Trouble in Paradise

Aurora sat on the stool of her vanity, face in her hands as she sobbed over silver combs and glass bottles. A royal blue gown, still warm, lay messily strewn across her mountainous bed; she had her maiden's practically tear it off of her before they frantically pulled strings to get to the corset underneath. She had them unlace the heavy white contraption just enough for her to breath before sending them away so she could cry in private. Aurora suffocated in this clown's costume she was forced to wear; gaudy, compressing, restrictive. She longed for the soft woolen dresses the fairies made her, but alas, those days were long gone.

She looked up from beneath her blonde locks, fallen from the tight updo constructed hours ago, to her large, polished silver mirror. Though her eyes were rimmed red and her flushed cheeks were slick with tears, she was still beautiful. This only made her more upset. "The gift of beauty" seemed more like a curse sometimes.

She heard a soft tap-tap-tapping at her window. Through her tears she saw a familiar black bird, a raven, hopping about the brick ledge.

"Oh, pretty bird," Aurora whispered, smiling sadly. She crossed the floor and opened the window for him, standing back as he hopped inside and changed into a man in a puff of black smoke.

"Aurora, what's wrong? I saw you crying, has something happened?" He asked, crouching to be at eye level with the young queen. From his left hand he discreetly dropped a single red rose, quickly brushing it under her bed with his foot. Aurora looked up at him, her eyes beginning to water again. His questions had only prompted fresh tears.

"Oh no no no, shh" he soothed, straightening as he drew her into an embrace. Her thin arms wrapped around him, clutching the folds of his coat as she held him tighter. He returned the gesture, cautiously, for to him she was half naked in her underthings. When he felt her shoulders shake and his chest grow wet with her tears, he clutched her harder, knowing that she just desired to be held. A few minutes and several murmured condolences later, she drew her head back up to look at her lifelong friend and caretaker.

"Oh Diaval, things have not gone as planned since I became queen." She uttered between hiccups.

"How so?"

"The court, they don't trust me. They think I'm too young and naive to handle running a kingdom. And sure, I don't know the first thing about proclamations and decrees, handling taxes or maintaining order. I don't even know what feudalism is! They say that a woman doesn't have the heart nor military sense to send troops to battle—"

"How dare they!" he said, recalling how his mistress fearlessly lead the Moor creatures into battle multiple times, with she herself fronting the defense.

"And Diaval, the more I think about it, the more I think they're right!" They both paused.

"What?" he asked finally, though he'd heard her perfectly.

"I'm, I'm not cut out for this, Diaval. I don't know the first thing about being Queen , and here I am, mucking everything up and embarrassing myself in front of everyone!"

"You're not thinking about quitting, are you?" He asked, jokingly, trying to bring out a sense of fight in her. To his surprise, she just looked down.

"The court wants me to marry Phillip. They believe that he, as a man of royal blood and upbringing, will be better than I to care for the kingdom."

Diaval peered at her bowed head, confused. He wholeheartedly believed that she was capable of ruling the kingdom herself; however, he agreed that having Prince Phillip by her side would make it easier. The court was right; he held far more experience in royal life and governing than she. He could at least take some of the stress off her shoulders. And besides, didn't she like Phillip? Isn't this what she wanted, to marry her prince and live happily ever after?

"Do you… not want to marry the prince?" he asked, measuredly. The young girl looked up from the ground and into his dark, raven's eyes.

"I barely know him," she whispered. Diaval was slightly taken aback. Aurora took it as confusion. She left his embrace and began pacing the room, listing the faults of their relationship.

"I mean, I don't know his birthday, or his horse's name. I don't know his favorite color, or how he takes his tea. Has he ever wielded a sword, or courted another woman? I don't even know the name of his kingdom!"

"I assume it's named after his father," muttered Diaval.

"Whom I have never met, nor any of his family. And he knows just as little about me!"

"Perhaps you two should spend some time together then," he suggested, being perfectly logical.

"We can't," she moaned loudly throwing her arms down in exasperation. Obviously she'd been annoyed with this for a while. Diaval hopped slightly, like a startled bird, at her sudden vexation. "He is always at home helping his father care for their kingdom. I rarely see him, and even then it's just to discuss politics."

"Perhaps you two could write letters?" he suggested, "It could be, ah, romantic?"

Aurora sat back down on her vanity's stool and groaned. Diaval had to admit, he really was grasping at straws with that idea; teenagers didn't want to send letters like two old duffers they wanted real physical contact. The young Queen's shoulders slumped forward as she rested her elbows on her knees, before placing her head in her hands. Diaval watched her from his spot by the window. Even in such a sad state, she was still a creature more lovely than any he had seen.

"Aurora," He started, edging toward her, "What I'm going to say might come as a shock to you, but...you don't have to marry Prince Phillip if you don't want to."

She looked up from her lap again, confused.

"But, but as a Queen, I have to do what is in the best interests of others," she said, regurgitating the axiom her councilors have beaten into her head since day one.

"And as a Queen, you get to make your own damned decisions," he finished, kneeling in front of her so their eyes could meet on the same plane. Smiling, he concluded, "Maleficent made you Queen because she believed in you. Remember who you are Aurora; as a woman of royal blood, the capacity to make difficult decisions runs through your veins. But also, you were raised in the Moors, and thus carry a virtuous head on your shoulders. A winning duo, if I ever saw one. You will figure this out, and if you need help, you always know who to ask."

"Thank you Diaval," she said, smiling again. She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes, done with crying, before starting over. "So, what did you come to see me for?"

"Ahh, mmm," it was his turn to clear his throat now, breaking their eye contact as he searched for an answer. His mind wandered to the rose under her bed, one that he couldn't mention now. "My bird-like intuition told me that you were troubled."

Aurora smiled at his jest, playing along, "Oh, did it?"

"Yes," he stammered, standing up and backing toward the window, "Just as it's telling me now that all has been settled and my services are no longer needed."

The half-clothed girl stood up from her stool, smiling impishly as she slowly followed him, hands behind her back and long curls swinging with her every footstep. Diaval flushed slightly and stumbled over a snag in her rug. She giggled, peering at him from under her long, black eyelashes, and he only became redder. With a complexion as pale as his, the color produced was quite incredible.

He cleared his throat, "Until next time," he rasped, and in a shock of black smoke, he shrank down into his feathered form and took off into the crystal blue horizon. Aurora rushed to her window, her golden hair lifted from her face in the breeze it provided, and watched her childhood friend fly away.

"Good-bye, pretty bird!" she giggled out with newfound confidence and happiness before whispering, "Come back soon."