The day arrived. Outside the castle walls, the people were joyous. They had never been told what was to happen. For all they knew, it was their beautiful princess's seventeenth birthday. She had come of age, a thought that was enough to fill the streets with enthusiastic energy.

In stark contrast, the palace was filled with an atmosphere of fear. The servants prepared the main hall for the celebration, but it was with an edge of worry that they did so.

The king was more nervous than usual. That day he didn't even allow Claire to wear any of her pointed tiaras. What's more, her dress had a soft, round design, as if even too sharp of an angle in the cloth might prick her and set off the curse. It turned out to be too big, but it could not be fitted to her, since the maids could not be trusted near her with pins.

None of that mattered. It was a spinning wheel that was supposed to unleash the curse, and every one of them had burned.

But magic would find a way.

Prince Owen had been at the princess's side ever since she left her chambers that morning. Being together filled them with comfort and sorrow all at once.

"Did your father invite many people to the celebration?" he asked her while they walked along an open-walled corridor. The silence between them had at last driven him to try to talk.

Claire shook her head. Her hand swung aimlessly at her side. "He invited no one from outside of the castle. He didn't want them to be here when...you know..."

"Oh."

Then the silence returned.

The celebration took place before noon in order for it to be over ahead of anything that happened. Claire wished it hadn't. Although the customary entertainment was well-planned, the foods excellent, not one person in the room was in the mood to enjoy it. Most played with their meal dismally, while others forgot theirs completely to stare at the princess with a mixture of sadness and horror. It was a birthday nightmare.

Prince Owen didn't even seat himself at a table, instead standing at Claire's shoulder as she tried to eat. Although her appetite was little, she forced food into her stomach, knowing that this would be her last meal in a hundred years.

The clock in the main hall was only half an hour from noon. Claire didn't even realize she was bending her spoon in half until Owen placed a hand on her own tense one. "It's going to be fine," he whispered. "I'll protect you."

Claire nodded without speaking and turned back to her food.

A little while later, a jester walked out in front of the guests, holding three gold balls in his hands. Another entertainer struck up a tune on his lute, and the jester tossed the balls into the air one by one. As he juggled them, someone else threw more to him. There were four gold balls circling in the air. Now five, and six, and seven.

The first stroke of noon filled the hall with a sharp bell sound, sending Claire's heart lurching in fear.

Magic would find a way...

Down the table, a jumpy lady cried out and spilled her goblet on the floor. The juggler too was distracted by the clock, and stepped mid-toss into the puddle.

The gold balls flew through the air as he slipped. Most fell harmlessly to the floor. A few shot straight up, sending the people beneath them scurrying to get out of the way. One rocketed forward with incredible speed and caught Prince Owen in the side of his head.

"OWEN!" Claire screamed as he collapsed to the floor behind her.

The clock struck, the third toll.

"Somebody help!" Claire cried.

A few lords rushed to her aid. They lifted the unconscious prince and swiftly headed for the exit. Claire followed behind, ignoring the chaos erupting throughout the hall and trying desperately not to trip over her skirts.

The clock rang out the ninth time the moment Owen was carried into the physician's chambers. While he examined his patient, he said, "Princess, can you find some bandages in my supplies?"
He probably could have retrieved them himself. But he was in a hurry. With noon almost upon them, everyone was frantic.

The eleventh stroke was delivered as Claire fumbled through the physician's unorganized amalgam of supplies. She had to be faster. If Owen wasn't treated before the castle fell asleep, there was no telling if he ever would be.

A sharp sensation suddenly pierced through her tumultuous thoughts. She lifted the object that had pricked her, staring in terror at it and the single red bead it had left on her finger.

It was a spindle. Magic had found its way at last.

The clock struck twelve.

The last thing Claire saw before her suddenly heavy eyelids shut was the physician. He had come to help her find the bandages, but now he was sobbing and apologizing between yawns. "Forgive me...sister is a spinner...couldn't afford to lose...hid spindle...princess...please forgive..."

Then Claire was fast asleep, and all the castle with her.

~*~

From her corner of the land, the fairy Ira felt the curse that was half hers come alive.

She tapped her poison-green fingernails on the arm of her favorite wooden chair. "That spoilsport Lumbia changed my curse. If it were just up to me, the child of those inconsiderate fools would now be dead," she pouted. Then a smirk twisted her lips, and she reached out to stroke the thick trunk of a thorny vine that grew at her side. "But there is more I can still do..."

Vines sprouted outside the castle walls, thin at first, but as they burst from the ground they widened like trees.

The vines spread, collapsing over the walls and blanketing them completely with more spiked and tangled offshoots. They crawled over the palace grounds, wound through stables and servants' quarters, and choked the life out of the gardens. Still they reached and reached, until they stopped before the palace doors.

~*~

Inside the palace, only Prince Owen was awake. His eyes had opened reluctantly, and his head was throbbing, but when he saw the lords that had carried him into the physician's chambers lying asleep on the ground, he leapt to his feet instantly. "Claire!" he gasped.

He was at the door, ready to search the palace for her, but then he heard a snore from the supply closet. He looked and saw that the physician was snoring on its threshold, and that Claire had collapsed against the shelves inside. Heart heavy with dread, Owen stepped over the other sleeper and rushed to her side.

"Claire!" Owen cried. He caught up one of her hands in his and cradled her head gently in the other. "I didn't protect you."

He watched her face, beautiful and peaceful in rest. With a piece of shallow hope, he kissed her and pulled back quickly to see if there was any reaction. She breathed in deeply, but her eyes remained shut. After all, the kiss was a hundred years too early.

For a moment, Owen didn't know what to do. Ever since they had met, Claire had been there for him. But she was gone--gone to him forever--and he had no one to help him figure out what to do next.

The best he could do was lift the princess off the floor, where she couldn't possibly sleep comfortably. He carried her to her chambers and tucked her under the covers of her bed. After one last forlorn glance at her face, he left her to help any others in the castle who needed it.

As Prince Owen walked through the oppressively silent halls, adjusting servants and courtiers and other residents of the palace into better sleeping positions, a thought entered his mind and smoldered there for a while. "Why did that horrible fairy have to start this whole curse business in the first place?" he fumed inside his thoughts. "It would have been so much better if she had just shown up for the christening, politely informed the king and queen of their mistake, and enjoyed the celebration!"

He came across a page who was hunched forward and straightened him out. His thoughts were still whirring. "And even if the curse being cast had been an unavoidable outcome, why did that other fairy have to change it to one hundred years? One or two would be better. I could even stand to wait half my life. But a hundred years? What was she thinking?"

Thinking about the fairy suddenly gave him an idea, though. It was she who had created the hundred years of sleep. Maybe she could take it back and change the curse to something else.

After he had done his best to make sure the castle was sleeping peacefully, Owen rushed out through its walls and away. He didn't notice the thorny vines open up to let him through and then close immediately and firmly behind him.

He was on a mission now. He had a purpose, a shred of hope to cling onto.

He looked back at the window of the princess's tower, now in the distance.

"I'm not giving up on you yet," he muttered under his breath. Then he turned to begin his search for the fairy Lumbia.