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It was never my intention to take on this assignment.

As a treasured tradition since its first iteration back when computers were quills and magazine covers were oils portraits, this article is long-awaited. I consider myself beyond fortunate to be given the opportunity to write for not just one but two royal families, the first and now second Auradon sovereigns.

It has been almost thirty years since I first stepped foot onto the Auradonian palace’s golden carpets for my first royal interview. Back then, Queen Belle was waiting for me at the crest of the great hall, a mere decade after the formation of Auradon and her second coronation. We the people were eager to know if the great unification experiment would yield benefits worth the individual control we’d given up, and more than anything, wanted to better understand just whom we’d given it up to.

Enter me—young, eager, ambitious, and yet far too green not to feel faint when Queen Belle smiled upon me that morning in the great hall. She soothed my worry with a grace and ease that’s still renowned today.

But you haven’t opened The Gazette to hear that story, no. For Queen Belle and King Adam, may they rest in peace, are gone now, and King Ben is a decade into his own rule. The anticipation around his “A Day with the Royals” piece is even greater, no doubt due to his unique choice in wife: Her Majesty, Queen Mal.

Now, I say I did not expect to receive this assignment, yet I confess I was the most obvious choice. And not for what I do know but for what I don’t: for the entirety of King Ben’s coronation, Queen Mal’s ascension to the royal court, and, most importantly, Maleficent’s return, rise, and fall, I was out of the kingdom on a year-long expedition to Berk studying rare dragon hibernation patterns. As such, I feel I’ve heard all the stories of our new sovereigns secondhand. A thousand statements on their characters, assessments of their rule, and judgements on their marriage exist in print and pastry house gossip, but to me, the Auradon royal family is still a mystery.

And there are few things a journalist loves more than a mystery.

I arrived at the palace fifteen minutes early—compared to my last visit, I’d received little in the way of an itinerary, and I wanted to ensure I gave the staff ample time to present it to me orally. Yet no one but a lone footman was waiting to open my car door, and though he offered to bring me a drink or to carry my lone briefcase, he knew no more than me when it came to the day’s plan.

“I believe you’re meant to wait for the queen here, sir,” he says.

“Here?” I look around, because the car has dropped me off at a rather uninspiring strip of pavement and grass. The only paths forward are through the hedge or back up the drive.

“The queen is coming to escort you,” the footman confirms.

I check my phone’s clock obsessively for the next few minutes—enough to say definitively that Queen Mal came at exactly our stated meeting time, and not a minute earlier. There is no formal announcement of her arrival; only the clop of heels on the stone walkway and a swoop of blue skirts around the green hedge.

No matter how many pictures one sees, there’s no preparing for the sight of the queen in person. Most eye-catching, of course, is her hair, a vibrant indigo-blue . That day it was swept up in a twist of sorts, but the style was obviously more for elegance than any attempt to hide the color.

And there is no doubt she is elegant. I am not, I confess, a particularly tall man, and between the height of her heels and the point of her tiara, Queen Mal’s strikes a much taller figure than me. Her blue gown is long in the back, parted down the middle to reveal a short skirt underneath. It should have been scandalous. Instead, it was bold.

She’s made a spectacular entrance with her long legs and haughty steps—or perhaps, this is just how she walks everywhere.

I bend into a deep bow, one hand tucked neatly behind my back while the other clutches my briefcase like a lifeline.

The queen stops several feet from me and smiles.

“Hello there,” she says.

It is not the formal greetings of kings and queens, yet there’s no clumsiness in her tone. She has said exactly what she means to.

I, on the other hand, am shaken in more ways than one, and I’m sure my tone betrayed it. “Good—good morning!”

“We’ll have to see,” she responds cooly.

I don’t know what expression I made for sure, but I remember feeling as though an ice cube dropped down my back.

The corners of the queen’s mouth turn up, and her green eyes sparkle. “I’m playing with you, Mr. Plummer. I’m sure our morning will be very good.”

I chuckle awkwardly, but Queen Mal doesn’t seem to notice. I’ve stumbled upon the first point of many that the tabloids get a little right and a little wrong: the queen’s manners are unorthodox and distinctly un-Auradonian, but there’s no malice either.  

As welcoming as her expression seems, there’s something more akin to suspicion in her narrowed eyes too. Or perhaps it’s caution. Either way, after looking me up and down, Queen Mal nods at me to follow her.

For now, she’s decided to give me a chance.

We turn to go, the queen’s shoulders directing back up the same path she came from, when I realize I haven’t introduced myself. I suppose she has already addressed me by name, and I certainly know hers. Still, it feels improper.

I hurry to the queen’s side, rummaging in my mind for what to say now that I worry we’ve skipped several pages of the script. Though, surely, it is the hostess’s duty to direct the conversation?

“I’ve had your driver take the back way so you could see the gardens. I’ve always thought they’re more impressive than the entrance hall.”

Her comment is so perfectly timed, I wonder if she’s read my mind.

“They are lovely,” I say.

The gardens are indeed beautiful, and grander than I remembered from my previous visit. Perhaps they’ve just had time to grow. I spot a large cherry blossom that I recognize, and I feel it’s a good time as any to address the elephant in the room.

“Your Majesty, I believe I recognize that cherry tree, just there, though it was a good deal shorter last time I was here.” I clear my throat. “I visited the castle several decades ago to pen the last ‘Day with the Royals’ article, I’m sure you know?”

“Yes,” she says. “I’ve read it several times over by now.”

I try not to look too pleased at this incredibly flattering news. I’m not sure if I succeed.

“On my first read, I was surprised to learn about the golden wallpaper and ceiling trimmings you described,” the queen muses, “I thought that must look terribly gaudy. I hadn’t been inside the palace at the time and didn’t imagine that I ever would be.”

“Before you entered the palace.” I remember feeling surprised. “Am I to understand you read the article before meeting the king?”

“After I met Ben,” she corrects. “He was the first person waiting to greet us when we came from the Isle.”

The queen does not have to specify who “us” is. I have not been so under a rock as to not know the original four villain children from the king’s first proclamation. They are the stuff of history books.

“Meeting Ben was the first thing I did after setting foot on Auradonian soil,” Queen Mal says lightly. “Everything about my life here came after that. After him.”

We walk on in silence for a moment while I ponder that.

For a woman both revered and chastised for her independence, it’s odd to consider her introduction to Auradon as almost synonymous with her introduction to King Ben. Among my prep work, I read through a rough timeline of their relationship, which began only a week after her arrival. The shock over such a quick royal relationship masks another secret underneath: the woman next to me has spent less than a week of her life unencumbered by either a royal spotlight or a magical barrier. I want to ask her thoughts on this, but it’s too early in the day for so intimate a question. Instead, I push on about my article.

“When, then, did my original piece first catch your eye?”

“Before I was to meet Queen Belle. I wanted to know something about the royal family that the prep school gossip couldn’t tell me.”

She likens finding my article early on to googling one’s crush and consuming anything you can find on them. The now-familiar twinkle in her eye tells me she understands the ludicrous nature of the comparison, as if her crush wasn’t the crown prince of the entire kingdom and she wasn’t considered the most powerful fairy to ever live, but when she doubles down on the word “crush,” I believe her.

That’s the magic of Queen Mal: never for a moment can you ignore the sleeping dragon underneath her gown and sharp green eyes, but it’s all too easy to forget her husband is the king.

I thank Queen Mal for the attention to detail she paid to my article. “And now that you have seen inside, how do you feel on that gold finishing in person?”

“Still terribly gaudy.” She looks at me out of the corner of her eyes with one side of her lips upturned. “But it grows on you.”

Twenty minutes into my visit and we’re still in the gardens. Queen Mal is not warm, as Queen Belle was, yet she is familiar. She does not ask after my family or probe on my career, but the silences are comfortable. The stones on the garden walk are neat yet still uneven at times, but the queen’s stiletto-steps never waver. On the surface, at least, rumors of the young queen being ill-suited for luxury and finery seem to be little more than page filler.

She doesn’t shy away from the privileges of her station, accepting bows from passing servants with casual nods. Her fingers are adorned with gold and purple rings. Her dress is far from simple. No part of the palace nor its staff has been downsized, as far as I can tell. None of this appears to make her uncomfortable. Yet she flaunts none of it; without naming powerful names, I will admit to having met royals by marriage who reek of new money far more than the woman in front of me now.

Her casual nod to a passing servant’s bow surfaces the memory of my last visit, where Queen Belle greeted each staff member we passed by name, introducing some to me even. A memory for every acquaintance, lord or peasant, was a widely lauded strength of hers. One of the shining qualities of those who marry into the royal family is their humility, their ability and desire to see everyone, no matter the rank.

“Who is that?” I ask, nodding to an older man on an adjacent path, thick blue and golden gloves on his hands as he kneels in the soil.

“The gardener?”

“Yes. I’m curious about the flowers he’s weeding.”

“They’re crystal daffodils, a rare species from Arendelle. They take more care than most since this is warmer climate then they prefer, but they’re easily one of the most beautiful flowers here.”

Determined not to be foiled in my quest for a name, I nod my head at a guard walking slow circles around the perimeter. “And who is that? I should have expected it, but it’s quite odd to return to the same palace and yet see all different staff. I still think of Captain Tomil.”

“Yes, the guards change biannually. The palace is a post like any other. I’m sure some of the people you met last time you were here are still in the service, merely rotated to other assignments. I’m sure you could reach out and ask.”

“Of course, of course. Is that only with the guards, or the staff as well?” I press. “I remember Chef Analise from when I was here last. Does she still work here?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Oh? What’s the name of your new chef?”

The queen’s eyes linger on me for a long moment, a smile creeping up her lips.

“Are you testing me, Mr. Plummer?”

It should have been terrifying, but her expression was alight with amusement instead of anger.

“I would never dream of it, Your Majesty,” I say, as propriety dictates. We both know I am lying. That seems to be half the fun.

“Of course not,” Queen Mal echoes, “But let’s say, for the sake of argument, you were impressed by my predecessor’s ability to name all her staff. And let’s say, for the same argument, you wrote about that experience in an article that I already confess to have read.”

I am mortified by now, as I’m sure you can imagine.

“But I’ll assume it’s just your natural curiosity at work.” The queen raises her eyebrows. “In which case, I’m happy to oblige. The guards by the hedges are Julio and Bastiel. The gardener you asked after is Dario, Chester you see by the door, and Mariana is watching from the crow’s nest.”

“The crow’s nest?” I tilt my head up and around, squinting at the trees. “I don’t see anything.”

“Exactly.” The queen’s eye twinkles. “But I promise Mariana sees you.”

I use the unsettling comment to segue into discussions around palace security. It’s true that the palace spends almost triple what it once did on guards and security, though Queen Mal asserts that it is both necessary and worth it.

“I’ve said as much many times before—” she sounds tired as she says it, though I hope not of me, “—but extra caution is the price we pay for doing what is right. I stand by the decision we made nine years ago. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Neither would Ben.”

She brings up her husband like it’s a statement she’s accustomed to tacking onto the end of sentences to clear doubts.

Whether to change the subject or because she’s struck by a genuine desire to tell me, Queen Mal points out a large section of flowers as we near the palace walls. They’re white and purple buds, and as I look closer at the queen’s behest, I can see the vines they’re on are covered in thorns. Not the delicate green points of roses, but long, black spikes. They seem out of place in the palace garden.

Queen Mal explains that it’s a plant from the Isle, so common that it can be found anywhere.

“I tripped over them my entire life. I brought them over on a whim. I had no idea they would flower once they saw the sun.”

The metaphor feels too on the nose, so I don’t say anything.

The queen reaches out to brush one of the white petals with her purple nails. As soon as her hand makes contact, the flowers come to life. If a plant could stand up straight, that’s what happened at her touch.  

It’s the first sign of magic from Auradon’s fairy queen on my tour.

And we’re barely thirty minutes in.

I dressed in a tweed blazer that looks sharp but is better suited for air conditioning than direct sunshine, so I’m relieved when the queen guides us to a door at last. It’s a simple glass double door, attended by a single footman. He smiles and sinks into a short bow as we approach. Queen Mal responds with her customary nod.

“Since I know you must be dying of curiosity, this is Hugo,” she tells me.

No doubt hearing his name, he tips his hat to us as we pass.

“He’s filling in for Kimball while he’s on paternity leave.” The queen glances at me. “I do hope you’re writing this down.”

I can tell she is having fun with my earlier questions, but I still feel compelled to say, “I did not mean to offend, Your Majesty.”

Her eyebrows—a deep indigo like her hair—raise. “It would take a great deal more than that to offend me, Mr. Plummer.”

It doesn’t take long inside the palace to reveal the queen knows far less about its interior than its exterior. I compliment the style of drapery and she says a polite thank you and little else. Several paces later, I comment on the pleasant tapestries strung across the hall. She asks me why I like them and follows my answer up with a thoughtful hum, as if she’s been debating their continued place on the wall.

I ask her about a painting in library and she tilts her head thoughtfully as if I’ve raised an interesting discussion point for us to ponder together rather than asked about a permanent fixture of her home.

“A scene from a former royal’s travels,” she says. “Perhaps somewhere up North, from all the snow. Although it may just be the season.”

It’s obvious she has no knowledge of the painting’s origin and she admits as much without a trace of remorse when I ask.

When I glance out upon the gardens, I notice a slight wobble in the window pane. I blink several times, wondering if it’s a trick of the light or the result of too many late-night deadlines. The queen answers my unasked question in a way I’m coming to expect, explaining that all the panes repel magic and surveillance technology.

“It’s a DeVille product,” the queen says. “To protect us from our enemies, from curses to paparazzi lenses.”

I don’t try to hide my surprise. “You consider the paparazzi your enemies?”

“I have often felt they wished me and my family harm,” she says simply.

Next, the queen answers my inquiries about her day-to-day life, and when she and the king work together and when they work apart. What she describes is a more fluid schedule than I remember Queen Belle relating. Like everything else in this palace, it lacks the careful organization of the old administration. There are fewer maids in the halls, and the guards appear more casual. They walk regularly while inside instead of marching. Queen Mal explains that the family prefers less security personnel inside when they help it.

“We reduce the numbers when I’m home.”

“When you’re home, Your Majesty?” I repeat, sure I’ve misheard her.

“Yes,” she confirms. “When I’m away on a trip, we bring in reinforcements to secure the halls for the rest of the household.”

The use of “reinforcements” leaves no mystery who the frontline is. She’s standing beside me in heels and blue silk that don’t disguise the woman who’s felled more villains than every fairytale knight combined.

I open my mouth to ask if she’s ever had to use her skills for palace protection, but I never get the chance. Hurried footsteps from behind make us both turn around.

“Mom!”

Expecting an adult, I have to lower my gaze several feet to look at the queen’s daughter who is running towards us on her little legs. I recognize her from pictures; nothing else would set the plainly dressed child apart from any other.

“Mo—” The child’s foot catches on the carpet and she tumbles to the ground.

I expect the queen to rush to her, and though her body jerks forward at first, she doesn’t move from my side.

“Oops!” she says instead. “That’s why we don’t run inside.”

The girl picks herself up, the fluffy carpet that betrayed her feet proving a loyal surface to fall into. “Oops,” she echoes in her young voice, clearly unhurt, “That’s why we don’t run inside.”

“Exactly.” Queen Mal smiles as her daughter approaches, more slowly this time. “Maia, this is Mr. Plummer. You remember us talking about his visit today.”

It’s not a question.

Princess Maia looks up at me and for a second, I want to laugh. Her narrowed eyes and slight smile are a perfect mirror to her mother’s expression. Then, much like her mother before her, the princess decides to give me a chance.

She puts her hand out. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Maia.”

I accept her handshake with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you too. I’m Kat. How are you?”

“I’m good.” Princess Maia folds her hands behind her back, looking bashful. “How do you like our palace? Dad made me clean my room.”

“Well, everyone else cleaned the rest of the palace.” Queen Mal reaches her hand out to caress her daughter’s dark waves affectionately. “You had to do your part.”

“Do you like the palace then?” Princess Maia looks at me expectantly and her mother does the same.

“It’s incredible,” I say honestly. “The breakfast room with the big windows is my favorite.”

“Me too.” Princess Maia’s eyes light up even more, if possible. “I like sunrises there. All pink and purple. Do you like sunrises?”

“On the rare occasion I wake up early enough to see them, I do.”

Princess Maia straightens her shoulders proudly. “I’m an early bird.”

It’s clear this is a title bestowed upon her that she’s proud of without fully understanding.

“A good habit,” I say.

“One she didn’t get from me or her father.” The queen squats down in her gown more elegantly than I would have thought possible. “What’s up, peaches? I’m still showing Mr. Kat around.”

“I know. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me. What happened?”

The princess glances up at me as if embarrassed I might hear what she’s about to say. I look away.

“Milo spilled ink on my easel and ruined my picture.” Princess Maia’s voice sounds sad. “And he won’t apologize.”

“Hm, well both of those sound fixable. Let’s go tackle them together.” Queen Mal straightens and turns to me. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Plummer. Family matters—I won’t be long. Please take some tea in the breakfast room, or you’re welcome to continue looking around. I’ll find you.”

I take the opportunity to sit down and rest while the queen walks away with the princess. I’m surprised Queen Mal paused our meeting to deal with the matter herself, but I’m grateful for the time to reflect on a similar encounter from my first time at the palace.

Unlike Princess Maia’s surprise encounter, Prince Ben was waiting to meet me before I dined with the family the evening of our visit. At age eight, the points of his crown barely reached my chest. He was already wearing his signature pressed blue suit and white button down. The little prince was the picture of politeness and courtesy.

Preparing to talk about the family, I checked the ages of all the royal children before arriving. The princess is four—about half Prince Ben’s age when I first met him—and it’s a poor comparison of behaviors, yet I can’t imagine a four-year-old Prince Ben would have been anything like Princess Maia.

Queen Mal takes her time, and I spend a pleasant twenty minutes sipping my tea and admiring the literary collection in the breakfast room. It’s no surprise it’s a favorite of the princess. On my second time in the room, I notice the bottom shelf of the bookshelves wrapping around the walls are filled with children’s picture and early chapter books.

When the queen returns, she does not apologize for the interruption but thanks me for my patience. I comment on the books and she says they read all the time. Occasionally, when either she or her husband are called away from family time, the other will encourage the children to go pick out a book while they wait for the parent to return.

I offer my compliments on her daughter, who was polite and adorably clumsy, and Queen Mal thanks me. When I ask after Princess Maia’s artwork, the queen explains it needed a quick magical touch to reverse the damage. Then an apology among siblings needed a mother’s touch.

A new elephant has entered the room, which is the queen’s feelings around being a mother when her own is so infamous, but this feels like a tour ender, so I comment lightly on the princess’s very casual attire instead.

As usual, the queen seems to know what I’m thinking.

“You’re wondering where the children’s size four blue suit is?” Queen Mal asks, referring once again to my article. She really has read it several times. “Ben and I opted to leave those in the closet when it came to our kids.”

She describes how her husband began etiquette and public presentation classes when he was three, about the time the tailor started making him custom clothes.

“He remembers you from the first visit,” the queen says casually.

“Oh?”

“Well, he remembers the visit. He rehearsed his introduction for an hour, along with several appropriate conversation starters for the dinner table.” The queen looks at me sideways as if inviting me to call it odd.

I’ve studied royal families for too long to do so.

Instead, I ask, “I take it you didn’t want your children to begin their PR training so early?”

“It was Ben’s decision more than anything. One he was rather passionate about.” She smiles, no doubt seeing the curiosity in my widening eyes. “You can ask him all about it tonight.”

I make a note to do so and circle it three times.

When Queen Mal suggests we take lunch in the breakfast room, I don’t hesitate to accept. Servants ready a table and ask what I’d like to have. The question surprises me—everything from the entrée to the palette cleansing sorbet was prescripted on my last visit. I think back to what I enjoyed most on my last trip to Auradon and ask for a spiced Kaesespaetzle. It arrives in less than fifteen minutes, as delicious as I remember. The queen eats empanadas while sipping champagne from a whiskey tumbler.

“I’m sorry to have interrupted you from your royal duties,” I say, wondering if her silence is distraction.

“You haven’t. This is my royal duty.” Her tone is not gracious, but matter of fact. She shoots me one of her twinkling smiles to ensure I know what she means.

I do, of course.

My piece is to be read—if you’ll excuse my blunt hubris—across the kingdom and regarded with a much higher standard of truth than most reporting on the royals’ daily life. Entertaining me is as important a diplomatic endeavor as any a queen may handle. I may not have realized as much last time, but I am more than young and eager now; I am prepared.

“Speaking of which,” she inclines her head to me, the invitation clear.

I bring out my writing pad, a low-tech habit I’ve retained from my many off-the-grid assignments. When I look up, Queen Mal is eyeing me with the same slightly narrowed expression I now know she passed onto her daughter: suspicion, with a hint of curiosity.

I know exactly what my first question needs to be.

“What do people get wrong about you and your family?”

Mal raises her eyebrows. “Where do I start?”

“Where do you want to start?”

“It’s a good question, a two-in-one. Learn which rumors bother me most while hearing my argument against them.”

I can tell she’s not refusing my question, merely pointing out that she sees its layers. It seems important to her that I know none of my questions catch her unawares.

“Exactly. What’s the truth that you feel everyone is missing?”

The queen hesitates for only a moment. “I love my husband. I love Ben.”

My pen is poised, ready to jot down notes, but I don’t need notes to remember this.

“That’s interesting.”

“Is it?” The queen’s purple nails tap on the edge of her armchair. “I think it’s rather boring. I would think it’s a given for most young married couples.”

“So the rumors that bother you most are the ones that accuse of having ulterior motives for the marriage.”

The queen raises her eyebrows as if what I’ve said has amused her. “I certainly feel that most of the rumors would disappear if people believed I loved Ben.” She turns away from me to look out the window. “Or at least they’d be different.”

“Accusations of gold-digging royal spouses are as old as castle battlements,” I say.

She nods. “Believe me, I’ve spoken to Cinderella and Tiana on the topic before. Never Aladdin, Flynn, or Kristoff though, interestingly.”

I can tell the furrow of confusion in her brow is rhetorical; neither of us are at a loss for the dynamic at play here.

“It’s not the end of the world, as far as rumors go,” Queen Mal says. “More baffling than hurtful.”

“Baffling?” I say.

The queen shrugs. “What could I want with a royal marriage? Wealth? Power?” Her eyes flash acid-green on the last word as if to underline what a strange notion it was to assume anything, least of all a marriage, could get her more power than she already possesses.

Rather than fruitlessly argue this point, I suggest something else she could after: “Legitimacy?”

“What does that mean?”

I can tell she’s not asking for a definition of the word.

“Everything you mentioned—wealth, power—along with society’s approval.”

At this Mal lets out a laugh. “Society’s approval? Is that what this marriage has given me? I think the talk show hosts may disagree with you.” Then she sighs. “I suspect I would have gained more approval if I’d attended Auradon Prep, graduated, and retreated to an unassuming life as an everyday citizen. Not to mention peace of mind.”

I don’t miss the way she glances to the tinted windows.

“Then why didn’t you?”

At this, the queen’s smile returns. “Because I love my husband.”

We talk next about her childhood, the obvious subject for an interview with an Isle Child whether or not they ended up in the highest palace in the land, and how she felt arriving to Auradon. She admits immediately to a feeling of resentfulness, but says it was outshone by relief and joy. I’m surprised to learn that she doesn’t come from the poverty everyone assumes. She describes her home with Maleficent as a fortress, complete with feasts, nice clothing, and servants.

“On the Isle, the term is henchmen,” she says.

I can’t tell if she’s joking.

Unlike her well-known friend in Baden, Queen Mal doesn’t dwell on the horrors of the Isle. I don’t spend time delving into her relationships with the three other Isle children she arrived with, as I know countless interviews have already covered that topic. If any of the memories make her sad, the queen hides it well. The conversation moves chronologically to enrolling in Auradon Prep and meeting the then-prince.

I have yet to see her as animated as she is when telling her origin story with King Ben. She is generous in her descriptions of their trading jibes in history class, their first date down by the Enchanted Lake Pavilion, even their first kiss on the carriage to his coronation. She is silent on a myriad of other aspects: the infamously abrupt end of King Ben’s relationship with Audrey, their early and long engagement, the reasons behind their temporary estrangement shortly after Queen Belle’s death.

She also glosses over her introduction to his parents at the Auradon Prep Family Day, but I can’t tell if it’s more to do with the drama on the croquet field than dodging discussions of King Ben’s parents.

The rise and fall of Duchess Leah is well-known by now, but I feel the reactions of King Adam and Queen Belle to their Isle child daughter-in-law are largely unexplored. When I probe on this point, Queen Mal tilts her head thoughtfully and I remind her there’s no need for diplomacy in her answer.

Rather than consider this rude, she smiles. “If there’s anything I’ve learned about Auradon, is that there’s always a need for diplomacy.”

“I’m not writing an expose,” I add, “You can be honest and trust I will present your words in good faith in my article.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she says. “You will write what you write and the public will think what they think. But just as I read your piece on Ben and his family years after you wrote it, I know my own children will read this one day. And Queen Belle and King Adam are their grandparents. One day, when they ask me about them, I don’t want what I say today to be anything I wouldn’t say to them.”

It’s such a kind reasoning that I forgive her for the bland answer she follows with: the king and queen were surprised, but they got over it in time. They were an improvement on her own parents—like so many other allusions to her upbringing, she laughs this off—and so a welcome addition to her family. When I ask about her absence from the queen’s funeral, she denies that issues with the late queen had anything to do with it.

“I wish,” she says, and I can tell she covering some darker emotion with sarcasm again. “The reasons I couldn’t be there were far more painful. But I paid my respects in my own way.”

It’s an intentionally vague statement, and I can see her green eyes challenging me to ask for clarification.

Desperate to produce a question she’s not expecting for once, I say instead, “Do you miss the late queen?”

I think I may have succeeded, because she leans back in the armchair and turns the question over in her mind before answering.

“Like most subjects who proclaim to miss Queen Belle, I can’t truly say I knew her.”

“You’ve known her better than most.”

“I have a feeling it’s quite the opposite.”

I accused the queen—a horrifying sentence, I realize now as I write it—of dodging the question. Of the many rumors flying about, the current queen’s tumultuous relationship with her predecessor is one of the more believable to encounter in a publication. It’s one thing I would like to confirm or deny, once and for all, in my article. I tell Queen Mal this as straightforwardly as I can.

“I don’t feel I know her as I only saw her at the end, and usually at her worst.”

“At her worst? Some might say you did know the queen better than anyone then, knew who she truly was.”

Queen Mal frowns. “I don’t believe knowing someone at their worst is the same as knowing who they truly are. Plainly put, Mr. Plummer, I don’t believe our worsts are our truest selves. Horrible deeds can be as much of a mask as the good ones.”

She pre-empts my follow-up question.

“I believe we’re at our most authentic when we are happy. Love changes us, heals us, but joy often comes first. It’s how I first knew we couldn’t go back to the Isle, all those years ago. I could see it on the face of Evie when she held her sewing machine and Carlos amid his inventions and Jay on the tourney field. When we feel joy, that’s when we show who we truly are at heart.”

“Very poetic.”

“I will tell Fairy Godmother you said so. She’ll be delighted.”

Our conversation turns to the former headmistress of Auradon Prep. The queen tells me she was much, much more. Details of the queen’s journey to hone her magical abilities have been scarce so far. She confesses she’s dodged previous questions since they seem more accusatory than curious. I ask her what the public wouldn’t guess from her lessons with Fairy Godmother.

“A lot of floating rocks,” she says. “A lot of walking in the woods.”

She seems tired at the memory. I ask her if she’s glad those days are over, to which she seems surprised. Evidently Queen Mal’s lessons continue to this day. She attends a council once a week with a group of fairies. She insists it’s necessary to her development.

Perhaps my knowledge of her past battles are incomplete, but I am doubtful there can be more magic for her to learn.

“You’ve been writing for how many years?” she asks me when I express that thought.

“Fifteen. Maybe twenty. Depends what counts as real writing.”

“You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t enough to make you good at it. And yet I’m assuming you still have an editor for feedback?”

I nod, of course. No professional writer is complete without their editor.

“And you’ve been writing for twenty years,” Queen Mal continues. “I’ve been a dragon for half that. I think I’ll stick to my weekly lessons.”

It’s an absurd comparison, but this time I say nothing. The queen seems to enjoy comparing the fantastic to the mundane, and I think it betrays something about how she sees the world. I wonder how long she’s existed in the extremes that allow her to flatten her perception of what’s ordinary.

We’ve sat long enough, and the queen stands to indicate that it’s time to move on. Now that I have a better grasp of her relationship with the rulers that came before her, I ask the queen to show me the changes she’s made to the palace. Thus begins a very different tour than the first.

First, the queen points out the rooms they’ve added more chairs and furniture too, a nod to the larger family she and the king are building. Additionally, the palace is more “child-proof” than before as their kids aren’t barred from any rooms in the palace except those belonging to staff members.

Second, she begins to point out little murals that creep around the walls of sitting rooms like ivy. They’re mostly black ink, little flowers and patterns, but sometimes they become horizons. A closer look reveals that certain parts have been painted over and redrawn. The queen is an artist, and she tells me her origins were in graffiti before I can ask.

“I used to paint a giant purple M on the supply ships that went to and from the Isle.” She sounds neither sad nor ashamed. Wistful, if anything. “It was always gone to the next month. The permanence of art has never been particularly important to me. I make art to make it, not to have it.”

The last new addition to the palace she shows me begins as a fitness exercise. It’s a winding staircase so tight it almost makes me dizzy. The queen scales the rough stone steps like she does it every day.

When we finally reach the top, she puts a hand on my arm, the first contact she’s initiated all day, and warns me to watch my step. Whatever I’m about to see is one of the few places the royal children aren’t allowed to venture. As soon as the door opens, it’s obvious why.

The top of the tower has no walls. The roof is held up by six support columns, one of which I quickly grab ahold of to steady myself against the wind.

The queen steps to the center of the tower like she can barely feel it.

“This is the tallest tower in the palace,” she says, her voice raised slightly over the wind. “We had the steps cleared and resecured so we could enjoy the view.”

The view is magnificent, as long as one isn’t afraid of heights or lack of barrier between themselves and open air.

Queen Mal begins pointing out landmarks, beginning with the Isle. We can see the Tech Towers, twinkling through a light cloud dusting, and the sprawling Auradon Prep campus. It takes several minutes, but I find my footing and move to stand closer to the edge with the queen.

Out of all the gilded ceilings and sweeping windows and grand staircases, this is undoubtedly the most beautiful part of the Auradonian palace. The kingdom and the ocean are sprawled out below, the tower in the center of it all. It’s no longer surprising that Queen Mal feels comfortable in her new role as sovereign. Part of me feels that if I stand atop the tower long enough, I too will feel like all the world is mine.

We’re discussing places the queen likes to take her children in the town, and where their friends live, including other former Isle children, when it happens. I’m leaning out over the edge, my terror turned to caution turned to foolhardiness in a meager twenty minutes. I know what’s about to happen a second before it does.

A gust of wind blows by and I throw my weight behind an arm reaching for a support column that’s a foot farther away than I think. I think I should take a step back but there’s already nothing beneath my feet; the stone is beside the soles of my loafers and suddenly the wind atop the tower is nothing compared to what’s rushing by my ears.

I barely have time to register that this fall is the end, that I’m going to die, when burning hot bars close around my chest.

A look down proves that they’re not bars but great purple claws, and a look up reveals the dragon they’re attached to.

With a great beating of wings, I’m flown back to the top tower we began from, which suddenly looks so small compared to the sprawling palace halls I almost splattered against. The dragon puts me down far more gently than I would have thought possible for a beast her size.

I am too busy kissing the stone floor and cowering close to the stairwell to see how the dragon becomes our queen again.

I hear the clop of her heels and look up.

“Mr. Plummer, are you testing me again?” She’s not even out of breath.

I, on the other hand, am too busy trying not to puke to give her joke the laugh it deserves.

Understandably, we don’t linger any longer atop the tower.

I am excited to meet the king for dinner, and though King Ben does not disappoint, he doesn’t surprise either. I hope he will forgive me if he ever reads this, but after so many hours with his wife, the king is a somewhat anticlimactic end to the day. Perhaps I’m biased, having met the king a couple times already while covering his speeches. He is exactly as he appears to the public: kind, upbeat, thoughtful, and easygoing.

Yet there’s no doubt Queen Mal is a bad influence on her husband. In all my years, I have never seen King Ben exhibit any behavior worthy of reproach as a leader, host, or gentleman. Yet with his wife in the room, he forgets me in conversations and walks down the hallway at Queen Mal’s pace, leaving me behind without a second thought. His picture-perfect posture is a mirage, I’m here to report, as I can say the king lounges on anything and everything within elbow reach when he’s comfortable—which is to say, when his wife is about.

Conversely, the queen’s transformation around her husband makes her brighter. None of her sarcasm disappears—if anything, it intensifies. But the twinkle in her eyes becomes permanent, and there almost seems to be a ghost of a smile on her face when he speaks no matter what is being said.

Dinner with the royal family is a rowdier occasion than my first visit. Parents and children laugh loudly, and it’s clear all three kids have inherited their mother’s sense of humor, even if the execution is sometimes lacking. Each child is polite without being professional, and dressed neatly without being fancy. When they’ve retired back to their rooms, I ask King Ben about the early finishing school lessons.

His usually bright expression darkens for just a moment. He glances at his wife, who smiles more gently than I’ve seen yet.

“What we teach our children first tells them what we value in an adult,” he says, and I can already tell this is a polished version of what was likely once a rant. “And diction and suits are not what I value most.”

It’s a kind sentiment, but spoken like a handsome king who was once a handsome prince with tailored suits and eloquent speech. How much would have he been able to do with his other skills if those requirements for respect hadn’t first been achieved, I cannot say.

“There’s time for both.”

It’s not the king who says this, but the queen. Her green eyes bore into mine and I wonder, not for the first time, if reading minds is within her powers.

“No one appreciates the importance of an appearance on public perception like me,” the queen continues. “But time is precious—”

“—and youth is short,” the king finishes.

“There are many things that a future ruler must learn.” Queen Mal’s eyes flash again. “And there are some things that should come first.”

“But most of all,” King Ben takes his wife’s hand where it rests on the table. “We’re raising children, not future rulers. Or we’d fail at both.”

Naturally, I’m yearning to ask more about what in his childhood formed this strongly held belief today, but it seems too late. Like all journalists, we’re doomed to find the right thread to pull just as it’s time to be sent off to the buyer.

Both King Ben and Queen Mal escort me personally the door, a touch identical to the king’s late parents.

“You must take this.” The queen hands me a gilded pot of blue and gold with a single flower at the end of the long stem. The petals are clear, opaline even. It’s beautiful, and yet quite an unconventional parting favor from a ruler.

“A gift from Dario,” the queen explains.

My confusion shows on my face and the queen opens her jaw in a most un-royal show of shock.

“The gardener, Mr. Plummer. Are you saying you don’t remember his name?”

This time we laugh together. The king joins in, though he cannot possibly understand the reference. He’s just looking at his wife.

I don’t write anything on the trip back to Enchancia. I need the flight to let it all settle. Even now, two weeks out from my visit, I feel as if some things are still settling.

The question I get most often from both colleagues and family about the queen is—did you like her?

Very few people asked me that after my visit with the previous family. I heard “what did you do at the palace?” or “does Queen Belle seem happy?” and even “is she less pretty in person?” Nothing so simple as “did you like her?”

It seems a waste after such an enriching day. To offer the new queen the breadth of curiosity she deserves, I’ll answer all the questions for her as well. What did we do at the palace? We walked in the gardens, we drank champagne, we dined with the king. I waited alone in a parlor while the queen attended to her children, I saw the fairy queen’s power save my life, I learned the name of a gardener that I am never going to forget.

Does Queen Mal seem happy? I would say so, though it can be difficult to tell if you’re counting smiles. She shows it in other ways.

Is she less pretty is person? Resoundingly no—coincidently, the same answer I gave for Queen Belle. Sitting kings and queens tend to marry beautiful people. I suppose some things never change.

Did I like her?

Queen Mal is elegant and unbelievably sharp in a way royals rarely are. There is an unnerving look of caution in her eyes that warns me not to cross her. She is well-spoken and confident in herself. All her staff respect her and she knows their names without feeling the need to show it off. It is undeniable she belongs in the life she’s married into, and she knows it. The queen marches through her palace on expensive heels and makes no attempt to hide her indigo hair among Auradon’s traditional blue and gold.

Talking to her isn’t easy but it is always interesting. Her straightforward manner of speaking hides a talented liar, of this I’m certain. Though I feel comfortable assuming the words she said are true, there are a thousand more she didn’t say. Though she speaks of her mother more casually than most would expect given everything she’s been through, the information she offers is the tip of the iceberg. Her history on the Isle, too, is shrouded in half-truths and topic redirection.

She does not laugh unless she means it. She takes a joke well and tells many of her own. She’s generally laidback, more likely to be amused than irritated any given moment. She is rarely defensive on her own behalf but grows frustrated at slights to her husband. Her desire for privacy is at constant war with her desire to be understood. She makes no apologies as a rule. She knows the scientific names of plants but not the origin of paintings hanging in her house. She dislikes paparazzi, champagne flutes, and braiding hair and loves her family more than anything.

Yes, I liked her very much.

Unlike her predecessor, for whom my article declared “I cannot imagine anyone who wouldn’t like her,” I can see why some may not enjoy the new queen’s company, though I am certain those who do love her all the more for the very things that push others away.

The kingdom is right to consider her a mystery, private and closed off compared to the queens of Auradon’s smaller thrones. They are right to consider her dangerous too. But the queen I met was not a fearless monster, as the Orleans Orator penned just last week. She’s afraid of many things, and she hides it under the bravado of being the scariest force in any given room. Nor is she a monster; the title refers to something more uncontrollable and angry. Whatever she may say about the need for ongoing lessons, Queen Mal wields her considerable power with precision and purpose. This makes her more dangerous than any monster.

Queen Mal is not desperate to live up to the legend, but she doesn’t waste time living it down either. There is no doubt in my mind that the dragon inside her is as ready as ever should the need arise. It is a unique demeanor for a ruler; where most feel powerful because the might of the kingdom is behind them, it seems Queen Mal stands in front of the kingdom because she is the might. And yet, after a day among some of Auradon’s proudest treasures, I cannot say if the queen loves her kingdom. Respects it, cares for it, protects it, yes. But loves? I get the sense there are very few things the queen loves.

Perhaps this is why she’s so adamant it be known that she loves her husband. Perhaps this is the most unlikely miracle I saw that day.

To all the second queen hopefuls who ground their teeth at the royal wedding and count down the days until royal separation, allow me to be blunt: your hope is unfounded. Only death will do our current rulers part, and even then, I have my doubts. And perhaps that is my favorite discovery from my visit. There is only so much you can do in a day, and so much more about the royals to discover, especially for one with as many secrets as Queen Mal. Maybe I will be invited back and return, or maybe I will depend on my new friend Dario to let me in the back entrance.

Regardless of whether I set foot in the palace again, I can confirm I feel very safe living out the rest of my days in Auradon. We are in good hands. Scaly and burning hot, perhaps—but good. At the heart of this article assignment is a desire for reassurance that the people we’ve chosen to lead us will do so with integrity and honor. I am certain of few things, as a journalist, but this I know. Long live the king.

And, though I doubt it needs to be said, long live the queen.