History of Magic, task 3: Write a story inspired by Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty

Character Appreciation: a birth

Disney, Scar: Write about someone trying to sabotage someone in their family.

Showtime, Bring Him Home: "He is only a boy."

Word Count: 2506

Marius hates going into the village. It is too close to his old home, to his old family, to his sister. He lifts the hood of his cloak, hiding his face in shadow, hoping no one will see him and recognize him.

It's a quick errand; all he needs to do is meet with the baker's wife and trade her the love potion for a loaf bread. Then he'll be gone again, and, if he's lucky, it will be a very long time before he has to come back.

"Out!" His father's fingers are rough and bruising as they dig into Marius' shoulder.

Marius winces, turning his dark grey eyes to his father, then his mother in turn. His lips quiver pitifully. "Mother," he whines, "Father, please, I—"

With his free hand, his father strikes Marius roughly across the face, leaving his cheek throbbing and burning. "You are no son of ours," he sneers, forcing Marius forward. "Imagine the scandal if the Church discovered that our family—our noble and ancient family— was sheltering a heretic."

Understanding dawns upon Marius. They've discovered his dark secret, and there's no getting out of it now. Still, he pleads, desperate to appeal to them. "I am no heretic. I am a good Catholic, Father!" But his words fall upon deaf ears.

The chaos is enough to rouse his siblings. Pollux comes downstairs first, followed shortly by Cassiopeia. The two watch on in shocked silence as the scene unfolds.

"What's going on?"

Marius shifts his attention from his father at the new voice. His beloved little sister, Dorea, has appeared at Cassiopeia's side.

"Marius is a heretic," Pollux mutters, his tone almost apathetic.

Marius holds his breath. Dorea is pure and good, and he knows that she will fight for him. Her mouth opens as though she wants to speak, but it quickly snaps shut again. When her eyes meet his, he can see an unspoken apology.

It isn't enough. She is just as bad as the rest of them.

"Have you heard, love?" the baker's wife asks when Marius reaches the back entrance. She pushes a hand through her hair, leaving streaks of flour juxtaposed against her raven curls. "Queen Dorea is expected to give birth any day now! Dunno if you keep up with the news, given… Well, it's interesting, innit?"

Marius keeps his handsome features composed and neutral, though his insides twist painfully and stomach acid threatens to snake its way up his throat "How lovely," he mutters, pulling the vial of sparkling rose liquid from his trouser pocket. "What Queen Dorea does, however, is hardly any of my business."

The woman shrugs, accepting the potion and offering him two loaves of fresh bread. Marius breaths in the same scent, his mouth watering as the rich, yeasty aroma fills his nostrils.

"You favor her a bit," she continues, pursing her plump lips and squinting at him. "Ever notice? Same cheekbones, same dark curls. In a different life, you could be her brother."

Marius swallows dryly and doesn't bother to respond. With a polite bow of his head, he turns on his heel, walking quickly. His mind races as he processes this information.

He's waiting for her over the garden wall. As expected, Dorea appears for her evening stroll beyond the family's property. Marius steps out of the shadows, smiling. "A little birdie tells me congratulations are in order," he says.

Dorea freezes, a broad grin tugging at her lips. Despite the six years that have passed since the day their father had thrown him out, it feels as though no time has passed at all. She is not Lady Dorea of the House of Black; she is not even Lady Dorea, the young woman who had managed to catch Prince Charlus' heart. She is Dorea Black, his sweet baby sister. Squealing, she sprints forward, throwing her slender arms around him and holding him tightly. "Mari!" she giggles. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Dor. Shall I start practicing my bows?" he asks, bowing slightly for emphasis.

Dorea's lips pull into a tight, thin line. She swallows dryly before shaking her head as though she's just realized something. "You can't be here. If Father sees you—"

"What does it matter? You'll be a ruler soon enough," he reminds her, tugging her springy curls playfully. "Father will have no say at all anymore."

For several moments, his sister is silent. Her slender fingers brush over the waxy green leaves of the ivy covering the wall. "I am marrying into the royal family," she says. "Charlus is heir to the throne, and it is only a matter of time before he is crowned. I love you, but you are a heretic. Surely you understand why our paths can never cross again, my dear brother."

Her voice is gentle, but the words cut into him, digging into his bones. Marius' blood boils, and his lips curls. "Have you no sense of loyalty?" he asks sharply. "Does the blood we share mean nothing to you?"

It isn't fair. She could fix everything and find a way for Marius to be accepted again. Even if his pagan ways go against her Catholicism, it is hardly unheard of for nobles to consult heretics. He has heard rumors that even the great Catherine de'Medici kept the Seer, Nostradamus, as her advisor. Why can't his sister see the potential; is she really too blind to realize how great their partnership could be?

Dorea remains silent. Her dark brown eyes flicker to her feet, which she shuffles restlessly. "I'm sorry."

Maybe she truly is, but it doesn't change anything. Marius has spent so long holding out hope that his relationship with his sister could be salvaged. Despite the years of anger and resentment, he had convinced himself that forgiveness is possible, that they could grow past this.

Now he realizes his mistake. He inhales sharply and turns his back on his sister. "So be it," he says. "But remember, you made this happen."

Before Dorea can say another word, Marius disappears into the shadows, leaving her behind. All he can think of is vengeance and how he will make her suffer the say he has.

Now his sister is with child. The royal brat will be born any day now; it's only a matter of time before the gifting ceremony will be held in the infant's honor.

A cold smile pulls at the corners of his lips. It's been five years since that night in the garden. He's hidden in the shadows, dreaming of his revenge but never knowing how best to strike.

Now, there is no doubt in his mind. Marius will destroy his sister.

…

Marius summons his grimoire, running his fingers over the leather cover. The answer to all his problems is within the dusty old tome. Grinning like a maniac, he opens it, flipping through the pages. His eyes move over the rushed, messy scrawl scribbled across the pages, taking in the sacred texts.

Some spells have illustrations depicting gruesome fates—poor bastards being ripped in half by demon spirits, people transforming into maggots. Marius grimaces, pushing a hand through his dark, messy curls. He wants to punish Dore, but this seems rather extreme.

He's about halfway through when he finds a page that catches his eye. "Eternal enchanted sleep," he murmurs, smiling to himself. "Perfect."

Dorea has no right to love a child. She has abandoned her own brother; how could anyone believe she has a heart?

It doesn't matter now. He has the spell he needs, and his sister's child will be born soon enough. The scales of justice will shift, and he will make things right.

All he has to do is wait.

…

No one notices him as they file into the cathedral. By now, Marius has mastered the art of blending into the shadows and merging perfectly with the darkness. He is practically invisible as he watches the nobles take their places, all of them chattering excitedly to one another.

Silence suddenly falls over the room as King Charlus enters, his hazel eyes bright as he greets his subjects. Dorea steps out next. She looks strong, considering it's been less than a week since giving birth. Her plump cheeks flush a deep pink, and she grips her husband's arm as she offers the audience a week smile. King Charlus whispers something in her ear before motioning to someone unseen. A moment later, a nurse hurries forward, holding a squirming newborn who can only be Prince Henry.

Excitement flutters through Marius' body, and he has to force himself to stay still. It would be so easy to strike and have his revenge. But he wants to be able to enjoy the moment. He wants Dorea to feel just as safe and sure as he had felt once upon a time. Let her learn what true betrayal feels like.

A woman with chestnut hair pulled into a messy braid steps forward. Though it's been over a decade since he's seen his elder sister, Marius would recognize Cassiopeia's graceful walk anywhere. He's often thought she looks as though she's waltzing through life. Cassiopeia kneels briefly before kissing Dorea on the cheek. "I present my nephew, Prince Henry, with the finest Arabian pony my father's stables have to offer," she announces.

Dorea nods and offers her gratitude before gesturing for Cassiopeia to join her. A moment later, a man takes her place, kneeling before the royal family and kissing Dorea's cheek. It takes Marius several moments to recognize his brother.

Pollux is thin and just as ridiculously tall as he had been in their youth. His black hair is thinning, and a bald patch has begun to form around his scalp.

Pollux pulls a bit of parchment from his emerald velvet robe and presents it to his brother-in-law. "I present my nephew, Prince Henry, with the Crabbe estate near the sea. May he enjoy it as a summer home."

"Thank you, Pollux," King Charlus says, motioning for Pollux to join them on the platform.

"Now, if that is all from the families, our guests from—"

"Not all!" Marius calls.

All heads turn in his direction, but he is still carefully concealed in darkness. A smirk plays at his lips.

"You see, Your Majesty, Dorea has three siblings. Pollux, Cassiopeia, and—" He steps forward, drawing a collective gasp from the confused crowd. "—me."

"Marius," Dorea says, her voice sharp as she takes a step closer, "you have no business here."

"Marius? The heretic?" King Charlus asks. "Guards! Seize him!"

When no one makes a move, Marius laughs. "Tsk, tsk. You really ought to take more care with who you hire." He steps closer, unopposed. "Just last week, one of your men came to me, asking for a untraceable poison to slip in your wine. Patience, Harfang. I shall have it for you soon enough."

The round-faced guard sputters awkwardly, his cheeks turning a rich scarlet as King Charlus turns to him. Under ordinary circumstances, Marius might let the scene unfold. Now, however, he has a job to do.

He clears his throat loudly, drawing attention back to himself. "Now, as I was saying, my siblings' gifts were lovely, so very lovely. But I have quite a treat for Prince Henry." He swaggers closer, cracking his knuckles. "Well, more of a treat for his wet nurse."

The young nurse steps between him and the cot, and Marius snorts. All it takes is a flick of his wrist and a quick, muttered incantation, and the young woman falls to the floor, her golden curls pooling around her head like a halo.

"Guards!" King Charlus tries again.

Now, there is movement. Marius scowls; he hadn't expected to be met with resistance. Still, the spell is quick enough. He fixes his gaze upon the squirming infant and draws his fingers across the air, muttering.

"Marius! What are you doing?"

"Stop him!"

"Seize him!"

Even when he feels rough hands grabbing his shoulders and feels the sharp metallic point of a sword pressing against the small of his back, he doesn't let up. Marius' lips move frantically, and he doesn't stop until Prince Henry falls slack.

"You've killed him!" Pollux screams, lunging at Marius with clenched fists. His knuckles crash into the younger man's jaw. "Have you no mercy?"

"He's alive," Cassiopeia says softly.

"Of course he his. I'm a heretic, not a murderer," Marius snorts. "It's just a nice, long nap."

There's a fire in King Charlus' eyes. "Take him to the dungeons."

…

Marius' nail is jagged and bleeding, but he continues to scratch against the dungeon wall until he makes a third mark. Three days he's been in this dark and damp hole. Three days without seeing another soul—not even a guard.

He knows it won't last. It's only a matter of time before they decide his punishment.

The door opens with a creak, and he sees the soft flicker of candlelight pierce the darkness. "I need to do this alone," Dorea tells a guard. "I'll be fine."

Marius rests the back of his head against the wall, watching his sister close the door behind her. "Hello," he says, offering her a smile so broad that his chapped lips crack.

"He is only a boy," Dorea says, kneeling in front of Marius and taking his hand. "Please…"

"I gave you a chance," he mutters. "You betrayed me. I wanted my sister back, and you destroyed any hope of that."

"You can have me."

A hollow, bitter laugh escapes his lips. Marius isn't foolish enough to believe her. He has made an open attack on the royal family; the only thing in his future is a trip to the executioner's block.

"Marius, please. You can reverse what you've done," she insists, tugging urgently at his hand. "The physicians have done everything, and Henry will not wake up. There must be some sort of spell or potion that can fix him."

His lips quirk into a half mile. "You dismissed me for my heresy," he reminds her. "I could have been a powerful ally, but you sent me away. I cannot remove the curse, dear sister. Only true love's kiss can do that."

"You're lying."

Marius shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not. But you won't find out, will you?"

Dorea stares at him for several seconds. Slowly, her soft, kind features harden. "Then I suppose we're done here," she says, turning on her heel and stalking off.

"Gonna send me to the gallows, then?"

When she reaches the door, his sister turns. "Gallows? No. Being hanged is far too kind a fate," she answers, her voice cold as ice. "For what you've done to my son, I will have you drawn and quartered."

The door opens and closes, and Marius is plunged back into darkness. He throws his head back, letting out a hysterical laugh. He is a dead man either way, but at least his sister will suffer as he has suffered.

His death will not be in vain.