"What are you doing?" Diaval whispered urgently.

He was dressed in peasant clothes; a full length wrap of moth-chewed cloth which covered everything but his eyes, tied at the waist with an old length of leather. He had his gaze fixed firmly on his mistress. Concern rose with every breath. They shouldn't be here, so close the the King and his self-made hell. Maleficent was also disguised but even shapeless rags curved to her form, their dreary brown colour setting off her eyes until Diaval thought he was looking into jewels. Magic, he told himself.

"I want to see what our old friend is up to," she replied, edging along the wall. Her hands ran over its cracks, ignoring the tiny spiders that scurried away, delving deeper into the fractures that littered every stretch of castle wall. They were approaching one of the servant entrances, slipping by mostly unnoticed by the world. "Your stories are not enough," she told her bird. Part of her needed to see how twisted and dark Stefan was becoming. It almost brought her a comfort to know that he was suffering. He took her wings, Maleficent wanted to take his soul.

"Mistress, if you are caught – he will kill you. It's not like the last time – he has been preparing for your return. He has weapons – weapons made from steel. They are all through the castle. I have seen spikes welded into the ceiling!" like horrifying chandeliers ripped straight from a Gothic nightmare.

"Hush..." she raised her hand to him, a gesture a fraction from changing him into a creature of her choice.

Diaval held his tongue. The last thing he wanted was to become a useless bird, flitting around the rafters again if his mistress fell into trouble. He kept his mouth shut, following as she stole away into the castle.

When they found the corridors empty, Diaval was lulled into a false sense of calm. It's okay, he tried to tell himself, let her have a little hunt around, then we can go. No harm. No harm indeed. Sneaking about in the servant areas was not enough for Maleficent. Soon he realised that she was heading up toward the main levels of the castle where they would surely be discovered.

Diaval instantly reached out and took Maleficent by the arm, tugging her sharply to a stop. "I know what you are doing," he accused.

Maleficent looked down at the hand around her arm. She was not used to being touched so and certainly not to being stopped. She was the queen of the Moors – no one had the right to stop her from doing anything and yet Diaval did his best. "Let go."

"This is not the right time," he kept his voice steady and his hold tight.

"Time for what, Diaval?" she acted coy.

"To find your wings or confront the King. I know you mean to do one or both and neither will end the way you wish it." Diaval knew all too well that there was no solace to be found in meeting with the King. He was too far lost in insane madness to hear any of Maleficent's wounds. The boy who met a fairy was long gone, ripped apart by fruitless ambition. Diaval had a feeling that his mistress wasn't ready to see that or to accept that the human she loved was dead. As for her wings – she'd be killed trying for them and Diaval wasn't ready for that. He'd never be ready for that.

"I will turn you into something more obliging if you do not unhand me this instant, Diaval!"

"Mistress, I beg you," he whispered, his eyes imploring her to trust him. "What do birds do best? We watch. I have watched these walls and I assure you, they hold nothing for you right now. Come back – when Aurora is of age. I will walk you to the castle myself."

It wasn't often that he found himself a man in the world of men. Diaval thought it was strange. He noticed different things, walking the palace rather than swooping into it. People spoke to him, some even vaguely knew him. He kept up a deceit as a baker delivering various trays of breads to the kitchens. If anyone ever caught him deeper in the castle he acted simple and swore that he was lost.

He'd done this for twelve years now and nobody even bothered to ask if he was seen in the library or hall. It was almost as though he'd become one of the stones.

He wasn't the only thing that had changed. The castle itself was heavily modified, groaning under the weight of metal that that had been added to its walls. Diaval lingered at a particularly fearsome corridor that King Stefan had commissioned. Half of it was adorned with a storm of steel swords. It looked like one of the carnivorous plants in the Moors though certainly less colourful. Between the steel and the stone, all this place had to offer was a monotone that made the storm clouds seem beautiful.

It was only then that Diaval realised that he was not alone. At the edge of the nest of spikes was a man, kneeling on the ground inspecting one of them. The strange character had the soft pad of his forefinger pressing against the sharp tip of the sword as if testing when it would break through and pierce the skin. It did so as Diaval approached.

"Excuse me," Diaval said, his head bowed in a manner appropriate to a lowly servant. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

What Diaval mistakenly thought was a courtier looked up. Those mad eyes, crazed with guilt could only belong to King Stefan himself. Instead of being locked safely in his quarters where the ambassadors like to keep him, he was wandering around the castle, inspecting the progress of his trap system.

"Can you kill a fairy?" Stefan asked the servant. His voice was hollow as though asking himself more than Diaval. "I tried once. I couldn't do it – it's their magic," he hissed. "It stops you. Steel..." the tip of the blade cut deeper into his finger as he spoke. Stefan paused, enamoured by the blood running over his skin. "Steel doesn't bend to magic. This hallway could kill a fairy."

"Do you expect a fairy to come to court?" Diaval asked dumbly, gently fishing for information.

"Oh yes, she'll come..." the King stood up and wiped the blood onto the wall. "She has to come. Her great plan is going to fail," he ranted, pacing uncomfortably close to Diaval "And when it does she'll come for her pathetic wings and then – then we'll see if fairies can die." The King frowned, tilting his head as he looked more closely at Diaval. "You're a strange looking creature," he added, eyeing the scars on Diaval's face and oddly hooked nose. Perhaps he was one of the demons from his dreams. "Have I seen you before?"

Diaval bowed low to the mad King. "I am a servant, your grace," he replied dutifully. "I have been bringing baked goods from the village for more than ten years. I expect you have seen me before, sir."

The King seemed to think on this for a moment before nodding. He slapped his hand on Diaval's shoulder so hard that the poor creature nearly squawked. "Bread?" the King laughed. "I love bread. Bring me something from the kitchens – take it to the Wing Room. I think I shall feast in front of those wretched wings this evening."

When the King finally left, Diaval laid back against the wall, the glinting steel to his left and the dark passage where the King retreated on his right. He felt his heart beat faster. His mistress kept trying to come to the castle. This is what awaited her – death and pain. He wanted to stop her from ever coming here but he knew it was inevitable. All he could do was stay and learn so that when the day came for her revenge, he'd be prepared as her guide and take her safely to her wings.

"Is that a flicker of grey in your plumage?" Maleficent smirked at Diaval.

Diaval instantly reached to his wild hair, running his fingers through it trying to hold it up to the light. After a few frantic moments of searching, all he could see was the same coal black that his feathers bore. No trace of grey.

"Your vanity is your most amusing quality," she continued. She was sitting by the waters of a forgotten stream in the Moors, away from the other lifeforms. It was a place where the trees always seemed to drop their yellowed leaves and kept a few branches bare.

"Taking a continued interest in one's appearance is not a bad thing, mistress," he insisted, sitting down beside her. "I do wonder, though..."

"Wonder about what?" Maleficent asked, green eyes flicking up to Diaval. She already knew his question – it was that he had not asked it sooner that surprised her.

"Well, birds don't live a particularly long time – even a magnificent raven. Men – they have a few decades on a bird but they certainly show the cost of those years on their feathers."

"Hair," she corrected.

"You know what I mean."

She smiled slowly. "I know what you mean. Magic."

"Magic?"

"Diaval, you are held together by magic – neither bird nor man."

"And what does that mean?" he frowned.

"That you needed worry about your feathers," she assured him. "As long as I'm around you'll get to keep that beautiful self of yours exactly as you like it – bird or man."

"Or dog..."

"I already apologised for that."