The Writer's Cafe discussion

This is a retelling of Snow White. It's a story that I've published under another name, which makes posting it here something of a personal no-no, as I try to keep my nom de plumes strictly separated - but for some reason I really felt like posting something today, and for some other reason I wanted it to be this story. So I'm making an exception. I hope you enjoy it. : )

Once upon a time, there were two sisters. They grew up together in a small but prosperous town that clustered around the walls of an ancient castle. Beyond the town was a deep, dark wood, and beyond the wood was the wider world, but few people ventured so far.

The sisters had been born at the same time, a double joy for their mother, and as they grew up they looked so much alike that everyone said they were mirror images of each other. Their hair was dark and their skin was pale, and they were beautiful to look upon. If the older one was a little bit more clever, then the younger one was a little bit sweeter.

As children, they shared their toys. As young girls, they shared their secrets. As young women, they shared their ribbons and bracelets. They liked the same colors, the same sweets, the same stories. They were so much alike that few could tell them apart. When they grew older, they were still so much alike that they both fell in love with the same man.

The man was handsome and strong, and to make him quite perfect he was the son of the old king in the ancient castle. One day he was riding past the river where the sisters were gathering water, and he reined in his horse abruptly. He turned his horse towards the water and it crossed the river in a mighty leap.

The older sister drew back, afraid of being trampled. She called to her sister to follow her, but the younger sister did not move. Heedless of her own safety, she stood where she was, staring wide-eyed at the young man.

The man dismounted swiftly, and approached the younger sister, as wide-eyed as herself. They stood there for a long moment, without saying a word. Before the look between them was over, they had fallen in love.

From the bank of the river, the older sister could not see her sister’s expression, but she could see the man’s eyes. The love that shone out of those eyes was so strong that it pierced the older sister’s heart. Before anyone said a word, she too fell in love.

The man and the younger sister were soon engaged, and the older sister’s grief was great at not being the chosen bride. Her love for her sister was stronger than her grief however, and so she hid her pain with a smile and danced at their wedding.

When her sister begged her to come live with her and her new husband at the castle, the older sister agreed, though she knew that it would hurt her to see every day the happiness that she could not have. But her love for her sister was stronger than her pain, and she never let the younger sister see how she suffered.

The years passed, and soon the old king in the ancient castle died, and the man became the young king in the ancient castle, and the younger sister became queen. The new king and queen were very happy together, and if the older sister was not happy herself, she at least was glad that her sister was.

More time passed, and a shadow began to creep over the ancient castle. Years had gone by, but still the young king and queen did not have a child. For the first time, the younger sister began to have a grief of her own.

The older sister could not bear to see her sister unhappy. In her lonely hours, the older sister had learned the ways of spellcraft, and when she saw how deeply her sister desired a child, she devised a spell to help. At first she hesitated to use it, as it was a dark spell and would require great sacrifice, but her love for her sister was stronger than her fear, and she decided that she would use her magic to give her sister a child.

She had taken a tower room in the ancient castle for her spellmaking, and to that room the older sister now brought the things that she would need. On a small table in front of the window, she placed a bowl, carved from the finest ebony that the deep, dark wood could provide. In the bowl she placed a candle, which glowed darkly once it was lit.

Pushing the shutters of the window open, she reached outside once, twice, three times, bringing in handfuls of freshly fallen snow each time she did so. She placed the snow in the bowl, carefully surrounding the candle. The wind gusted in through the window, but the candle was not blown out.

As the candle’s warmth began melting the snow into the purest of water, the older sister took a knife and cut her hand. She let the blood drip into the bowl, where the dark red blood stood out sharply against the white of the snow, surrounded by an ebony halo. As she cast the spell, the blood began to swirl and blend into the melting snow and wax.

A great pain seized her, and she felt something being wrenched from her. She was not afraid however, as she knew that this was the price she must pay for the spell to work. The pain increased, and she cried out. Then the sacrifice was made, and she fell to the stone floor of the tower room. At the window, the candle went out, and the room fell dark.

I

The old castle on the hill was quiet as evening descended. There were no guests drifting down the wide stairs, no servants doing last-minute tidying before scurrying out of sight, not even any dogs barking in the yard. The kitchens, the corridors, the grand receiving halls and elegant dining rooms, all stood empty and dark.

The darkness and silence had stolen over nearly every room except for the queen’s bedchamber, and was trying to claim the long gallery that stood opposite. Hushed whispers slipped down the length of the gallery like the first cold wind of winter, and pierced the hearts and fears of every person gathered there. Candlelight flickered across their concerned faces, lighting the tapestry-hung hall dimly, as if it would be disrespectful for anything to be seen clearly while the fate of the young queen was still undecided.

Servants, relatives, and friends had all found their way to the gallery, instinctively drifting closer and closer to the queen’s bedchamber as they waited for news. Some stood in twos or threes, but most stood alone, tucked into the many nooks and crannies that made the gallery so popular with trysting couples on more cheerful occasions. As they stood and waited, watched and whispered, their gazes would often drift to the chair that had been placed just outside the bedchamber door.

Though there were many chairs in the gallery, this was the only one that was occupied. In it sat the young king, cradling his head in his hands. His hair was all on end, and his eyes were red and unseeing. His clothes were rumpled and no longer fresh, as he had not left the gallery for nearly a day.

Behind the king stood the queen’s sister, Marya. Her face was as drawn and worried as the king’s, though her eyes were drawn to the man in the chair as often as they were to the bedchamber door. A strange energy filled the woman, and she twisted her hands nervously. After a moment, she bent to the king’s ear and asked something in a low voice - something that she must have asked several times before, because the king shook his head impatiently and said, “I told you, no!”

The woman drew back as if scalded, and hid her eyes with her hand for a moment. Letting her hand fall again, she moved a little to the side towards a candelabra, and began playing with the wax that dripped from the candles. She did not seem to know what she was doing, and if the wax burned her, she gave no sign.

The sound of approaching footsteps were heard. The king drew himself forward in his chair, the waiting, watching people crept closer, and Marya returned to her original position, clutching the high back of the king’s chair for support. The bedchamber door opened.

The room beyond seemed overly bright to the people gathered in the gallery, as dozens upon dozens of candles blazed inside. In the doorway stood the doctor, looking very tired, and drying his freshly-washed hands on a towel. He stepped forward to speak to the king, bowing his head slightly.

“She is asking for you, your majesty,” the doctor said quietly. “And you as well, my lady,” he added, looking at Marya. He paused, then said, “You had best hurry.”

The king was out of his chair and pushing past the doctor before the words had finished being spoken, but Marya was slower to move. A trembling had come over her, and for a moment she thought she would fall. She clutched the back of the chair until the carving pinched into the flesh of her hands, then she released her grip and forced herself forward. She braced herself first on the doorframe, then on the back of an upholstered sofa that stood nearby, and in this manner made her way across the brightly-lit sitting room.

The alcove where the queen’s bed stood was only on the other side of the room, but the bed curtains cast a deep shadow and Marya could not see her sister clearly. She could see the king, kneeling beside the bed and holding her sister’s hand, but the queen herself was only a silhouette. Marya paused halfway across the room and stared.

“Amelia,” she whispered, her fear suddenly increasing.

Across the room the king spoke, also saying ‘Amelia.’ He said it again, more harshly, then repeated it a third time, desperately. Then he put his head down on the bed and cried.

Marya froze, as all sense of feeling pooled out of her, leaving her numb. Blankly, she looked around the room, still glaringly bright from the dozens of candles. A fire blazed at the hearth, and two of the queen’s waiting women were standing to the side, crying into their aprons. The chairs and sofas were littered with the doctor’s paraphernalia, and in a corner stood the bassinet that Amelia had so lovingly prepared just a few days before.

Marya barely reacted when the doctor brushed past her and moved quickly across the room. Still numb, she watched as he bent over the silhouette in the bed, feeling first the wrists, then the neck. When he gently folded the hands together and began drawing the sheet up to cover the face, Marya moved.

“No,” she said, whispering at first, then repeating herself more loudly. “No!”

She crossed the room in a flash, pushing the doctor aside and roughly pulling back the bed curtains so that the candlelight fell clearly on the figure on the bed. Her sister Amelia rested there, her face peaceful but wan. Relief flooded through Marya, and the numbness faded abruptly.

“She’s asleep,” said Marya happily. “She just sleeping. Oh, thank heavens, she’s sleeping!”

The king lifted his face to stare at her, and the doctor put a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder, pulling her away from the bed. Marya wrenched away from his grasp, reaching out towards her sister instead. Amelia’s hand was cold in hers, and Marya tried to warm it while urging her sister to wake up for a minute, just for a minute.

Amelia’s hand remained cold, and she did not awaken. The king had buried his face in his hands again, and was making a strange sort of keening sound, as if he had been wounded. The doctor pulled at Marya‘s shoulder again, and she tried to shake him off impatiently, but he would not let her go.

She turned to look up at him. “Have you given her something to make her sleep so deeply, doctor? Is that why she doesn’t wake when I call her?”

The doctor shook his head gravely, his eyes growing more concerned as he searched her face. “Your sister is dead, my lady,” he said at last.

* * *

Marya’s eyes drifted open and she blinked, looking around the room. She was still in the queen’s bedchamber, propped up on pillows on one of the ornate, uncomfortable sofas. In one corner of the room stood the waiting women, crying, and the king’s muffled cries could still be heard from the alcove behind her. The doctor was standing next to her, feeling her pulse.

“What happened?” Marya asked in a weak voice, struggling to sit up.

“I am afraid that you fainted, my lady,” the doctor said, releasing her wrist and gently pushing her back against the pillows. “You must lie still now and be quiet, or you will make yourself ill.”

A horrible ghost of a laugh escaped Marya, for her dizzy spell had not made her forget what had happened, and she answered. “Ill? What does illness matter now? My sister is dead.” The laughter changed to a choking sob as she spoke. Her twin, her other half, her mirror image was dead.

Marya’s body was wracked with heaving sobs as her grief clawed at her from within. Moans and cries alike were wrenched from her, but she did not weep. Her eyes felt as dry as sand.

The doctor looked on in concern, but was too weary himself to try to convince the queen‘s sister to be calm. For a time there was silence in the room, broken only by the sound of crying and the quiet movements of the doctor as he gathered his belongings.

Once his things were gathered, the doctor took one last look at the bed, where the king still crouched next to the queen’s body. Without speaking, he turned away and went to the door. Silently, he turned the handle and slipped out the room, to tell the people waiting outside what they dreaded to hear.

As the door clicked gently closed behind the departing doctor, Marya’s sobs began to gradually recede. After another few minutes, she fell back against the sofa pillows, exhausted. Memories of her sister began stealing through her mind, and she let them do so, too weak to turn her thoughts away.

Amelia had been so happy these past few months. Everyone had been happy - Amelia was overjoyed to finally be having a child, Donavan, the young king, had been delighted that he might at last have a son and heir, and Marya was secretly elated because she knew that it was her own spellcraft that had brought it about.

Marya had not told anyone about what she had done - the news of Amelia’s pregnancy had made the king warm towards everyone around him, including Amelia’s sister. She did not want to spoil that, and the king had never approved of her spell craft, nor of her presence in general.

The king had always been polite but slightly cool towards Marya before, and sometimes Marya had wondered if he had somehow sensed her feelings for him. He was the only person the sisters had ever met who never had any difficulty in telling the two of them apart. Amelia used to joke that it was because he saw through the eyes of love, not knowing how much her words wounded her sister every time they were said.

The memories of her sister were casting a pleasant, hypnotizing haze over Marya, but that haze was shattered by the sound of a third cry. This cry was weak, petulant, and high-pitched, and it refused to be ignored. Turning her head in astonishment, Marya realized that the sound was coming from the bassinet. She had forgotten about the child.

Marya waited a moment, but no one else moved towards the sound. She stood shakily, then crossed the room towards the confection of lace and linen that Amelia had assembled for her baby to rest in. Almost fearfully, Marya looked inside.

At first all she could see was a soft white blanket, being shaken by whatever was hidden beneath it. Marya pulled the blanket back gently, and stared at the child thus revealed. She felt her heart breaking for the second time that day.

“My lady?” asked one of the waiting women, coming up behind her. “Is there something wrong?”

When Marya didn’t answer, the woman hustled forward, giving her eyes one last hurried wipe with her apron as she did so. Anxiously, she bent over the bassinet, examining the baby carefully. With a look of relief, she lifted the child into her arms and began soothing it.

Answering her own question, the waiting woman cooed, “Why no, nothing’s wrong. It’s a perfectly healthy baby girl.”

“Yes,” said Marya finally, her voice expressionless. “A baby girl.”

“What should we do with her, my lady?” the woman asked.

Marya looked up, startled. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“The child, my lady. She won’t be staying in this room, surely, now that…well, I mean, should we take her to the nursery? And someone will have to send for the wet nurse, I would think.”

Marya shook her head as if to clear it. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Yes, that would probably be best.”

“And you won’t forget about the wet nurse, while you’re making the other arrangements?” asked the woman.

“Other arrangements?” repeated Marya.

“Surely there’s a great deal that needs to be taken care of, and who else is there to do it? You wouldn’t expect the king to have to handle it all, the state he’s in, now would you?”

“No,” answered Marya automatically. “No, of course he must be spared from such things. I‘ll…I‘ll take care of everything. To spare the king.” She paused, blinking rapidly and trying to force herself to think. “Yes, take the child to the nursery, and I’ll make sure that everything you need is sent there. You’ll have to be the child’s nursemaid.”

“And a delight it will be, I’m sure,” the woman responded, rocking the child in her arms gently.

“And take that other girl with you,” added Marya, gesturing at the second waiting woman who was still sobbing hysterically into her apron. “She’s not doing anybody any good here.”

“As you say, my lady,” the woman said quietly. “Would you like to hold your niece for a minute or two?”

Marya looked at the now sleeping baby in the woman’s arms. “No,” she said after a moment. “Not now.”

Marya turned away from the woman’s startled expression, and began crossing the room. She very carefully avoided looking towards the bed again, although the continued sounds of the king’s grief threatened to overthrow her tenuous hold on self-control. By the time she reached the door she was almost running, and she pulled it open violently, as if by leaving the room she could escape her anguish.

Many people had left their places in the gallery after the doctor had made his announcement, but here and there people remained. Some gathered in small groups and were talking in low voices, and others had collapsed on various chairs and were openly crying. When Marya burst into the gallery, several of them looked up, with expressions ranging from shock to hope.

Marya stopped short just outside the door, looking around at all the faces of the people who were mourning her sister. For a moment an intense bitterness swept over her, as she reflected that none of these people could possibly mourn Amelia the way she did, and the way the king did. Then, just as abruptly, that bitterness gave way to a gentle sadness, and Marya felt the tears that she hadn’t shed earlier rising swiftly to the surface.

She wanted to run away, wanted to hide from all the faces that were turned towards her, but she did not. She could not, if she wanted to help the king. Instead, she forced herself to walk slowly and calmly forward, before turning and continuing just as sedately down the length of the gallery. Marya kept her chin high, and her gaze on the far wall, blinking frequently to keep the tears from pooling. She could hear whispers as she walked.

She had not gotten very far before she was interrupted. The cook had sent an underling to the gallery to find out if supper was expected to be served today. Marya answered the boy almost at random then continued on, only to be stopped again, this time by the head chambermaid. One of the guests wanted to change rooms, and was it acceptable to move them to the rose room?

Marya gave her consent and then resumed walking, not bothering to keep to the sedate stride any longer. She hurried along the gallery and then down a side hall until she reached her own room. Once she was safely inside, she cast herself on her bed and let herself cry.

Eventually, when she had wept herself dry of tears, and when sheer exhaustion had deadened the pain of her grief somewhat, she sat up and thought about what she needed to do. After a moment she leaned over and pulled the bell rope that hung against the wall, then she went to splash cold water on her face from the basin that stood next to her mirror.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door, and a timid little maidservant poked her head in. “Yes, m‘lady?” she asked.

“Please tell the butler that I wish to see him in the library in half an hour,” Marya said, not realizing how cold her voice sounded.

“Of course, m’lady,” the maid said hastily, ducking back out of the room and closing the door behind her.

Marya closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, then looked harder. On the rare occasions that she and her sister had been apart, she had sometimes thought that she could see Amelia in her own reflection. But not today.

* * *

In the following days, Marya took over the running of the household, more by necessity than choice. She had given instructions to a stiff and slightly offended-looking butler about the funeral arrangements, and had asked him to issue the general order that the king should not be bothered with any problems that arose in the household. She had met with the cook, and now every morning her breakfast tray was littered with menus that needed to be approved or amended before anything else could be done. The head chambermaid, the head groom, the head gardener, the head laundress and the steward all came to her with their problems and to request their orders. Marya had never been busier.

Finally, the day of the funeral came and went, and the dozens of friends and distant relatives who had all gathered for the birth and who had stayed on for the funeral began to depart. Eventually the only people left in the castle were the ones who belonged there, and Marya’s days became less hectic and felt more empty.

She had no real friends in the castle, and most of the servants followed her orders with a chilly obedience that would have been highly unsettling if she was not already used to it. Where Amelia had been loved by everyone around her, Marya had only been tolerated for Amelia’s sake. Now Amelia was gone, and her sister was left alone, trying to fill an emptiness that refused to be filled. Marya had never before regretted her lack of friends - Amelia had always been friend enough for her.

The only person that she could talk to was Donavan, the king. His was the only grief that approached her own, and soon after the funeral he began seeking Marya out. They dined alone together every evening, and the two of them would talk about Amelia for hours, taking comfort in their shared memories and shared sorrow. When Marya suggested that someone else take over the running of the household, the king dismissed the idea, saying that he knew he could rely upon her. Marya had agreed quietly.

Slowly, a friendship began to grow between Marya and the king, a friendship that had never existed while Amelia was alive. The king began to turn to her for advice on small matters, and continued to leave the running of the castle in her hands. He sought out her company more and more frequently, and their conversations were no longer solely about the late queen.

Such behavior did not go unnoticed of course, but the servants were quick to find excuses for their king, and chose to set the blame on Marya instead. The gossip in the servants’ hall was renewed every time Marya and the king dined together, went riding together, or accidentally met in the gardens. Every last servant, from the butler on down to the boy who cleaned boots, agreed that Lady Marya was out to take her sister’s place.

It was not long before Marya herself became aware of these rumors. She was on her way down from one of the tower rooms when she overheard two of the maids talking on the landing below.

“…should have heard her giving orders to the cook, just like she was the lady of the house. Scandalous is what it is, scandalous,” said one of the women.

“It surely is. Why, that woman was trying to step into her sister’s shoes before our good lady was even laid in the ground,” replied the other.

“Hmmph,” muttered the first. “And in more ways than one, I’ll be bound.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that she’s got her eyes set on being something more than just a housekeeper, I’ll warrant,” the woman replied. “Haven’t you seen the way she looks at the poor king? Like a cat looking at a caged canary,” she added maliciously.

The second woman uttered a shocked reply, but Marya did not hear what she said. She stood on the steps above the women, frozen. Indignation was her first reaction, followed swiftly by sadness, as she acknowledged the truth of what she had heard.

Marya had loved the king ever since she had first seen him, but for years she had been trying to hide that love so that her sister would not be made unhappy. Now that Amelia was gone, it was becoming harder and harder to hide her feelings. Marya was also afraid that the king had noticed it, and while his behavior was encouraging, it also made her feel uneasy at times.

Marya hadn’t been able to help but notice how frequently the king had begun to compare her to her late sister. He often mentioned that he hadn’t noticed before how similar in appearance Marya and Amelia actually were, and sometimes told Marya that she was as sweet as Amelia was. Once, during dinner, he had actually called her Amelia. Not knowing what to do, Marya had done nothing, and the dinner had continued without incident or comment. The king never realized that he had misspoke.

Marya began to have fears that she refused to put into words, for she desperately wanted to believe that the king was coming to care for her. Deep down, she knew that she would never be able to fully replace Amelia in his mind, but she pushed such thoughts aside, telling herself that it would be better to be second place with the man she loved than to have no place at all. And even while she loved, she grieved.

Marya had for weeks known that her heart was not just broken, but was broken into pieces. Part of her grieved for her sister, and always would, but another part of her grieved because of how quickly she had started to cherish hopes about the king. Last, she grieved because she had failed.

She had wanted to give her sister a child, and the king a son. Now, because of what she had done, her sister was dead and the king still had no son, only a daughter. This grief was greater than either of the others, and was made worse because she had no one to talk to about it. The king was her only friend these days, and she could never confess to him what she had done. All she could do with this grief was to turn it inward, and try to bury it within the pieces of her broken heart.

As for the king, he never spoke about his disappointment in still having no son and heir, but Marya was certain that he suffered in silence. He had refused to see his daughter for weeks after her birth, and it was not until the funeral had long come and gone that he finally made an appearance in the nursery.

Marya had escorted him there, for she had been overseeing the care of the child and wanted him to know that she had been doing so. She had at first tried to be a surrogate mother to the child, honestly wanting to love the baby for its mother’s sake, but she just couldn’t. Every time she saw the child, she was reminded of her own failure - both to create a boy-child and to save her sister’s life. Instead of love then, she gave the baby everything else a child could need in the way of nurses, toys, and pretty dresses.

The king had no more than seen his daughter for the first time than he began to dote upon her, lavishing a free and easy affection upon the child that made Marya feel a small twinge of jealousy. She found herself maneuvering events and even telling outright lies to make sure that the king saw his daughter as rarely as possible. Despite such tricks, it was clear to everyone that the king loved his daughter more than anyone else in the world.

And so time began to pass.

The seasons drifted into years, and soon the baby was a small child, then a little girl, and then a young woman. The child was adored by her father, and by all the court and all the people of the town, for she had her mother’s sweetness as well as her beauty. Of all those who ever gazed upon the girl, only one person’s heart was left untouched.

When the child was still very small, the king had married his first wife’s sister. The sisters had looked so much alike that at times he was able to convince himself that his second wife was actually his first. Though he tried very hard to never let his new wife know what he was thinking, he could not stop his memories of his lost love.

His new wife, who always knew when he was pretending that she was her sister, never murmured. The love that would shine out of the king’s eyes during those times was so sweet and great that she hated driving it away. Instead, she would pretend as well - she would pretend that the great love shining out of his eyes was actually for herself, and that he truly cared for her.

As time passed, and the older sister’s youth began to fade, the look of love came more and more rarely to the king’s eyes. The memory of his first wife, who had died so early in life, would never age, and in his mind the resemblance between the sisters became less and less with each passing year. He did not mean to be cruel to his new wife however, and he tried always to treat her with kindness and respect, for he had grown fond of her over the years.

His new wife however, did not want his fondness, nor his kindness. She loved him with all the broken pieces of her heart, and she yearned to be loved by him in return. She had known when she married him that he was still in love with the memory of her younger sister, but she had convinced herself that time would weaken that memory, and that he would turn to her when it did.

When it became clear to her that the king’s memory was growing stronger instead of fading, she had to find a new hope to cling to. She soon convinced herself that if only she could do what her sister had not been able to do, the king would have to love her. She would give the king a son.

For years the new queen clung to this hope, and at the end of each of those years that hope grew a little bit smaller, while her fears loomed a little bit larger. When she had cast the spell to give her sister a child, she had known that she was making a sacrifice, but she never realized how deep it had gone. She did not know it, but she had sacrificed part of herself, the part from which life is born. Though some life was left to her, there was not enough to spare to give to a child. She did not conceive.

As the last shards of youth left the older sister, the love and hope that had filled her for so long began to congeal into bitterness and fear. A shapeless desperation began to grow inside of her. She had not borne the king a son, and the only time his face now bore an expression of love was when he was with his daughter.

The king’s daughter had grown up to be a mirror image of her mother. Though she brought delight to nearly everyone around her, the new queen was never able to look upon the girl with peace of mind. In the beginning, the child had reminded her of her terrible failures, and now that she was grown, the young woman reminded the new queen of her lost youth. And always, there had been the jealousy.

It had always been clear to everyone who gazed upon them that the king loved his daughter more than his new wife. For years, the hope of eventually earning the king’s love had sustained the older sister, and she had been able to ignore the pangs of jealousy that she felt whenever she saw the natural love the king felt for his daughter. Now, however, when the last of her hope was disappearing, that jealousy went unchecked, twisting and coiling itself around the broken pieces of her heart like a serpent.

Now, when she looked upon the king’s daughter, she began to have evil thoughts.

II
A playful breeze blew down the long gallery, ruffling the edges of the tapestries and carrying fresh, spring air past the portraits of all the staid and stodgy-looking kings of old. A maidservant sang softly to herself as she stood at one of the open windows, shaking the dust out of a rug. The ancient castle seemed to be full of sunlight and new life, and the very air carried with it that special kind of gladness that only spring can create.

Queen Marya left her bedchamber and began walking the length of the gallery. The hems of her dark skirts trailed behind her like a shadow, and she moved slowly, as if weighted down. Though spring had intoxicated nearly everyone else in the castle and town, it had not been able to reach her. For her, winter had not yet ended.

Near the end of the gallery she turned, and knocked on the door in front of her. A muffled response was heard from within, which Marya took as sufficient invitation to enter. She opened the door and stood upon the threshold of the sunny chamber, pinning a polite smile on her face.

“Good morning, my dear,” she said to the room’s only occupant, who was half-hidden inside a large wardrobe.

“Good morning!” the princess’ voice came singing out, slightly muffled by the clothes that surrounded her. A moment later she emerged triumphant, clutching a pair of worn but sturdy looking boots in her hand. Her face was flushed and her hair was in disarray, but her eyes were shining and the corners of her mouth were raised in their perpetual smile.

A sudden gust of wind caused the curtains at the window to billow, and the room was filled with dancing light and shadow. For the briefest of moments, Marya thought she saw her sister Amelia crouched on the floor in front of her, then herself of younger, happier days, then Amelia again. As the curtains drifted back down to their normal places and the light steadied, the figure resolved itself once again into the king’s daughter. The spring breeze that had darted into the room reached out and touched Marya, and she shivered.

“Oh, hullo, Aunt,” the princess said. “Isn’t it a beautiful morning?” She always called Marya “aunt“ - it had been tacitly agreed between them years ago that just as she wouldn’t be called “mother,” no more would she be called “stepmother.”

“Yes, beautiful,” Marya replied absently, without even glancing at the window. “I have been told that you’re going to spend the day picking wildflowers? And that your maid is not going to accompany you?” She managed to add a touch of disapproval to her voice.

“No, Berthe’s sick,” the king’s daughter replied, rummaging through a pile of clothes that were lying on the bed. “That’s why I’m going to go pick flowers. They’ll cheer her up.” She pulled out a wide, brightly hued scarf and tossed it next to the boots, then crossed the room back towards the wardrobe.

“Are you at least going to take a guard with you?” Marya asked, watching the princess’ perambulations warily.

“Oh, Aunt!” exclaimed the princess indulgently. “Don’t be silly - I don’t need a guard!”

“The woods are a dangerous place,” Marya responded.

“Phooey,” was the stout reply. “Nothing ever happens to me in the forest.”

“Nothing ever happens to you in the forest,” Marya said dryly, “Because you never go there alone and unguarded.”

“Nonsense,” the princess replied. “I’ll be perfectly safe. I won’t go far, and I’ll be home again in time for supper.” As she spoke she approached Marya, and kissed her on the cheek.

Marya stiffened under the embrace, but did not move away. Her niece was so accustomed to being surrounded by loving people that she never seemed to realize that her aunt was not included in their number. The princess treated Marya with the same casual affection that she bestowed on everyone else, and it always made Marya uncomfortable.

Trying to hide her awkwardness, Marya moved further into the room and lifted the lid of a wicker basket that had been set carelessly on a chair.

“It looks like you’re prepared to miss lunch in all events,” she said, peering inside the basket. With a knowing smile she added, “I see you convinced Cook to open the last barrel of snow apples.”

“He didn’t mind,” the princess replied. “He knows they’re my favorites. He made me some chicken too, and I think there’s a piece of cheese in there as well.”

“And grapes, and cold mutton…goodness, you have enough food in here to last the rest of the week!”

The princess flashed a dimpled smile at Marya. “He likes to feed people.”

“So I should hope, all things considered,” answered Marya.

“What do you mean?” the princess asked, curiously.

“Well, it is his job,” said Marya. The princess laughed at the mild joke, then went back to preparing for her day’s outing.

As the young girl turned away, the polite smile slid off of Marya’s face. The bitterness crept back into her eyes as she stared at the princess’ back. The girl was very young and lovely, just as Marya herself used to be. Looking at her now, Marya was sharply reminded of the padding and lacing that was required to maintain her own figure, and of the powders and dyes that she had hidden in her own rooms. It was several years now since she had first ordered that fewer candles be lit each evening, claiming frugality but really just wanting to use the shadows to mask the lines on her face, and several of the castle‘s mirrors had been banished to empty closets and storerooms.

“I still think that you ought to take someone with you,” Marya said finally, summoning the smile again in case the princess turned around. “But if you’re quite certain that you’ll be safe, I won’t say any more about it.” She felt safe saying this, as she knew quite well how the princess would respond.

“Oh, Aunt, you’re so old-fashioned. Nothing bad has happened in that forest for years. I’m not even convinced that anything ever did happen - it was all probably just stories made up to scare little children.” She came over to stand in front of Marya again, and lightly put her hands on Marya’s arms. “I’ll be perfectly safe. Don’t worry.”

“Of course you will,” said Marya, her smile widening a little bit. “And I won’t.”

With that, Marya turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. As she stood there for a moment, she could hear muffled singing coming from within the room. She waited another moment to gather herself, then began walking once more down the gallery, forcing herself to maintain a stately pace.

Though her movements were slow, her face glowed with energy and purpose. The idea had come to her weeks ago, and she had made all of the preparations that could be made. All she had needed was an opportunity to put her plan into action. She had been waiting for the right moment for days, and that moment had finally arrived - and in the unexpected form of Berthe‘s cold, no less.

The walk from the gallery down to the stables seemed to take forever, but Marya managed to keep to her usual slow and steady tread, while at the same time trying to suppress the excitement that was bubbling up within her. Finally she arrived, and was able to ask the stable boy to find Tomas and tell him that she wished to see him in the morning room.

Years ago, when he was just a small child, Tomas had been caught poaching on the king’s lands and had been sentenced by the small court to have his thumbs cut off. He had quite naturally burst into loud and gusty tears at the news, and Marya, who had happened to be passing by, had heard him and come to see what was going on. She had found a dirty, scrawny and half-starved lad who was by all appearances being terrorized by the small court officials.

Her compassion had been stirred, and she had given the officials a fierce scolding before taking the boy away with her. The men had tried to interfere, explaining that he was guilty of poaching and was no good besides, but Marya had ignored them.

Amelia was still alive at that time, and Marya had gone straight to her, to ask her to intercede on the child’s behalf. Amelia had a soft spot for all children, and this unprepossessing lad was no exception. The queen had quickly agreed to speak to the king about it, and before the day was out Tomas had been reprieved and placed in Marya’s care.

Marya had seen to it that the boy was fed, cleaned and clothed, and for a time after that she was at something of a loss as to what to do with him next. Fortunately, Tomas himself had some very clear ideas about what he wanted to do with his life, which he summarized into two points: becoming the best hunter in the world, and serving Marya, whom he regarded as his savior.

Tomas was accordingly apprenticed with a woodsman, and had grown up to be a skilled forester and huntsman. He had never again poached on the king’s lands - or at least, he was never again caught and charged with it - and he never swerved in his devotion to the lady Marya. He had a small room above the castle stables, and the queen often called upon him to perform small tasks for her, which he was always happy to do. This morning however, she had a much larger task to ask of him.

As Marya waited for Tomas in the empty morning room, she paced back and forth across the length of the chamber. A nervous energy filled her, and she did not trouble to hide it now that there was no one to see. As each minute passed, her nervousness and worry increased, and she knew that she would have no rest until the task was done.

When there was a knock at the door she jumped, and her heart began to race. Giving herself a little shake, she called out, “Come in!”

The door opened, and Tomas stepped inside, bowing as he did so. “You wished to see me, my lady - I mean, your majesty?”

“Yes, I did,” Marya answered. She had one hand at her throat, and she could still feel her rapid pulse. “Thank you for coming, Tomas. I am in need of your help with something…with something most important.”

Tomas bowed again, more eagerly, and answered, “Of course, your majesty, you know you have only to ask.”

“This task is most important, as I said,” she went on. “Also most secret. Once I tell you what it is, you must not ask me any questions about it, nor tell anyone anything about it. Nobody, do you understand?”

Tomas frowned in concern, but nodded. Satisfied, Marya gave a little nod of her own and continued.

“The princess is going to be spending the day picking wildflowers in the forest,” she said, beginning to pace again, but slowly. She spoke carefully, selecting and enunciating each word with precision. “I need you to fetch her. No one must see you leave, and no one must see you return with her. As far as anyone else is concerned, she will simply disappear in the woods, and never be seen again.”

She paused for a moment, watching his frown deepen as the meaning of her words began to sink in.

“When you do return, you will bring your burden to me in the tower room. Again, you must be careful - no one must see you, nor what you bring to me.”

The frown seemed to be etched into Tomas’ face at this point, and he hesitated, clearly wanting to ask questions, but just as clearly remembering that he had promised not to do so.

“You want to ask me why, don’t you?” Marya asked with a certain amount of sympathy for his confusion.

Tomas nodded, and Marya gave a small, brittle laugh as she thought about all of her reasons. She did not want to share those reasons with Tomas however, so she replied flippantly.

“I have need of her heart.”

Tomas’ frown faded and his face paled, but he did not speak. He swallowed once or twice, then managed a nod, then a bow, and left the room.

Marya stood still, looking after him curiously. His reaction had confused her, and she felt a small twitch of doubt. She began to worry that he had guessed what she meant to do, but a few minutes’ reflection convinced her that he could not possibly have figured it out. Even if he had, she could not have let this opportunity pass by.

It was perfect, she was certain. If the princess disappeared while picking flowers in the forest, no one would ever think of seriously searching the castle. They would perhaps check the princess’ room to make sure she hadn’t returned there, but they would never think of looking in the tower room. The obvious answer would be that the young girl had been killed by wild animals, or kidnapped by bandits, or any one of the other dangerous things that could befall people who entered the forest unguarded.

Time and again Marya had been tempted to have the girl snatched up from within the castle - it would have been so convenient, being that close to the tower stairs already, and the girl’s trusting nature would have made it so simple. But the hallways were always full of servants, and the princess was almost never alone. Besides which, if the girl had vanished from within the castle, the search would never have ended, and Marya might not have had enough time to finish what she needed to do before someone thought to look in the tower room.

No, she thought to herself, this was much better. The king’s daughter would go out into the forest unaccompanied, against her aunt’s advice, and then would tragically disappear, never to be seen again. Then, piercing the king’s undoubted grief at the loss of his daughter, Marya would bring a ray of hope and love into his life, by presenting him with a son.

It wouldn’t be murder, Marya told herself, as she had told herself countless times before in the past few weeks. She wouldn’t be killing the girl. All she was going to do was take the girl’s life force and transfer it to a different form, to the form of a baby boy. It certainly wasn’t murder - it was just changing shapes. Besides, it was her own life force that had created the girl in the first place, so by rights that life was hers, and should belong to her son.

The arguments and justifications continued to roll around in her head, just as they had every day and every hour since the plan had first come to her. Every time she repeated them, and every time she heard them, Marya believed them a little bit more.

The only thing she still worried about was the memories - would her son grow up still having the princess’ memories? Would he remember what she had done? If he did, would he be more upset about the lost life of the princess, or be more grateful for the gained life of the prince?

She told herself that the memories would not be transferred, but she could not be certain. In the end though, she didn’t think it would matter, and Marya reassured herself by repeating her reasons, which in her eyes justified her entire plan and all its aspects. The kingdom needed an heir. The king needed an heir. She needed to give the king a son.

Marya emerged from her reverie with a snap, and blinked rapidly to clear her eyes. She breathed deeply, composing her features once again into an expression of calm serenity, then left the morning room. She finished her morning’s work quickly, then claimed to have a headache and asked not to be disturbed.

She made sure that no one was watching, then retreated to her tower room. She climbed the stairs rapidly, and when she reached the top she was breathing heavily from excitement as much as exertion. She immediately crossed the room towards the window, pushing it open and looking outside.

Below, she could see the castle grounds, surrounded by the village. Looming beyond that was the forest, deep and dark and stretching out as far as the eye could see. Somewhere down there in that mass of green was the princess, and the huntsman who was searching for her. Marya sighed contentedly, then turned away from the window.

The tower room was dusty with disuse, and cluttered with items that she hadn’t wanted to keep in her suite downstairs, but hadn’t wanted to throw away either. In one corner, dropcloths covered a small table, an old sofa, and the big pier glass that had started to give too honest a reflection in recent years. Another corner had a trunk full of old clothing, and there were piles of discarded books and papers strewn about.

Marya had cleared away the center of the room with her own hands, and had set up the preparations for her spell on a table that reposed there. All of the components - except for the girl of course - were ready and waiting for her, and as she looked at them she felt a thrill course up her spine.

Marya had not used her spellcraft in quite some time. The king had always disapproved of it, and in her desire to please him she had stopped using it. When the plan had first come to her, she had been worried at first, fearing that the magic had disappeared from her blood through disuse. As soon as she had begun setting the spell up however, that worry had disappeared. The power was still there. Once dormant, but now awakening, she could feel it burning in her veins.

As she stood smiling at the items on the table, Marya felt a little rush of gratitude that she was not going to need snow for this spell. She didn’t think that she would have been able to wait until the next winter. Fortunately, transferring a life was different than creating a completely new one, and the water she had gathered from the spring floods would work perfectly well, if not better.

Time passed slowly, and Marya waited impatiently for Tomas to return. She often went to the window to stare out at the forest, but she didn’t dare leave the tower, not even when the hour for lunch came and went. Hungry, anxious, and intent, she awaited the huntsman’s return, and the fruition of her plan.

At long last there was a soft tapping at the door, followed immediately by the door being swung open. Tomas stepped inside, looking if possible even paler than when Marya had last seen him, and looking slightly nauseous too. He stood there, trembling slightly, then reached out and placed a small bundle in Marya’s hands.

Marya took the bundle questioningly, wondering why on earth Tomas would choose this moment to give her a present. She unwrapped the bundle, pulling back layer after layer of thin leather until she revealed a still freshly bleeding heart.

She dropped the heart in horror, and it landed with a quiet but sickening splat on the floor. Bile rose in her throat, and she ran for a basin of wash water that had been set up on one side of the room. She bent over the bowl, choking and trying desperately to not be sick.

Coughing and choking and breathing raggedly for a few minutes, Marya felt the nausea slowly recede from her stomach, though she didn’t dare look upon the heart again. As the feeling of sickness subsided, fury rose to take its place. Once she was able to speak, she swung around and glared at Tomas, who was still standing helplessly by the door.

“You fool!” she shouted, too angry to care if anyone heard her. “You idiot, you…murderer!”

Tomas took a frightened step backwards and bumped into the door. “I, that is, I mean I…” he began saying, but Marya didn’t give him a chance to continue.

“How could you do such a thing?!” she demanded furiously. “I never said that you should kill her! She needed to be alive,” Marya continued frantically, more to herself than to him. “How am I ever going to…what am I going to do now?”

“My lady,” Tomas managed to say, his voice desperate and frightened. He took two long steps forward and fell to his knees in front of Marya, who twinged at first lest he land on the fallen heart, but he did not. “My lady, please, listen to me!”

“Listen to you!” Marya began, but could not find words to go on.

“Please, forgive me!” Tomas implored. “I disobeyed what I thought were your orders, yes, but indeed I am not a murderer.” He stopped for a moment, glancing down at the heart beside him with an expression of near relief, then added forcefully, “The princess is still alive. I did not kill her.” With that, he fell silent and hung his head, waiting for his judgment.

Marya stared down at his bent head, her mind blank for a long moment. Then his words began to bounce around in her mind, and she drew in a long, sibilant breath. She held it for a moment, then spoke quietly.

“What do you mean?”

Tomas looked up at her briefly, hope flaring for a moment in his eyes. Then he dropped his head again. “The princess is alive, your majesty,” he repeated.

“I think that you had better explain yourself, Tomas,” Marya said after another pause.

“Yes, my lady,” Tomas replied at once. He took a moment to put his thoughts in order, then began his story. “I should explain that when you gave me your orders, I thought that you wanted me to kill the princess and bring her heart to you. I don’t know what I was thinking, because of course you could never have wanted anything like that, but you told me not to ask any questions and so…” Tomas trailed off for a moment, then regathered himself to continue.

“In any case, I left the castle as you bade me, without anyone seeing me. I found the princess easily enough, for she had not gone very far into the woods. I…I drew my knife, meaning to kill her like I thought you wanted, but…I couldn’t do it. Then she saw my knife, and screamed, and ran.

“I was too shaken to do anything at first, then, once I had realized that no matter what I wasn’t going to be able to bring myself to kill her, I tried looking for her. I looked for hours, my lady, I honestly did, but after the first hundred yards or so there just wasn’t any sign of her.”

Marya closed her eyes briefly, as she tried to decide whether this turn of events was a blessing or a curse. Tomas gave her another swift, upward glance, then hurried on with his story.

“Eventually I had to give up the search, and I realized that I had utterly failed you. I…didn’t think I could bear you knowing how badly I had done, so I…well, I found and killed a small boar instead. I thought that if you really only needed the princess’ heart, that maybe I could fool you into thinking that the boar’s heart was really the girl’s, and so…” As he finished, he gave a little jerk of his head in the direction of the heart on the floor.

Marya’s stomach churned a little as she followed the gesture and looked at the heart. “You certainly did fool me,” she said, a bit dryly.

“I am sorry, my lady,” Tomas said humbly. “But,” he added with a brightening of aspect. “At least the princess is alive, and you want her to be that way.”

“Yes,” Marya said slowly, turning her head to look out the window at the forest. “Yes, of course.” She turned back to fix Tomas with a stern look. “And as for you, the next time you think that I want you to kill someone, you ask me first. Understand?” She smiled to let him know that he was forgiven.

Tomas smiled back, giddy relief shining in his eyes as he laughed at her attempt at humor. “Yes, my lady,” he said. “I mean, your majesty. I‘m so glad that - I mean, I knew that you couldn‘t actually want the princess to have been killed.”

“Thank you, Tomas,” Marya said.

“But what should we do now?” he went on to say, his relief fading back into concern. “I mean about the princess being lost in the forest? Should I tell somebody?”

“No,” replied Marya sharply. “I told you, nobody can know anything about what happened today, even if it didn’t work as intended.”

Tomas looked doubtful for a moment, and Marya spoke again to drive her point home.

“Tomas,” she said forcefully, waiting until he met her eyes before continuing. “You must promise me absolutely to not tell anyone about this.”

“But they’ll know that the princess is missing,” Tomas protested weakly. “Surely somebody…”

“They will know in time,” said Marya. “But they will not find out from you. Let me handle this, Tomas. Now promise me that you won’t speak of this to anyone.”

There was a reluctant pause, then Tomas whispered, “I promise.”

“Good,” said Marya. “Now you can go. And do not worry, Tomas. I will take care of this.”

Tomas gave her a grateful but still slightly worried look, then stood. He bundled up the boar’s heart again, and bore it away with him. Marya noticed that he forgot to bow on his way out, but chose not to say anything as she had far more important things to concern herself with. Namely, finding the princess before anyone else.

As soon as she was alone again, Marya moved over to the table in the center of the room and hurriedly cleared its surface. The power was searing through her blood, demanding to be used, but her hands were steady as she placed a smooth, silver disc on the table. She looked at it critically, then polished it a bit with her sleeve until its mirror-like sheen was restored. Then she poured a small bit of water onto the silver, which pooled and spread and pooled again until the entire surface was covered with the thinnest layer of water. She took a deep breath, gripped the table, and cast her spell.

The room tilted crazily as the power rushed out of her, then steadied again as an image appeared, as if reflected on the water’s surface. Marya leaned over the table and stared down at it, studying the picture before her. The image was of a small cottage in a clearing in the woods, and in front of the cottage stood the princess. She was scratched and her clothes were torn and ragged in places, but she was alive and looked mostly unhurt. As Marya watched, the princess’ face broke into a smile and she could almost hear an echo of the girl’s laughter.

In front of the princess were arrayed seven men - all of them very short, and all of them dressed in the rough clothing of woodsmen. It was difficult to tell them apart except by the color and length of their beards, but the princess looked like she was playing some kind of game with them. She would point at one or another of them, and say something, then the one she‘d pointed at would nod or shake his head, and they would all laugh.

Marya shook her own head, pulling back from the image. She dropped a small twig onto the silver disc, which immediately began soaking up all of the water, and apparently the image as well. Once the water was all gone, Marya put the twig in her pocket, and put the silver disc back into the old trunk it had come from.

Marya pulled the dust cover off the sofa in the corner of the room, and sat down. The nervous energy that had filled her all day dissipated abruptly, and she closed her eyes in sudden exhaustion. Soon a pleasant numbness overtook her, and she was able to think clearly.

She needed to retrieve the princess, and as quickly as possible. It would ruin her plans if she simply found the girl and led her back to the palace for one and all to see, and it was equally impossible for her to overpower the girl. It was clear that some other agent was going to be needed.

It was not long before Marya remembered a special poison that would help in the task before her. Once taken, the poison caused its victims’ limbs to stiffen and their pulse to slow. For as long as the poison remained in their system, they would appear to be dead to anyone who looked upon them. If she was able poison the princess with this concoction, transporting the girl back to the castle would be a relatively simple matter. The question that continued to plague her was how to deliver the poison.

As the queen sat there, half reclining on an old, uncomfortable sofa, a great many ideas came to her. Most of the ideas were foolish and impractical, and were dismissed as quickly as they arose. She thought of applying the poison to a girdle, and then offering to help with the laces - picturing herself pulling the laces tighter and tighter until the poison crept from the cloth to the girl’s skin. Her imagination quickly showed her how poorly such an attempt could go, such as the girl simply refusing to try the girdle on, and the idea was discarded along with its predecessors.

Next she thought of the simpler plan of poisoning a comb, which could deliver its venom as soon as the teeth of the comb touched the princess’ scalp. This idea pleased her at first, until she realized how easily a comb might fall out of place. With such a small amount of poison as could be fit onto the teeth of a comb, the girl would revive as soon as the comb was removed. This idea was thus abandoned as well.

The afternoon light was just beginning to fade when Marya had her last, and best, idea. She would poison a snow apple. The king’s daughter would never refuse a snow apple, no matter who offered it to her.

The sun dipped behind the horizon, and the room was left in sudden darkness. Realizing with a start how late it had grown, the queen left the tower room, locking the door behind her. She went downstairs hastily, rushing to her room to change, and arriving at the dining room a little breathless but on time.

Three places were set at the table, but the king was the only other diner present that evening. After waiting a few minutes, he decided that they would begin without his daughter, and gestured for the servants to serve the first course. The meal began well - the food was excellent, Marya was in high spirits, and the king was in a good humor.

As the meal progressed however, and the night grew later and darker, the king began glancing at his daughter’s empty place more and more frequently. A look of worry grew on his face, until finally he sent one of the servants to make sure that his daughter was not ill.

Marya looked up from her plate warily, then managed to give a little laugh. “She’s probably just tired out from her long day, Donavan. And I’m not surprised she’s not hungry - you should have seen the lunch hamper Cook put together for her to take.”

“Oh?” said the king, looking back towards Marya. “Where did she go, that she needed a lunch hamper and would be too tired to dine with her family?”

“She said she was going to pick wildflowers,” Marya answered calmly.

“Wildflowers?” the king repeated questioningly.

“Yes,” said Marya. “Her maid has a cold, and she thought some fresh wildflowers would cheer the woman’s sickbed and make her feel better.”

“She did not take her maid?” asked Donavan, the worry lines on his face deepening.

“She couldn’t, could she, not with the woman sick in bed,” replied Marya. “I told her to take a guard with her, but she never listens to me.”

“That’s not true,” the king objected automatically. “You know she always tries to do what you ask.”

“Yes, you always say that,” Marya answered quietly. “But it isn’t always true.”

The king did not answer, looking impatiently towards the door that the servant left by. The minutes began to slip by, and still the servant did not return. Marya tried addressing the king twice more, but the first time he only grunted in reply, and the second time he did not acknowledge her at all.

Piqued and ignored, Marya leaned back in her chair. If the king did not wish to talk to her, then she would not talk. Instead, she began to coldly consider the details of the next step of her plan for the capture of the princess, right there in front of the girl’s worried father.

By the end of this cogitation, Marya had decided that she would have to go find the girl herself. She had originally thought to send Tomas, properly disguised, but had abandoned the idea. She had passed him in the hall just before dinner, and he had looked decidedly nervous and guilty already, as if he were a piece of brittle pottery that might crack at any moment. She hoped for his sake that the alarm would soon be sounded, so that he might join the search parties to help relieve his conscience.

The alarm was indeed soon given, for the servant returned to the dining hall to report that the princess was not in her rooms, and that no one had seen her since early that morning. The king leaped to his feet and began issuing orders. Before twenty minutes had passed, a party of two dozen men were headed towards the forest with torches, with the king riding at the group’s head.

Marya spent the next few hours trying to look and act worried. Eventually this task became too wearying, and she retired to bed. She slept deeply and long, and her dreams were peaceful ones.

In the morning, Marya once again assumed an expression of anxiety, and inquired as to the results of the search party. The king had not yet returned, she was told, but some of the men who had come back had reported that they had found no sign of the princess.

Heartened by this news, Marya told the servants that she was going to spend the day in meditation, and that she should not be disturbed - unless the princess was found, of course.

It had not been difficult to obtain one of the snow apples from the kitchen, and Marya now carried this to her tower room. She spent a brief hour there, at the end of which she held a truly magnificent apple in her hand. The apple glowed with red and white freshness, and looked almost too good to be true - as indeed it was.

Marya hid the apple in the pocket of an old cloak, then slipped back down the tower stairs and along the gallery to her own room. She dismissed the maid working there, then set to work creating her disguise. She removed the padding and lacing, washed the paint from her face and the dye from her hair, and then dressed in old, shapeless clothing. Pulling the old and slightly ragged cloak over her shoulders and head, Marya practiced using a stooped and shuffling gait, then left her rooms.

With so many people out searching for the princess, it was easy for Marya to leave the castle unobserved. Her disguise was tested as she moved through the town, where everyone knew her, but her fears were unnecessary: she was not recognized. Moving as quickly as the shuffling gait would allow, Marya crossed the length of the village and was soon outside of it.

At the river she stopped and rested. She was not as strong as she once was, and walking with a stoop was more difficult than she had anticipated. She was looking forward to reaching the forest, where she would be able to walk unobserved and thus upright. Cheered by this prospect, she shuffled down to the bank of the river with true artistry, then reached out to take a drink.

She cupped her hands and filled them with water, but just as she was about to raise them to her lips she was startled by the sudden sound of many galloping hooves. A group of horsemen appeared on the scene, looking as taken aback as she felt. The rider in front was too close to stop, and sent his horse over the river in a mighty leap, before reining it sharply in. The water drained back through Marya’s fingers as she stared up at the king.

She had seen him like this once before, and for a moment all her dazzled mind could think was that he had barely changed since that day. He was still a powerful figure of a man, and if his hair was touched with grey and his belt slightly wider than it once was, it was hardly noticeable. The last time she had seen him like this, she had been young and beautiful, and she had not known what suffering was.

Marya’s thoughts of admiration and love were so strong that she forgot to be afraid of how she was going to explain herself, and then all of her thoughts were dashed aside when she saw a brief look of revulsion cross the king’s face as he looked down at her.

The look was gone as quickly as it had come, to be replaced by the expression of polite respect that the king usually wore when addressing his subjects. “Old woman,” the king said, speaking loudly and clearly as if he thought she might be hard of hearing. “Have you seen the princess?”

Stunned, Marya could not answer right away, and just stood there staring, her jaw hanging open slightly.

“Have you seen a young girl in the woods?” the king asked again more loudly, with a touch of impatience in his voice.

Marya came to herself abruptly, and managed to shake her head. The king nodded at her briefly, then turned his horse and moved off. The other riders fell in behind him, and soon the entire group had disappeared from view.

The pain Marya was suffering was too deep to be taken in all at once. It came at her in bursts, each one digging a little deeper than the one before. The king, her own husband, had not recognized her.

As Marya stood there shaking, it did not take her long to transfer her anger from the king to the king’s daughter. This was all her fault, Marya quickly decided. If she was not lost, then the king would not be searching for her, and Marya would not be out here looking the way she did. Marya would never have needed to find out what the king truly thought of her, and she could have been happy in her ignorance. It could still be made right however. It was not too late. Everything would be made right as soon as she gave the king a son, or so she reasoned with herself.

The queen resumed her journey, and was soon enveloped by the dark reaches of the forest. There were more search parties to be seen and heard, but since they were calling out for the princess at regular intervals she was able to avoid them easily. She made her way quickly and quietly into the depths of the forest, choosing her path with confidence. She had brought the twig from her scrying with her, and it led her always in the right direction.

It was nearing mid-day when Marya finally reached the cabin in the clearing. She looked around carefully, but could not see any sign of the seven small men. Resuming her stoop and shuffle, she moved into the clearing and called out in a false voice.

A familiar face appeared at the window of the cottage for a moment, then the top half of the cottage door swung open.

“Good morning,” Marya heard the princess’ voice call out.

“G’morning to you too,” Marya replied, trying to imitate the accents of a very old woman she knew who lived in the town. “Might an old woman such as myself be invited inside, to sit a spell before continuing my journey?”

The princess gave her a sympathetic look, but answered, “I’m sorry, but this is not my house, and I promised not to let any strangers inside.”

“Oh, well then, I’ll just have to set myself down beside this brook here,” Marya replied, fumbling with her cloak and skirts as though she were having problems sitting. “Will you not come out and help an old woman to sit down?”

“I’m sorry,” the princess said again, with a look of true regret. “But I promised that I wouldn’t leave the house either.” After a slight pause, the girl smiled and added, “Really, I’m not even supposed to be talking to strangers while the others are gone.”

“Ah, well now, that’s too bad,” Marya said, letting herself half-fall onto a tree stump that sat beside the little brook. She heaved a sigh of relief, which was more genuine than not, for her knees and back were sore from the strain of stooping. She turned her head to the sunlight for a moment, then peered back at the cottage.

The girl was still standing at the door, fidgeting slightly and looking concerned.

“You seem like a nice, young girl,” Marya said, still in her false, raspy voice. “Would you like one of my apples?” As she spoke, she pulled the snow apple from her pocket and held it up to the light.

The girl’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the glorious apple displayed in front of her. She had opened the bottom half of the door and taken two steps outside when she paused suddenly.

“I…I have no money nor anything else with which to pay you,” the girl said, staring at the apple wistfully.

“Oh my,” said Marya, turning the apple in her hands. “Well, my dear, this is too fine an apple for an old woman like myself to sell. An apple this fine can only be shared, now isn’t that right?”

The girl looked at her hopefully and waited. Marya pulled a small, sharp knife from her pocket, then cut the apple carefully in half. She held one half out to the princess, who took it eagerly.

The apple looked so juicy and enticing that the girl forgot her manners and bit into it without waiting for the old woman to start. Before she had even swallowed the girl fell down into a death-like sleep, as the swift poison worked its magic upon her. Marya tossed her half of the apple into the brook and stood, stretching her back and smiling triumphantly.

Marya was still standing beside the fallen princess, trying to decide on the best way of bearing the girl back to the castle, when she heard movement in the trees. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the small men were returning to the clearing. She bent down and seized one of the girl’s arms.

Before she could get a good hold on the princess however, the men burst into the clearing. A shout went up, and they began sprinting across the way. With no time to do anything else, Marya was forced to drop the girl’s arm and run. She fled into the forest, cursing to herself as she went.

The dwarves rushed to the girl’s side, but they were too late. Though they splashed her cheeks with water, though they called her name, though they shook her shoulders, the girl’s eyes remained closed and her cheeks kept their deathly pallor. The dwarves, not knowing about the poisoned apple, believed that she was dead, and grieved greatly.

The sleep of death that had been cast over the princess made her look even more beautiful than before, and the dwarves could not bring themselves to bury her. They carried her inside the cabin, and for three days and nights they mourned. At the end of those three days, they built a coffin made of glass, so that the girl’s beauty need not be hidden from the world.

They placed the girl inside the coffin, and placed the coffin in the middle of the clearing. Songs were sung, and prayers were said, and many a forest animal crept to the edges of the clearing to watch what was happening. Finally, one by one, the dwarves left the coffin and returned to their cabin.

Days and then weeks began to pass, until finally one day a stranger entered the clearing. It was a huntsman, who carried an unstrung bow and no knife. When he saw the coffin he rushed over to it and looked through the glass. When he saw who was inside, he gave a great shout, but those who heard it could not be certain if it was a shout of joy or of grief.

The dwarves rushed outside, brandishing picks and axes at the man and warning him to leave the coffin alone. The huntsman showed them his empty sheath and his unstrung bow, and they lowered their own weapons when they saw he meant no harm. The huntsman then told them that he had recognized the girl in the glass coffin, and that she was the only daughter of the king in the ancient castle beyond the forest.

The dwarves were greatly amazed, and were indeed so overcome by this news that they forgot to ask the huntsman why he had entered the forest with no knife and with only an unstrung bow. They did not know that the huntsman had been sent by the new queen to find the princess, with orders to bring her once again to the tower room.

The huntsman spoke to the dwarves, describing the king’s fear and grief at his daughter’s long absence, and soon convinced them that the princess should be returned to her family. The huntsman offered to carry the girl back himself, but when he reached out to open the coffin the dwarves stopped him.

They told him that the coffin must not be opened, or the body would not be preserved, and the princess’ great beauty would be lost.

The huntsman then produced a rope, and said that he would drag the coffin back to the castle. When he tried to tie the rope around the coffin though, the dwarves stopped him again.

They told him that the coffin must not be dragged through the forest to the ancient castle, as it would surely catch on roots or rocks and the glass would be shattered.

The huntsman asked with some asperity if perhaps they knew of some strong, obliging birds who might carry the coffin back to the castle on their wings, but the dwarves did not answer him, for they were talking amongst themselves.

They turned to the huntsman after a moment, and told him that they would all of them carry the coffin back to the castle themselves. They were strong, and would be able to carry the coffin and the girl together, and so they would not need to open the coffin and mar the girl’s beauty. They knew all the rocks and roots in the forest, they said, and they would not trip or break the glass. And no, they said, they did not know of any such obliging birds.

The huntsman was forced to agree to this plan, for there seemed to be no other way that the dwarves would allow the princess to be taken from them. The dwarves surrounded the coffin, three on each side and one in front, with the huntsman at the back. In a slow, mournful procession, they began their journey towards the castle.

III

The long gallery was once more filled with grieving people, as guests, family, and servants alike gathered to pay their final respects. Though it was the middle of the day, candles blazed throughout the length of the hall, for the sky was gloomy and dark. It had rained every day since the princess had disappeared, and the rain on the windows echoed the tears on the mourners’ cheeks.

The princess in her glass coffin was in the center of the gallery, and beside it stood the king, stroking the glass occasionally as if he could reach through it and smooth back his daughter‘s hair. The queen was not to be seen, but no one was surprised, as everyone knew that she had taken the discovery of the princess’ body very badly, and had barely left her rooms since.

On the other side of the coffin, a long line of people filed past, each of them pausing to gaze upon the young girl’s face for a moment before moving on. Some breathed short prayers, some left small flowers, and others kissed the glass of the coffin. All of them were startled and somehow humbled by the sight of the princess’ continued beauty.

Amid the guests were many important visitors. Ambassadors, nobles, and even neighboring kings had arrived to attend the princess’ funeral, and to commiserate with king Donavan in his grief. Among them there was a minor king and his third son. The minor king paused to exchange a few, simple words with Donavan, while his son stared at the girl in the coffin. When the minor king moved on, his son broke away from him and went to the back of the line of mourners, that he might have the chance of seeing the princess again.

Once the funeral was over, king Donavan gave orders that the coffin was to be placed in a room that was never to be dark and never to be empty. The glass coffin was borne away to a large, empty chamber. Guards were posted, and massive candelabras were brought in and lit. The princess would never be alone, even in death.

Many people visited the chamber at first, then fewer and fewer came each day. Finally, there were only two people who ever entered the room, besides the maids who came to clean it and the men who were still ordered to guard it. Those two were the girl’s grieving father, and the third son of the minor king.

The third son had fallen in love with the dead princess, and had convinced his father to remain at the castle for a little longer. Though he did not say so to anyone, the son had become convinced that the princess was not actually dead, but only sleeping, and so he spent much of his time in the guarded room. He wanted to be there when she woke up.

More than a week had gone by before Marya visited the room. When Tomas had first brought her word of his second failure to retrieve the girl, she had almost gone mad. Even worse, the princess had been returned to the castle in the most public way possible, and within minutes of the procession’s arrival everyone knew of it. First the grievers, and then the guards, made it impossible for Marya to get close to the girl unobserved.

In desperation, she had told the king that she might be able to help the princess recover somehow, but he had turned on her with such coldness, and had declined her assistance with such icy politeness that she had not dared to repeat the offer. Ever since then, she was certain, the king had been trying to avoid her. When they did meet, he did not even pretend to be glad to see her, as he used to do.

Marya had remained in her rooms for as long as she could after that, hiding from the coldness in the king’s eyes. She had spent long hours with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth ever so slightly as she tried to think of what to do. That she had to do something, she knew. The king was further away from loving her than ever, and even the servants had begun treating her differently. Not just the servants, either.

Ever since her reaction at seeing the princess being returned to the castle in the rustic glass coffin, people had been acting strangely around her. They spoke gently, as if to a child, and they never met her eyes, as if they were frightened of her. Whenever she gave an order, instead of saying, “Yes, your majesty,” as they used to, the response was almost always now, “I’ll check with the king.”

At least she still had Tomas, Marya thought to herself. Tomas had failed her twice, but he had not wavered in his devotion, and he had kept his promise of secrecy. Marya did not mind that he also seemed to be full of guilt and remorse, nor did she mind that he had volunteered to become part of the guard that protected the chamber containing the glass coffin.

Now, as Marya stood in the guarded and brightly lit chamber, she finally had an idea. She stepped forward, and looked down at the coffin without touching it. A smile tugged at her lips as she saw the continued effects of her poison, and she did not notice the guard’s concerned expression.

Marya turned about abruptly, startling the guard. She pierced him with a direct gaze, which he had difficulty meeting for long.

“Why is there only one of you?” she asked after a long scrutiny.

“Your majesty?” the guard asked doubtfully. “I do not understand you.”

“Why are you the only one guarding my dear, departed step-daughter?” Marya demanded imperiously.

“Oh!” the guard looked relieved, for no reason that Marya was able to understand. “There used to be more of us, but the king changed his orders, since he needs more men for his search of the forest.”

“Search?” asked Marya, surprised that she had not heard anything of this.

“Yes,” the guard replied, surprised as well. “He is searching for an old woman, whom the dwarves claimed killed the princess. The king thinks that he met her by a river, and that if she could be found again he would recognize her.”

“I see,” said Marya. After a moment she smiled, and the guard became noticeably uneasy again. “Well, if it’s the king’s orders,” she said absently, then drifted out of the room, still smiling to herself.

It was not easy, with everyone in the castle watching her as if she were about to snap and start throwing things, but Marya managed to pay a visit to the head of the castle guard. While she was there, the slightest bit of pretending that she was unwell sent the man running for assistance, and she was able to find and alter the guard rotation.

When the head guard returned with one of her maids, she was so pleased with her cunning that Marya had difficulty in maintaining her role of invalid, but she allowed herself to be escorted up to her rooms and to be put to bed with a bowl of thin soup. Once the maid had left her alone, Marya set the soup aside and leaned back against her pillows to rest. A nap would be useful, she decided, since she was going to be up late that night. Tomas was now scheduled to be the overnight guard in the chamber with the glass coffin. The only guard.

* * *

Late that night, Marya slipped past her sleeping maids and out into the silent gallery. She drifted past the shadowed portraits and the curtained windows, and crept up the tower stairs to make sure that all was ready. She lit the candles in preparation, and arranged her components on the little table in the center of the room. Satisfied that all was in order, she slipped down the stairs again and made her way to the chamber with the glass coffin.

She entered the room without a sound, pausing at the threshold to let her eyes adjust to the sudden light. The glass coffin stood in the center of the room, unchanged, and in one corner of the room stood Tomas. His weight was leaning against the large pike that he held, and he was dozing lightly.

A few months ago Marya would have smiled indulgently at such a sight, but too much had happened since then, and she was too desperate. She crossed the room swiftly, stopping when she was at Tomas’ side, and called his name in a stringent whisper.

Tomas jumped, dropping the pike as he did so. It fell to the floor with a massive cracking sound, shattering the silence. It then making the disturbance worse by rolling in a wide half-circle, clattering all the while. Marya wanted to scream, but held it in. With her hands balled into fists at her side, she waited tensely for someone to come rushing in.

“My lady - I mean, your majesty - what are you doing here? I mean, how can I help you?” stammered the still-groggy Tomas.

“Hush!” Marya said angrily, still listening intently for the sound of approaching footsteps. Tomas obeyed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and abashedly retrieving the fallen pike. The minutes crept by, until Marya was finally satisfied that no one was coming to investigate the din that the pike had made.

Relieved, she turned towards Tomas and gave him a calculated smile.

“Tomas,” she said. “I have good news.”

“You have?” Tomas asked, clutching the pike nervously.

“Yes, indeed,” Marya answered readily. “I know that you have long felt guilty about the fate that befell the princess in the woods.” Tomas reddened, and looked at his feet. “And at last I have found a way to help you.”

“You have?” Tomas asked again, looking up in confusion.

“Yes, I have,” said Marya. “I have found a way to cure her.”

“Of death?” asked Tomas skeptically.

“No, don’t be silly. She is not dead, she has been poisoned,” the queen replied.

“She’s not dead?”

“I just told you that she isn’t,” said Marya impatiently, tiring quickly of these false explanations. “Now come, we haven’t much time if we’re to save her.”

“What do you need me to do?” asked Tomas, still confused, but eager to believe his patroness.

“Set down that pike, and then open the coffin,” Marya replied, moving to the other side of the room. Her hands were shaking with excitement, an excitement she had not felt since the day the princess had gone to pick wildflowers.

Tomas did as she bade him, carefully propping the pike up in a corner before approaching the coffin. He examined the fastenings carefully, undoing each seal in turn until the last was broken. Then he gingerly lifted the coffin lid, swinging it open and off to one side before gently lowering it to the ground behind him. He looked down at the princess, whose face was so gentle and peaceful that he was easily able to believe that she was in fact alive.

“What do I do now?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Now open her mouth,” Marya said, moving around so that she was behind him.

Tomas hesitated for a moment, then reached out and carefully opened the girl’s mouth. “There’s something there,” he said. “It looks like a bit of apple. I think it’s choking her!”

“Take it out,” ordered Marya, coming up behind him.

Tomas pulled a small knife out of his pocket, and very, very carefully used it to pry the piece of fruit out of the princess’ mouth. Once it was out, he whipped his wrist about quickly and sent the poisoned bit of apple flying across the room.

The girl’s eyes snapped open, and she gave a great gasp, filling her lungs with air as if she would never have enough. She sat up abruptly, then put a hand to her head to steady it against a sudden dizzy spell. After a moment her eyes cleared, and focused on Tomas. He was standing in front her, dazed, and in his raised hand he still held his knife.

The princess gasped again, clapping her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream. Before she could scramble out of the coffin, there was a loud crash followed by the tinkling sound of breaking glass, and Tomas slid to the ground, unconscious.

Behind him stood Marya, still clutching the remains of the top of the now-shattered glass coffin. The princess was staring at her in panic and confusion, looking back and forth from her to the fallen Tomas.

“Come, there’s no time to explain,” Marya said hastily, dropping her burden to the floor with another, smaller crash. “You are in danger. You must come with me.”

The princess, who had every reason to think that Tomas was indeed trying to kill her, and who still had no reason to distrust her aunt, nodded in agreement. Marya reached out a hand, and with her assistance the princess had soon climbed out of the coffin. Marya kept her hold on the princess’ hand, and began pulling her out of the room.

“Where are we going?” the princess asked, finally finding her voice. “What is going on?”

“There’s no time to explain,” Marya repeated. “Just come with me, I’ll take care of you.”

They hurried along the hall and up the wide stairway, then up another stairway towards the tower room. The princess was too startled and disoriented to question her aunt further, or to realize that they were taking a path where they would be least likely to encounter assistance.

Up and up they went through the darkness, Marya tugging on the princess’ hand all the while. The further they went, the faster Marya felt the need to move. She thought that she could hear sounds of pursuit behind her, and while a corner of her mind insisted that she was imagining things, she could not ignore the rising paranoia.

At last they reached the final set of stairs, and then Marya was pulling the princess into the tower room. She gave the girl a little nudge to send her further inside, then turned and slammed the door closed behind them, turning the key in the lock and then pocketing it with a great sigh of relief.

The breeze from the hasty opening and closing of the door had blown out half of the candles, and the tower room was thus half in shadow as the princess and the queen looked about. The queen barely noticed her surroundings, intent as she was on her goal, but the princess could not help but look at the contents of the room with misgiving.

The dusty trunks, the draped furniture, even the washbasin, all took on a sinister air in the dim light, and the shadows between them seemed deeper and more dangerous than any other shadows the princess had ever seen. After a moment her eye was caught by the small table near the middle of the room. It took a few seconds to figure out what set it apart, but then she realized that it was the only item in the room that was clean and free of dust.

The princess continued to stare at the table, looking at the strange items that were littered across its surface. Marya brushed past her carelessly, causing another breeze that sent the candlelight dancing again. For no reason at all, the princess shivered.

The queen picked up an ebony bowl from the table, squinting at it in the low light, then set it down again. She poured a vial of white powder into the bowl, then pulled a small silver urn out from a shelf beneath the table. Holding the urn very carefully, so as not to spill any of its contents prematurely, she moved it up and over until it was right above the bowl. Slowly, methodically, she poured out its contents.

At first the princess thought it was water, but as the queen poured the liquid took on a darker hue, as if drawing it upwards from the ebony bowl. The queen then placed both hands on the table and leaned over the bowl, her hair falling down around her face. The queen gave a great shudder, and the princess bumped into the door, realizing for the first time that she had been moving backwards all this while.

A strange heat began to wash over the princess, and she could hear a faint crackling noise, like a winter fire. A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she could feel something being pulled away from her. A wind that didn’t exist began blowing her hair around her face, and she had to shout to make her words heard over the terrible, silently howling wind.

“What are you doing?” the princess yelled.

Marya looked up from the table, startled. The princess was at the door, but that did not matter since she had the key in her pocket. The spell was already beginning to work, for she could see the life force being drawn out of the girl. It still swirled around her, still clung to her, but that was to be expected. The spell was not done yet. She needed the girl’s blood to finish it.

“I am putting things right,” Marya said calmly. Though she spoke at a normal volume, the words were carried to the princess’ ears across the bellowing, silent wind like thunder.

“You were a mistake, you know,” Marya went on to say. “When I cast my spell to create you, when I made my great sacrifice to give you life, it was with the understanding that you would be a boy.” For a moment her eyes softened, as she reminisced. “I always wanted the king to have everything he wanted. Amelia too.”

Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them a second later, they were hard, and were filled with an expression that the princess had never seen before - hate.

“But no, you had to be a girl,” Marya said bitterly. “Then, not content with making me a failure in that way, you killed my sister.”

With tears running down her cheeks, the princess tried to protest, but Marya would not listen to her.

“Yes, you killed my sister, and still you were not satisfied with the grief you had caused me!” She was raving now, Marya knew, but she did not care. The fury, pain, and jealousy that she had kept locked up in her broken heart for so many years was finally bursting forth, and now she would not stop it if she could. “No, to make my suffering complete, you stole my love away from me.”

Tears were on Marya’s cheeks as well now, and she wiped them away impatiently. With an imploring, almost child-like look, she asked the princess, “Why did you have to do that? Had I not suffered enough? Why wouldn’t you let the king love me?”

Again the princess tried to protest, although her sobs were too strong to leave much room for words. Even as she tried to speak however, the queen’s expression hardened again.

“Never gave me a chance,” the queen was saying. “There was never any room for me, not once you came along. No, no. But it will all be put right now. A few drops of your blood, and I will take back what I freely gave, and then I will have the son that the king has always deserved.”

As she spoke, Marya pulled a wicked looking knife from her sleeve, and began approaching the princess. The girl swallowed her last sob, hiccupping a little as she looked around the room again in desperation. As the queen lunged at her, the princess dodged to one side, crossing the room in three quick strides and continuing to look around for something to defend herself with.

Marya snarled in frustration and impatience, and threw herself across the room towards the princess. The battering wind was everywhere now, and dust and papers were beginning to fly into the air. As the queen flashed out with the knife, the princess tried to dodge again, but tripped on the hem of her skirt and began to fall.

She clutched at the air frantically, and felt fabric slipping along her fingers. She grabbed at it, but it did not break her fall. The princess felt the fabric being pulled along with her, and they both hit the floor with a dull thud. She heard a faint scream, but did not turn around. Instead, she scrambled to her feet, struggling with the folds of fabric until at last she was free and across the room again. Then she looked around, and stared.

Marya was frozen in place. When the princess had fallen, she had pulled the dust cover off of the old pier glass, and Marya was left standing face to face with her own reflection. Part of the glass had twisted and warped with age, making her look even more grotesque than she truly was. Marya was not able to hold in a scream of horror.

Moments later, as she was still staring in terrible fascination at the image in the mirror, she saw the princess’ reflection come in to view. The girl’s reflection stood up and turned around, and Marya’s heart contracted in rage and jealousy. By some trick of the light or the glass, the princess was reflected perfectly. For the first time, Marya saw herself side by side with the princess. She saw what she had become, and she saw in the princess everything that she had once been.

“What cruel mirror is this!” were the words that were torn from the queen as she stared, her face twisting in fury. The princess paled, and once again retreated to the door.

In a sudden, enraged movement, Marya flung herself forward. She slammed her hands against the mirror, screaming incoherently. The great mirror shattered and the glass began breaking away, slowly at first, then all at once. Standing beneath a shower of hundreds of falling shards, the queen was cut to ribbons.

The silent wind gave a massive roar, and the light in the room brightened, disappeared for a terrifying moment, then reappeared and slowly steadied itself. Breathing heavily, crying softly, and frightened almost beyond bearing, the princess began moving forward to see what had happened to her aunt. She stopped halfway across the room, as she suddenly realized that she was not yet alone in the room.

The young prince paced around his room with a restless energy. It was late at night, and all the rest of the castle was still and dark, but he knew that he would find no rest tonight. Long after all the lights were extinguished and all the many people who lived in the castle had settled down to sleep, the prince continued to move about his room. He was waiting for something, but he did not know what it was.

Tired of looking at the same four walls, the prince left his rooms and moved down the empty corridors. Though the way was dark, he neither hesitated nor stumbled, for he had made this walk many times. Unerringly, his footsteps led him straight to the chamber of the glass coffin, where the king‘s daughter lay in deathly repose.

The prince had never spoken to the princess, nor seen her smile, nor heard her laugh. He did not know her favorite color, nor her favorite pet, nor even her favorite story. All he did know was that he loved her.

He had loved her since first setting eyes on her. At the funeral, when his turn to walk past the glass coffin had come, he had felt the ropes and chains of fate winding around and binding him as he looked down at the princess, and he had not been able to free himself since. Truth be told, he had not tried very hard.

After the funeral, he had visited the chamber with the glass coffin every day, and sometimes more than once a day. He could not sleep without looking upon his love’s face at least one more time. During these visits, he sometimes spoke to the dead princess, his love, telling her about himself and the life they should have had together.

On this night, just as he was crossing the gallery, he heard a faint crashing sound. He did not pay it much mind, assuming that someone had knocked something over in the dark. As he reached the end of the gallery, he heard the sound of shattering glass. The prince told himself that it was nothing to worry about, but his footsteps quickened nonetheless.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a third sound - very faint this time, like a knife being dropped in an empty hall, followed by voices. For no reason at all, his heart jumped into his throat, and he found himself almost running towards the chamber with the glass coffin.

The prince burst into the room, then stood stunned at what he saw. The coffin was empty, its glass shattered, and the room’s guard was lying unconscious on the floor. The prince looked around wildly, but could see no trace of his love. His head was whirling and the room spun about him. He wanted nothing more than to sit down and try to think clearly about what had happened, but he pushed forward and knelt beside the fallen guard instead.

The guard groaned, and opened groggy eyes. His first words were for the princess, and the prince seized the man’s collar and shook him until the guard told him what had happened. The prince then helped the guard to his feet, and together they began making their way to the tower.

They found the tower door locked, and though they could hear voices from within, no one answered their calls. When one of the voices began to scream, they stopped calling and began breaking the door down instead.

When at last they were able to batter down the door, the prince pushed his way past the guard and into the tower room, his eyes searching every shadow and corner until they rested upon the princess. She was standing on the far side of the room, with her hair in disarray and her face pale with fear. The prince thought he had never seen so magnificent a sight.

He saw that she was trembling, and without further thought he rushed across the room and wrapped his arms about the girl. Though she was startled at first by this familiarity, she did not seem to mind, as she stared up into the prince’s face in complete and sudden distraction. For a long moment, as they looked at each other, neither of the two were aware of anything else in the room.

From the other side of the room a muffled exclamation was heard, and the prince and princess both turned to see the guard crouching over something. The prince moved a brace of candles nearer, and they could see a bundle of torn and blood-streaked clothing. Beneath the fabric, something moved, and gave a faint wail. The princess shuddered and clung to the prince, who tightened his hold on her, as if afraid that she might be taken from him again.

Only the guard was left to investigate the sound, and he reached out a shaking hand towards the ripped pile of clothing. He pulled the fabric back with a quick gesture, and all three of them gasped. Lying there on the floor, where the broken body of the queen should have been, was a tiny infant boy.

Though neither the prince, the princess, nor the guard knew it, the queen’s death had completed her spell. Her blood had been spilled when the mirror shattered, and it was the rest of her own life force that had poured into the spellcrafting. She had finally created a son.

The child was taken to the king, and the whole story was told to him. Though he mourned the wickedness of his second queen, his joy at having his daughter restored to him was so great that he really felt very little regret. In time, he adopted the infant boy as his own, and the child eventually became king after him.

As for the prince and princess, it was not very long before their fates were settled as well. The prince quickly proposed, the princess as quickly accepted, and it was soon decided between them that they would live happily ever after.

The End. : )

Wow, that is so good! I love it!

Ariane *Call me Sparrow* wrote: "Wow, that is so good! I love it!"

Thank you!

Catherine wrote: "OMG that is so cool!"

Well, thank you too! I think it's one of my favorites - of the stories I've written I mean. Can I ask what your favorite part or character was? I'd really appreciate any feedback. : )

No, she didn't have a name. That was one of the techniques I used to make the story more about the queen and less about the princess. : )
But I'm glad that her character was still enjoyable.

I couldn't stop reading until I reached the very end. Beautiful story! :)

finished reading it and loved it :) though I may have to go back and read it in one go to really appreciate it :)