Alright I'm back with the next chapter, and I actually enjoyed writing it, so I'm happy to finally be able to present it.

I'm really sorry for ditching a few of you for the few months I didn't update, I'm honestly very tired of many things, but this story was always on my mind, with you guys in my thoughts.

Anyways I finished this at 1:29 in the morning, which is the time everything seems to come together in my life, so here it is.


Until She's Crowned

Chapter 11- May She Endure

Mallory was hunched behind her desk, a finger tracing a stone.

Reading through issues that were never registered by Stefan has become her only true job that contributed to Moreise.

Rumours of war, environmental problems, foreign affairs.

She dismissed the rumours, offered suggestions for the environmental issues, and accepted or declined invitations for dinner, all under Stefan's name.

Many hours were spent working, and she wore it greatly, with dark circles under her eyes that she'd earned throughout the years.

She rubbed her eyes. For the past sixteen years she hasn't had a good night's sleep, and instead had restless evenings with the tragedies of her own life. Her marriage with her dead sister's husband, empty threats, and other malicious deeds that filled her life with joy…

Oh, she was tired. And she took time to admire her colorful ring that she had once wore on her finger, sparkling with the natural colors of the four seasons; golden for the summer sun, auburn for the changing leaves of autumn, a steel blue for the cool winter, and a jade for the blooming spring. It was quite the touching gift, and it had a twin that never came out of the box, though that one was slightly larger. They were her parents wedding rings.

Though they were both dead before Mallory could even recognize their faces.

And Leila always wore the larger one with a chain.

And when she wore it she would sing and speak like...What? Leila's voice always carried this tune that sounded like, like what?

There was a pang in her heart. It was terrible, really. When you realize you forgot the sound of your sister's voice. Only memories could barely restore this.

And she remembered a memory that was so far away.

She remembered herself, sitting by a window, bitterly watching the rain fall, wrapped in a blanket that fell depressingly on her shoulders.
The memories brought her back, when she was younger, and all the wounds were still new, her leg practically detached from control.
She remembered Leila coming in, in a lovely pale suit the color of an eggshell, glowing skin and eyes.
Leila knocked of course, before allowing herself an entrance. Her smile was soft and offered the motherly care that no one else could have given.
Then it came. "Oh Mallory! Have you seen Flora and Fauna? They are supposed to come with me!" Her voice was frustrated. But her voice was wonderful and clear. One could tell when she was worried. She was pure. She spoke with such serenity, it felt like silver.
Mallory had only given a second's glance. "Where are you going?" She had still stared out. In those days she was always lost in the blank scenery.
"Ganancia" Leila then responded. She had been adjusting pearls with the mirror as her guide.
This feeling had become engraved into Mallory's stomach. Her eyes were horrified and her mouth had opened only to say nothing. "Ganancia?" She'd repeated. ""Why are you going there?"

"I'm to meet with their council. They're introducing me to a new duke the King Henry had appointed. They believe he will be a great influence on our two nations." Leila had said it all so quickly, with hopes rising high. She'd been so dearly hopeful that there'd be peace.

In contrast, Mallory shook her head, dismissed the excuse. "Leila, you can't go."

Her older sister's eyebrows furrowed. "And why not?"

"They could hurt you, much like they did with…"...with me. "I can't let you go, they are our biggest threats, remember mother and father?"

Leila looked onto the ground. They couldn't remember them. "Times have changed. There hasn't been an attack, no wars, no...folly." Leila failed to say more.

"So now they're allies?"

"Well, no, not yet at least. That's why this meeting is important. We could potentially change for the better."

But she had shook her head, with a voice crying in her head. "She can't go!" It would hiss.

"Leila, please listen to me. Ganancia is a terrible place, filled with terrible people." She couldn't let her sister leave.

"Mallory you're being irrational!" Her sister moved to sit by her. "I will be alright, this decision will protect us, and our country." she squeezed her hand.

Mallory didn't say anything, and Leila had left her behind in that cold room.

Leila couldn't be more wrong in her decision.

So instead of crying, Mallory picked up her walking stick and limped to the mountains.

Now at 36, she still limped on occasion, only when her husband dared to punish her, and instead of the mountains or a forest to escape to, she now had a small city in New York.

She tucked her leg foot behind the right one, as uncomfortable as it was. Her left foot was ugly and bruised, probably broken in all places. It's been months since Stefan last hurt it. He always targeted that foot, but it was healing.

She was healing.

Of course at the time, she was barely recovering from another attack.

But she was getting better, instead scars and bruises that stained her skin were shattered all over her body like glass.

They covered her like a forest of thorns. Hideous as she was. How she believed she was.

How long has it been since she took a step by herself? When was the last time she walked without support?

Her left foot twitched, and the tip of her shoe touched the ground, and she knew.

She had to take a step.

It was an attractive idea for a moment, she wanted to taste the grass on her feet and dance like she was on clouds. It was very uncharacteristic, but perfect all the same.

So she climbed out of that leather chair, and trembled, like that small child she was, vibrant and wicked, she hung on to what she could, the back of her seat, the vases of plants that adorned her workspace.

Her foot shivered as she stepped out of the flats that she clung onto for comfort.

Her right foot touched the ground first, and she felt the instant cold on her heels. She was relieved. The left foot followed the right and shook, as Mallory exhaled trying to endure through the pain as best she could. She became steady, balanced.

She became a toddler learning how to walk.

Three steps followed in that clumsy pattern, she only had walked but three steps, before falling back on her desk as someone knocked on the door.

She could have fell from embarrassment, how foolish she'd look trying to walk, but no one had seen her. She was safe. Reversing her steps, she'd made it back to her chair in a frantic panic, as her feet fell back into the chair, and her hand caught her walking stick. "You may enter" She called, hiding any evidence of her experiment.

It was Diaval of course, who instantly lost in his voice when his words tried stringing together in a sentence. "You wanted to see me, Mistress?" He asked instead.

Mallory nodded, recalling in her head she'd made an appointment to speak with him privately for a few minutes. "Yes, I remember I had asked for you. Come." He followed the finger she'd offered, and closed the door behind him, sitting down on a free chair.

She pulled a vase from the bookshelf, and placed it in between them. The red rose from days earlier was in it, healthy and alive, still vivid in color, an indication that it was taken care of greatly.

His eyes narrowed, as he leaned forward in his chair. His smokey eyes wandered over her, curious as to what she would say.

"A few days ago I have received this gift from you attached with a letter." She watered down.

Diaval listened with full interest, but his eyes flickered in such a rapid motion. From Mallory to the bright bloom. Was he going to receive a thank you?

Her fists were balled tightly, and her eyes stared blankly. There was a storm that fought within her, hissing at her that it was alright. Not a big deal. But to her it was. It was a gift not from Stefan, but from a servant who had nothing to gain, where it was unclear of his intentions. But he was just a servant. "And although I do admit I was fond of the sentiment, it was highly inappropriate." Her voice was pinched, certain of her choice for words.

Diaval's face fell. "What?"

"You were overstepping boundaries."

"H-How? It was a flower not a declaration of lov-"

"Quiet!" she hissed.

He took a moment to realize he was out of line. But he soon found his voice. "May I have permission to speak?"

Mallory took a breath, shaking her head. "No you may not. What you did was out of line. Including your actions now." she tried to refrain from saying more through her tight-lipped voice.

Diaval struggled with an argument, though he did admit that she was right. She moved on to the papers on desk, doing what she does best: avoiding the situation.

He sighed, Mallory noticed with his breathe dropping heavily. He scratched at his neck and aimed towards the door, walking away with surrender.

Then he paused. Three seconds at least. And for those three seconds, she paused as well.

"May I ask you a question?" He then asked, and Mallory was brought back to the world.

She raised an eyebrow. "I said you weren't allowed to speak." She swore.

He looked down at his feet, then to her. But he really looked into her gaze. "Just one question." He pleaded, and she wondered how long he must have asked for this.

"Fine, one question and that will be all." she replied despite how many boundaries he broke.

He stuttered, but with more confidence. And with a deep breath he asked "Why do you hate everything?"

She blinked, fluttering her eyes several times until she understood. "What?"

"Well you know," he dug his hands into his pockets. "you hate gifts, you hate flowers, you hate kindness in general… "

"I presume I hate Aurora as well?" She'd tilted her head.

Diaval shook his head, "you don't hate Aurora, you hate Stefan."

Suddenly he blushed, turning away from his comment.

He didn't apologize for his words, nor did he need to. The unbalanced relationship between the Queen and her husband was something that had to be kept quiet. Years of screaming behind cameras that captured every moment spent as a fairy tale. Arguments were light bickering, and everything was in Stefan's control.

"You don't hate Aurora, you hate Stefan" rang in her head. She hated Stefan. For what he's turned her into. For blocking her path in happiness. For cutting her childhood short the moment he took her as a woman.

"Yes"

Diaval's flushing face came to see her, and Mallory struggled with her weight.

"Huh?"

"Yes. Now I answered your question, you're dismissed."


It's you, it's you, it's all for you

Everything I do

I tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you

"Tell me all the things you wanna do" Auroral sang in a whisper as Lana Del Rey's voice haunted her through her white headphones.

She leaned over the table, trying to fall back on her biology homework, but the rhythm of the music was still caught in her mind.

7:59 and she could see the silhouettes of the forest of trees in her backyard, all the details were faded together, and you couldn't see the footsteps of a tiny girl who used to play hide and seek near the woods with the imaginary. Forgotten was the giggles from chasing butterflies, and the humming along a stream, humming away from the world.

The forest was decaying in innocence of a childhood spent living a lie.

Earlier when she returned home, she dropped her camera. She had kneeled to gather it, and her gown had become stained with mud as she retrieved it from the ground. And then she felt at home, feeling the grass on her fingers, and dirt underneath her nails.

Sure, she'd walked down the trails that only she knew from time to time, but it's been awhile since she bounced through the forest leaving a trail of her footprints that carried joy.

Now, it was broken. It was all branches, no leaves to whisper through the wind, and no kid to bounce while singing her heart out.

Well that took care of something, and she scribbled notes on the components of trees.

The song was over by the time she had picked up her pencil again. Her hair had been twisted into a messy bun, and she wore a white tank top as a pajama, lazily drifting away, her head was in the clouds, while her feet remained on earth.

Her aunties were off in arguments of how to follow through simple recipes while auntie Fauna read a magazine article in delight, away from all the fuss.

8:07. Nowhere near finished with her work, but it was process. Dinner wouldn't be ready for a while, but it was okay. She would drift away again.

Pulling on her headphones, the next song played, and already she recognized the lyrics.

Feet don't fail me now

"Take me to the finish line" Aurora finished, a small smile on her lips as she tapped her pencil against her paper instead of actually doing it.

She was surrounded by her aunties' cries and giggles, and in their tiny kitchen, she felt a warmth that reassured her. A room that took her away from the stress.

She had a nice view of her backyard. The grass was a bit overgrown, and the stream always sounded stiff at this time of year, but she was at home.


Dear Diary,

Am I happy? What is happiness to others? I mean, even though the sun shines, the sky still cries. And that's just part of life. Maybe as humans, we aren't meant to be happy, we're just... existing. My auntie Mallory doesn't smile, but she holds the weight of a country on her shoulders.

Diaval, he definitely smiles, despite working without appreciation.

I am happy. I have my family, the closest I will ever be to my mother. And I'm a princess like a fairytale, and I may have had that lifetime pass, but I've lived the one I've been raised in, and I've known where my home and heart belong.

I don't know what that could mean for me, but I won't miss the shot I have.


"She's going to have a dinner."

One. Two. Three.

"She's inviting all those musical diplomats to keep that crown on her head."

Four. Five. Six.

"She's only ever had contact with the prime minister in the past two weeks."

Seven. Eight. Nine.

"And she's planning on staying until March."

Ten.

Stefan felt his muscles tense, as Jafar's statements grew in vain. His brows knitted together, and all he could think was Mallory.

Mallory.

Mallory wasn't it enough when I sent you the flowers, only for you to refuse them, as if expecting me to build you a palace from my words?

You don't acknowledge my apologies, that or my responsibilities, so why should I even try?

"March" Stefan echoed, and he felt an aching pain of the weight he beared on his hands.

I've whispered my love, to the point you engrossed my thoughts. We meet each other in my dreams too much, so much, they're becoming memories.

"Sixteen years, it will add to our country's history." Jafar added without much to say.

And as death becomes the symphony that's overplayed to this nation's anthem

The tall Arabian man took a glass of wine, and Stefan reached for the bottle of the alcohol that was worth more than his childhood without a real childhood.

Will you continue to discriminate with laughter, as I cry over the graves of both my wife and my daughter?

"May they rest in peace" Stefan added in a drunken state, toasting to himself.

He looked over his desk that was cleared of any evidence. His pictures were hidden, and his youth filled with the thrilling violence were cast aside.

We were going to name her Aurora. Our daughter was going to be named Aurora. And she died in birth. You stood by with your threatening words, and allowed them to die.

"It's not very clever to be toying with the documents, sir" Jafar warned with distaste.

But Stefan reached for the dagger hidden underneath the surface, the sharp object with the peeling brown, dry blood.

How well do remember, Mallory? As we raised our glasses to your name, you, with all the venom laced in your drink, as we kissed atop a hill?

The dagger holds the end of one life. Mallory's life. The life King Henry begged him to take. Sixteen years of existence.

Why do you hide like the Earth owes you more time?

While you celebrated sixteen birthdays, I've mourned sixteen years of loss.

You've been blessed with the best life, and that's why you deserve everything.

"We don't want to leave anymore fingerprints on the objects, do we sir" Jafar tried.

You deserve every punch, every hit, and every bruise that comes to you because you've been born into this life by chance. But you stayed by choice.

Stefan stopped his conversation, gazing into the dagger that once successfully scraped the back of a princess while she laid sleeping under the stars.

Everything was covered in his fingerprints, everything he touched became unholy.

You deserve everything.

He dropped the weapon into the drawer, dropped her soul, as it sunk in too deep, buried.

"She's in the U.S.?"

"Yes, sir." Barely a few hours ahead in flight.

"Does King Henry already have an invitation for the dinner?"

"I don't believe any have been sent out yet." More time to prepare.

"And the dinner."

"The consulate, in New York."

New York. "New York City?" He grinded his teeth, facing away, and all he could do is deny. He resented her name, her being. Her nonstop sense of work, and her soul. Her complaints as she cries with her glistening eyes.

Green. The color of her eyes is green. Every painting, every book, every accent turned into that damn color. He hated green. The particular shade of emerald tore him, pierced his own soul, of course, green. Green, her eyes were green, she walked on green grass through the trees that were growing leaves in that palette.

"New York City, is there anywhere else?"

And she walks through those streets, hoping to be discreet about her presence. He could feel her every emotion. And it was hurting him, why was it hurting him?

And Jafar was leaning back, too comfortable, as if he deserved a place by the king. "Manhattan is a troubled place you know, too loud at night, and the people are just terribly rude. No wonder your wife finds solice in those type of places." But Stefan didn't hear him. He still hears her sobbing, a broken cry that cracked through her voice. He still sees the dagger in his hand, he feels the phantom shaking of his hand.

Why was she doing this to him?

Was this a punishment hell sent for trying to make something of his life?

Why?

Damn her, and damn her selfish needs. Why did she stay if her life was torture? Why did she marry him? Why?

Why?

Why?

Stop invading my thoughts! Just stop! Wasn't your life enough? Wasn't my pain enough? Aren't I enough?

"Sir, you look pale." Jafar said, and color returned to Stefan's face. The advisor motioned for some water, but Stefan held up his hand.

He didn't drink too much. He doesn't have a problem. There's no problem.

Why do you destroy me like this? Do you feel better about yourself? Are you laughing in those street corners by yourself? Are you laughing at your king?

"Mallory. Why is she in New York?

"Besides the dinner, I can't phantom why. She's escaped."

You're mad. You're the one who's lost all wits, disguising your true colors. You're a monster.

You left your kingdom, your husband, and your sister's grave, and you deserve everything.

This is why you deserve to suffer.


Alright guys so here it was, I hope you're definitely tied to somewhat some parts of the story, I definitely expierimnted a lot on this chapter, I really enjoyed writing it for you guys, and for myself. Hopefully the story is going to be picked up with the main plot now.

I'm really thankful for all the support I receive, all the readers who read, and more, I appreciate it.

I'm apologizing once again for the lengthy wait, I'm actually quite proud that it wasn't as long as the last one, and I hope I didn't torture anyone too much.

But I'll see you all next time!😉