronation we’re not invited to?” “I’m never invited to anything,” Hort muttered.

Neither Tedros, Agatha, nor Guinevere acknowledged them.

“Well, it’s about time that blasted crown came to some use after all the trouble it’s caused us,” Lancelot added. “Though you might want to give the girl a proper dress while you’re at it. Diamonds don’t go well with that shirt.” Nobody laughed.

“A swimming start to the morning,” the knight cracked. “Well, make your wish, Agatha, and be done with it. Time for lunch and there’s still chores to be done.” Agatha looked at him. “Wish?”

Lancelot frowned. “At a proper coronation, you make a wish for your kingdom once you’re anointed with the crown. It’s the closing rite of the ceremony. Surely Gwen told you that much.” “I’m afraid I’ve done a poor job, then,” Guinevere said softly, looking at her son.

Tedros held her gaze for a moment and turned away.

“Then I should make my wish, shouldn’t I?” said Agatha, studying her prince. She stood up straighter. “I wish that all of us can sit down and have lunch together.” Tedros’ eyes snapped to her.

Guinevere froze to stone. Lancelot and Hort both held their breaths.

Agatha stayed locked on her prince, waiting for his answer.

Tedros said nothing, staring back at Agatha in her new crown.

The grove was quiet.

Tedros turned to his mother.

“Well, what are you making?” he asked.

Guinevere went apple red. Then her face crumbled and she shook her head, flooding hot tears. “It’s—it’s Monday—I-I-I don’t have any food—” “Hear that, boy?” said Lancelot. “Mum ain’t got any food. That’s what the death sentence was really for, wasn’t it?” Everyone gaped at him in horrified silence.

Then Agatha burst into cackles.

Seeing her, Tedros tried to resist, but started snickering too.

His mother was sobbing so hard she couldn’t breathe, years of pent-up emotion pouring out of her. “It’s not . . . not funny—” The prince hung his arm around her and held her tight as she heaved into his chest. “We’ll handle it, Mother,” he whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay.” Watching Guinevere and Tedros together, Agatha felt overwhelmed with emotion. They needed time alone, without anyone else— “Leave making lunch to me and the boys,” she said quickly, eyeing Lancelot as she took Hort’s hand.

“Me?” Hort blurted. “Why can’t the pampered prince do it? I didn’t get a wink of sleep and then spent half the morning wrangling hogs while you and him spent last night snuggling in the barn, doing God knows wha—” Agatha dug her nails into his wrist, making him yelp. “We’ll be back with food soon,” she said, dragging him off.

“You’ll need a lot more than you think,” a voice called.

Agatha turned to see a parade of silhouettes striding out of sun flare over the moors.

Merlin led them, followed by Hester, Anadil, Dot, Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, Cinderella, Pinocchio, Jack, Sleeping Beauty, Hansel, Gretel, Red Riding Hood, Yuba, the White Rabbit, and Princess Uma, all filthy, weary, and gawking around the magical moors as if they’d crossed through a portal from hell into paradise.

“I’ll take care of the lunch menu,” said Merlin, “though we’ll have to endure some grumbling from my hat. He’s only just recovered from serving breakfast. But we have a lot to discuss and there isn’t much ti—” The wizard stopped hard at the sight of Agatha in her crown. So did everyone behind him, a rapt silence overtaking the moors.

Merlin smiled, his eyes big and blue. “In darkness comes a queen,” he whispered.

Slowly the old man bent down to one knee before Agatha and bowed his head. So did all his charges behind him, young and old. Then Guinevere, Lancelot, Hort . . . until Tedros gazed at Agatha squarely and sank to his knee too.

In that moment, beneath a dying sun, with an army of heroes kneeling before her, Agatha made a second wish. That she would be the queen that Good needed her to be.

“I don’t see the big deal,” Cinderella mumbled so everyone could hear. “Looks like a giraffe in her granny’s crown.” But as they all walked towards the house together, the League’s heroes sniffling quietly, Agatha could even see a tear in the old princess’s eye.