~CHAPTER TEN: ONE STEP AHEAD~
Diaval tasted like cinnamon and cloves. A strange combination, to be sure, but a welcome one nonetheless.
His hands were clutching her upper arms so that she was unable to move away. She could not breathe either – no, no, that wasn't right: she was afraid to breathe for fear of missing this moment. Up until the instant their lips brushed, Maleficent had no true knowledge of his feelings for her or her feelings for him. But now, as his mouth moved against hers with a hardness contradictory to his nature, she no longer had any doubts about the relationship between them.
Why didn't I see this? she asked herself, struck by her complete ignorance. Did I choose to turn a blind eye to the way he acts around me? Did I decide to totally disregard the way I feel whenever he's near? Her willful blindness was disconcerting.
Maleficent slowly placed her hands on his chest, to both distance herself and make room for her wounded arms; if Diaval accidentally touched her there, she might scream. Usually she could control the urge to succumb to the pain, but with Diaval touching her, there was no telling what she could or couldn't do. That was how delicate her state of mind was; she felt vulnerable and dazed, and that combination was a frightening one.
Diaval reacted by sliding his hands down her sides and around her waist, drawing her close against his heated body. She could feel his tensed muscles beneath a tattered onyx jacket that brushed the backs of his knees and which covered another silk shirt with a V-shaped neckline. He opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, taking her by surprise. It was almost as if he wanted to drink her in and swallow her whole. Maleficent found the notion terrifying.
She murmured his name against his lips, pulling back just enough to fill her lungs with fresh air. Half-pleading, she shook her head, unable to give voice to her fears. I cannot allow him to control me, she thought desperately as he ignored her attempt at resistance and pressed his lips to her throat. He'll hurt me in the end. They always do.
Struggling to move out of reach, Maleficent yanked herself back, knowing he would let her go, else he might rub against her burns. "Release me," she said, her voice unsteady.
"No, my queen. I couldn't even if I wanted to, I'm afraid. Stay," he commanded, pushing her gently up against a tree. One hand snaked around to cup the back of her neck whilst the other clutched at the fabric of her cloak, bunching it up inside a tight fist. He pressed their mouths together, and she had to catch her breath at the pure force of it. He is desperate for me, she realized, her head spinning. How long has this been going on?
Heat snaked up her arms and coiled in her chest, constricting her tensed body. She had never felt quite so very, very warm; for the longest time, her heart and mind had been chilled with contempt and vengeance. Never had she experienced such a pure glow of warmth; it eradicated everything that lie dormant and cold within her.
Diaval's lips were insistent; they whispered across her cheeks, down her throat and then back up, claiming her own swollen lips with vehement intent. Moaning, he slid his hands up her spine, beneath her clothing, and the skin-on-skin contact made Maleficent gasp.
"Oh!" she exclaimed.
Diaval's lips twitched. "You're surprised."
"Very," she managed, gazing at his mouth. So tempting, she thought. I must control the urge to smother him with these…feelings…of mine. "You're playing with fire," she added, daring him to deny it.
He tilted his head, considering. "You are dangerous, my queen, but not to me."
And that is where you're wrong, she thought darkly. I am dangerous to you most of all. Aloud, she said, "How long?"
"For a while," he replied vaguely, knowing what she asked without any clarification. "Over the years I've seen every aspect of you – from your personality, your moods, your amusements – and I have grown closer to you than any other living being in this world."
Her heart fluttered, and she clapped a hand to her chest as if she could stifle it. "Have I been so blind?"
Diaval pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. "You've had a lot on your plate, Maleficent. I don't resent you for that."
She swallowed and gazed into his dark eyes. "I – I'm not sure…what to make of this," she said at last. Even this confession hurt; she hated that she was unsure, confused, bewildered even.
"We need not make any moves – at least, not until you're comfortable." A hint of doubt crept into Diaval's eyes, and his brows furrowed. "You…do feel the same as I…yes?"
Now it was Maleficent's turn to smile, although she did so softly, so as not to offend. Male egos were, after all, quite fragile. "Of course, Diaval. I would never have…responded in such a way," and here her cheeks flushed pink, "if I did not reciprocate your feelings."
"Good to know," he said, touching a gentle finger to her cheek.
Maleficent was momentarily distracted by a flash of lightning off to the east. She saw that the clouds had grown as dark as granite, and this worried her. A heavy weight settled in her chest; the state of the sky was an ominous sign. Even now, with Diaval by her side and all their feelings finally exposed, she knew that war was just around the bend.
"Maleficent?" Diaval placed a finger under her chin and turned her face to his. The darkness of his eyes were highlighted with concern. "I fear you have gone someplace far away where I cannot reach."
She smiled grimly. "Your fears are not too far off the mark. There is a war coming, Diaval. Stefan has seen to that."
He grimaced. "There have been whispers, my queen. The creatures fear the White Inferno." He paused, shifting his stance. "And I fear for you."
"No need," she said immediately, brushing this off, though she knew it would annoy him. "I can handle myself, as you well know."
Diaval glanced to the side, then, sighing (disappointedly?), gestured to a dense grove of trees. "Shall we sit? We have much to talk about."
"Indeed," she whispered, her eyes lingering on the eastern sky.
They did not talk or even so much as glance towards each other as they crossed a shallow stream and carefully sat on the dewy ground. Maleficent swept aside a muddy patch of ground before lowering herself, and she clutched her cloak tightly about her. There was an eerie chill to the air – as if some malicious entity traveled on the wind, intent on ripping through clothes and burrowing into goose-bumped skin. Diaval sat tensely by her side, his leg just a hairs-breadth away.
"I feel a change in you," he said hesitantly, fingers drumming on his knees.
She sighed. "All I can think of is King Stefan and this war he's intent on starting. No," she said suddenly, shaking her head, "what am I saying: this war is already well under way. The land reeks of destruction, and I fear that there is more, much more, to come."
Diaval hunched his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair, as she had done not long before. A wave of heat coursed through Maleficent's body, and she forced it back with some effort. "His White Inferno is only the beginning, Diaval."
"Yes," he said with a strained sigh. "He's going to make his move soon."
"Very soon, possibly in a matter of days," she lied, thinking, It will be hours, minutes even. I have no way of knowing, and I fear my uncertainty most of all. A second or two later, she added angrily, I have been doing far too much fearing lately. It is a wearisome thing.
"We have to be ready," Diaval said with just a tinge of urgency. He dare not outright provoke her by insinuating that she was not ready for war…but still, with so much on her mind, she could hardly be offended when he hinted at it…
"And we will be. Preparations are in the making. I've restructured the Wall of Thorns, made it stronger, tougher, more solid. It is nearly impenetrable. Nearly," she said again, and her jaw ticked.
"What of Aurora?" he asked softly.
Maleficent paused, a lump in her throat. "The princess will remain with her fairies. I see no reason to involve her in this. I haven't told her a thing about what's happening, though surely she must suspect. After all, she was almost burned alive while the king's soldiers tested their abominable fire weapon."
"But you saved her, Maleficent. You knew what was going on within seconds, and you acted. You're always one step ahead, and that is why you'll win this war." Diaval touched her arm lightly.
You, you, you, she thought, her chest tightening. Yes, it is all up to me to save the Moors, an entire realm! The fate of our land rests on my shoulders, but I fear this particular burden may be too much for me. Of course, she dared not voice these despairing thoughts aloud. If she spoke of her doubt, it would spread like wildfire – no, like White Inferno – through the Moors until every creature had heard. Then they would quickly be stark-raving mad with terror, and Maleficent could not have that. Her creatures, her fellow fairies and forest giants and water nymphs, had to believe in her and trust that she would make the right decisions and protect them all.
"You will handle it, my queen," Diaval said, the side of his mouth lifting in an attempt at a reassuring smile. "As you always do."
Maleficent breathed in slowly. "I will," she said, catching his eyes. "I will."
Diaval touched her face again, and Maleficent closed her eyes, relishing the contact. He was so warm, so inviting. To leave him, to lose him…she could not bear it. Not when they were finally getting to know each other so well.
Once more, Diaval touched his lips to hers, his tongue probing and circling the inside of her mouth. He sighed contentedly, and Maleficent kissed him back – hard. With bruising force, she cemented their lips and arms and legs together, wanting to dissolve into him, to leave this cruel world and its cruel beings behind, and to live in a solitary state with her pretty raven by her side. She wanted to become one with him, wanted it so much…
But when they fell asleep together on the top of the grassy hill overlooking the meadowlands, black-clad arms and legs merely entangled instead of melded, she thought it would have to do.
She woke before sunrise.
It was the earliest part of the morning, an hour or two from dawn. The sky was a combination of burnt brown and light gray, although those granite-colored clouds still peppered the sky. The storm, she thought. It is coming, slowly but surely.
Despite the brisk wind that had blown constantly not half a day before, the world around her now was as still and dead as rock. Nothing moved – not the creatures nor nature – and a faint stench of decaying leaves drifted in the air, overpowering any other smell that may have been trying to permeate the landscape. Maleficent felt adrift in this strange, motionless world; everything was waiting for her to make the first move.
Clasping together the brass buttons under her chin, which ensured her cloak would remain fixed around her shoulders, Maleficent took a step in the direction of the Wall of Thorns…and then another step…and then another.
With her magnificently carved staff in hand, she beat a steady rhythm past the swamp that protected her throne, around the quietly trickling body of water known as Symphony Stream, and through the dark and silent Tangible Forest. She reached the perimeter of her Wall of Thorns without issue.
Glancing back over her shoulder, she allowed herself to envision, just for a moment, Diaval awakening on the hillside and finding the spot beside him empty, the grass which had been flattened by her body already sprung back into place. He would grope about for a moment, floundering, wondering where she could've gone, and then, when she failed to appear, he would start to worry. Worry would soon turn to fear, and fear to revelation – she had left him. Not just him, but the Moors too.
Raising her heavily burned and bandaged arms, Maleficent closed her eyes and thought, It is for the best, my dear Diaval. Despite what you may think, I am not fleeing. No, in fact, I am running towards the danger, directly in the path of death, and I will say, "Here! Here I am. Come and fight me. I have come to end this." And King Stefan will appear in iron armor, surrounded by iron-clad soldiers wielding iron-tipped spears and axes and stakes, and I will raise my wooden staff with wounded arms, and we will fight, and we will end it.
The vines and branches and brambles and everything else that composed the densely packed Wall of Thorns peeled away. A straight path, which stretched inches from Maleficent's feet all the way to the other side where there was trampled dirt, appeared. Without thinking of Diaval or her little princess, she strode through, her cloak fanning out behind her in a black wave. She reached the other side in several brisk strides, turned back around, and raised her hands again.
She closed the Wall behind her, sealing apart the two realms once more. A mingled sense of sadness, despair, and dread tightened her chest, but she raised her chin and swiveled back to face the imposing human kingdom. The war would start, all right, but on her terms, in her time. This was a despicable task indeed, but Maleficent was the Queen of the Moors.
And a queen always protected her people.