The King sighed out loud, lying back on his plush throne. They’d won the war, this time – at twenty-nine years of age, he’d lived through seven conflicts, four where they’d been victorious, three that Alenia had won. Their borders had been redefined each time, cutting back and then regaining useless, barren pieces of land.

What was the bloody point?

“I’ll not waste my years on a fruitless endeavor like my forefathers, darn it!” he cursed, and the woman at his side laughed softly.

“I’m afraid you won’t have much choice on the matter, Rupert,” she replied, putting another dark grape between her delicious lips. “Unless you wish to relinquish your kingdom.”

Some days, he wished he could; then he remembered he was King of Ferren, the most powerful kingdom of Europa – this year, in any case. It was entirely possible that Alenia might regain the title by Winter Feast.

“Or, I guess you could try to form an alliance,” she suggested offhandedly.

He looked at her as though she had grown another set of horns, although Maleficent only had the two usual ones, proudly sprouting out of her pretty head.

Rupert knew just how lucky he was to have her for a friend. Like most fays, she didn’t directly intervene in human matters, but her counsel was invaluable. Normally. Right now, she spoke complete, utter gibberish.

“An alliance with Alenia. Have you been sniffing pixy dust again?”

The last time she’d come up with something half as unlikely, she’d been high as a kite.

“Doesn’t hurt to ask,” she replied with a shrug. “Their Queen might feel the same way about your incessant conflicts.”

Although the very prospect seemed completely impossible, he asked, and it turned out that Maleficent was right. The Queen of Alenia did want peace. So much that she proposed to give him her youngest daughter as a proof and guarantee.

Rupert didn’t question it, betrothals of that sort happened everywhere to straighten out kingdoms. He should have looked into it and sought to understand why the Queen of Alenia was in such a hurry to dispose of her own flesh and blood; instead of researching his intended, he readily accepted the deal.

And that was the beginning of the end.

* * *

One hundred and five years later.

There wasn’t much to know about King Rupert – he had been simple, non-descript in the textbooks. Less bloodthirsty than his predecessors, although he’d ended up winning the two wars he’d fought in record time. Everything led one to believe that he had been a great king; there were dozens of letters of thanks from small, faraway farms and impoverished territories expressing gratitude for his visit and the measures he took to ensure his subjects thrived.

He’d married an Alenian princess at thirty. The correspondence preceding the event had made it clear that the union had been a political arrangement, but there was no reason to think that the couple had been anything but blissfully happy. The aged, sepia antique photograph of the King and Queen on their wedding day attested that the golden couple matched perfectly. They were both equally stunning, equally regal and proper.

Three years later, King Rupert and Queen Marina had the most beautiful little girl, with big golden curls like her mother’s.

A few years after that, though, tragedy struck their little cloud of happiness. There weren’t many texts explaining what had occurred but historians had concluded that a plague had wiped out most of Ferren.

This is my fault, the King had written in his diary, I should never have allowed it to reach this point. Now, I think of nothing but protecting the child from this curse. None of this is her doing and she is my daughter. I have to try.

What he’d tried had been risky – very much so. A hundred years ago, the carbonite freezing process had been rudimentary at best; it was a miracle he, his wife, and their daughter had survived it.

Aurora Stephenson forced herself to look away from the painfully beautiful face standing a head taller than she. Even in his frozen state, immobile and mostly blue, he was striking – more so than anyone she’d ever met, although she had been engaged to two of the sexiest Kings in Europa.

She spent more time than she cared to admit looking at him, studying his features, wondering what his voice sounded like. It was always worse when she went away for a few days: his incomparable beauty struck her afresh at each return.

The fact that no living man had ever fascinated her as much as the King she studied was most probably the reason why neither one of her engagements had worked out, in all honesty.

At first, she’d blamed Aiden, Prince of Ennom, and then Dane, King of Alenia, but two years had passed since he’d broken their engagement and she’d looked in the mirror and admitted the truth.

She was the problem, or part of it, at least. She was cold, uninterested, focused on her work. Nothing animated her half as much as the discovery of one of King Rupert’s correspondences or a discussion about the probable cause of his demise. It was worse than fascination; her interest bordered on obsession. What man wanted that in a wife?

Aurora shook her head, forced her gaze away from the capsule covering her King’s shell, and went back to work.

She was reporting the details of yet another simulation. It had grown redundant at first; now it was plain old boring.

Ten years after the royal family had been frozen, there had been an attempt to revive them; the scientist started with Queen Marina. Suffice it to say that it ended up being unfruitful – the fact that there were now only two capsules, rather than three, attested to that. They’d lost their Queen. From the reports, the process had been too lengthy and her heart hadn’t survived the thermal shock. That was the reason no one had dared try again, although three generations later, science was at another level altogether.

They’d run through every option and calculated alternatives, probabilities. Then, some people had actually volunteered to try the whole process; no child had been allowed to serve as a lab rat, but the five men who had opted to get frozen and brought back to life had survived without any damage. The results were conclusive. They could revive their King.

Just as soon as the Council allowed it.

Aurora’s heart ached at the idea of having to inform him that his beloved wife had passed, but first and foremost, he was King. There was no doubt in her mind that after an appropriate mourning period, he would resume his duties. Those raised to bear a crown never lost sight of what’s important.

“Ms. Stephenson? It’s time.”

Aurora sighed, before gathering her files and getting up. She hung up her long white coat, revealing an attire very different from the comfortable cargo pants she usually wore at the lab. Today, she was wrapped in red and gold, her family colors. The long dress was simple, understated; long sleeves, high neckline. She’d never been one to show too much skin, and even if she had been, she wouldn’t have in front of the crowd she had to address today.

It wasn’t the first time the Council had asked to get a report on the progress of the King’s case, but if Aurora had anything to say about it, it would be the last.

She’d been present at the previous discussions, but at the time Dr. Joanesson had been in charge. There was nothing remotely wrong with the now retired professor, but he hadn’t known how to talk to the band of vultures who decided everything in the kingdom. He’d been a scientist, first and foremost, and while Aurora was as versed in genetics as the old man, she was a different animal. With the Regent of Ferren as her father, she had grown up amongst vipers and she could play the political games with the best of them.

She would get them to authorize the process, or she would get them to admit the truth: the one reason why they denied it was because, as things stood now, they were in power and they had no inclination to relinquish it.