Fairest of them all.

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I always loved stories, ever since I was a child. My mother would sit me in her lap, wrapped in the folds of her cloak and skirt, hold me close, and tell me tale after tale. She told me most often of the one of my namesake, one of a pale girl, with skin white as mine. This girl, however, had a sister as I did not. Her sister Rose Red looked little like her. The sister was a bright girl with apples in her cheeks, scarlet glint in her hair. She was small and full of energy, charismatic and easily won the love of any around her. She had pink cheeks, freckled skin, and eyes the color of the sky. That was their only similarity, those eyes. Snow White was tall and fair, not a spot on her skin, with hair blacker than night. She was quiet, gentle, and made friends with far less ease than her sister. I could have been her twin.


There were some differences, however. This girl was not a child of a king and a queen, as was I. As I said, she had a sister. I had not. Snow White had been her given name, whereas for me it was merely a nickname, given to me due to my resemblance to her from the tales told. My real name though was near enough to its meaning as to wonder why the nickname was even necessary. The most striking difference, though by description I looked just as she, was that she was a girl, and I was not.

But we were as much alike in manner as we were in looks. I was always quiet and shy, except where my mother was concerned. We were very close, which was why her slow illness, her death, and my father’s later remarriage struck me so deeply. I watched my mother grow ill, grow pale, paler than I, until she looked sickly and could not move from bed. Then, I’d sit by her side and tell her tales like the ones she used to tell me. I’d hold her hand as she listened, often as she fell asleep.

I was holding her hand when she slipped away, never to wake again.

I was inconsolable for weeks, and for months later I walked about with little direction, little ambition. A year went by like that, and then my father remarried, a woman with a beautiful face, but one whose smile never seemed to reach her eyes. I thought her stunning, though not as lovely as my mother had been.

I was not fond of her. She seemed too cold, too distant to truly care for me, or for my father. I secretly thought she wished for his money, his power, his position, and not his heart. I should have known she cared even less for me.

I noticed her lack of affection for me, but not how deeply it ran until my younger brother was born. She doted on him with single-minded devotion, the kind she showed neither myself nor my father. The only other things she seemed to love as much were herself and the beautiful full-length mirror she kept in her bedchamber. I saw her gazing into it once when I was still a young child, not yet grown into my delicate features. She could barely tear her gaze away from herself, not even as she started speaking. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

I found it curious enough that she spoke to her reflection, or rather the mirror, but more startled was I when the mirror replied, “You my queen are the most fair; no one else can quite compare.”

I barely managed to stifle a gasp at that. I'd read many tales of magic, but had never seen it before. I waited until my stepmother had appeased herself with vain flattery before I crept from my hiding place. I did not think to worry; truly she had done nothing yet to me to show how little she cared for me. It was not until some time later I felt fear growing in my heart.

The queen, my stepmother, was pregnant with a child I wondered might one day challenge my right to rule. My father was happy, and honestly a great part of me was too. I wanted a sibling, a brother or sister, perhaps one I could teasingly call Rose Red. My younger brother was born, a squealing squalling babe with a powerful voice, one that could, as the saying goes, wake the dead. Thankfully not literally. I was happy he'd been born. A second child brought some of the light back to my father's eyes, light that had dimmed since my mother's death. I dared to hope we could all be a family.

And then my heart broke again when only months after my brother's birth, my father died, leaving me with a stepmother who cared nothing for me. I knew then for certain she was devoted only to her own blood, for she never spoke to me except to chastise, to scold, to say hateful words. I was fourteen then, old enough to marry, to take the throne, and I would have then, had I been able to escape the plans my stepmother had been hatching.

It all happened too fast for me to realize it was even going to happen. The only warning I got was when I happened upon my stepmother again in front of her mirror, her stomach slender once more, all sign she’d borne a child now gone. She caressed it like a lover, with far more desire than I’d ever seen her lay upon my father, and she asked her question again. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

I paused, knowing myself to be out of sight and waited for the answer, and I caught a breath when the mirror responded, “You, my queen, are far more fair than all except the king’s true heir.”

My gasp was well concealed by the sound she made, a half-strangled scream that was laced with anger. “How? How is this possible? How could that…?” She trailed off and I heard a crash, as though she’d broken something. I crept away, but not before noting that what she had smashed was certainly not her mirror.

I sat in my own room wondering what would come of this development. Surely my stepmother was vain enough to hate me even more because her beloved mirror told her she was not as fair as I. My own mirror told me without words that this was likely true. I looked just like my mother, delicate, pale, and fair. I looked unlike a boy, a prince, the heir to the throne.

I started, wondering at the mirror’s wording. King’s true heir? Did it mean to insinuate that my stepmother did indeed have designs for her son on the throne? If that were true, was my health, my very life in danger?

I got my answer very soon. There was a scratching at my door, someone begging entry. I stood, and opened it cautiously and found there the royal huntsman, most skilled with bow and arrow, and a man with the nose of a bloodhound. He could find anything. I had always admired him. “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing deeply.

I frowned. “Highness. I have not yet taken the throne.”

The huntsman straightened and looked me in the eyes. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the King is dead. There has been no ceremony, but you are the King now.”

The King is dead. Long live the King, I thought miserably. I was so busy swallowing my own sad bitterness I almost missed his next words.

“And that is why I worry for your safety.”

I started, staring at him in surprise. “What?”

He looked at me levelly. “You must know the queen is not as fond of you as her own son.”

So it was as obvious as I had thought. I nodded slowly.

“Then you must leave, before it is too late.” His eyes were intense on mine, pale gray-greens that were such a stark contrast to his dark skin, skin brown as milk chocolate. I always thought the contrast stunning.

But I was not thinking on his looks then. I was focused on his words. He knew something I didn’t and rather than ask questions, I nodded mutely, feeling foolish for doing nothing but nodding, and turned to pack some things.

“No,” he said, almost too sharply. “You cannot make it look as though you are leaving. You must simply go, take a walk in the garden, slip into the woods, and do not return until it is safe.”

“How will I-” I cut myself off. I had too many questions. How will I survive? How will I know when it’s safe to come back? Will it ever be safe? Was the queen actively planning something?

I left shortly after, little more on my person than a cloak, and a small basket of food as if I were going to have a picnic. I followed the Huntsman’s advice, slipping out into the garden, then further, into the woods. It was mid-afternoon, and I had no idea where I was going, or whether I would find any shelter before dark.

Afternoon bled quickly into evening, and I wrapped my cloak tight around me. I was not exactly afraid of the woods, but I made certain to be careful there on my own. I grew more and more restless to the point where I grew almost paranoid, swearing something was behind me, following me.

Unfortunately, I was right.

There was someone or something there, a large shape moving far more silently than I through the woods. I changed my direction, heading southwest instead of due south, and my shadow followed suit.

Cold fear gripped my heart and I thought to hurry, but I had no destination, nowhere to run to. The shape grew closer, looming in the growing darkness like a cloudbank over the moon and so when I rounded a bend, I slipped behind a group of trees. I had nothing to defend myself with but a basket of food and a stick of bread. I wrenched a branch free from a tree; I would not lie down so easily.

I waited, carefully holding my breath so as not to give away my position. I stayed there like that, until my pursuer grew closer. Then, with all the force I could muster, I brought down the branch upon his head, as soon as it came into view.

At the very least I thought it’d disorient himself long enough for me to run. Better still, he’d be unconscious and I could get some real distance away. I did not expect him to dodge the blow, allowing only the smallest twigs to scrape his cheek. I certainly did not expect to recognize him.

The huntsman stood before me, an expression of on his face. There was a scratch down one cheek, and it started to bleed in a slow, sullen trickle. His mouth was straight and his pale eyes were serious.

I gasped and covered my mouth, dropping the branch. As soon as I could speak, apologies fell from my lips, and I stepped forward, trying to see if I had wounded him badly.

He quite nearly flinched back, checking himself at the last moment. Was he really pulling away from me? I wondered even as he spoke. “You need not apologize, Your Majesty. In all fairness, I was sneaking up on you.”

His words sounded light, but his eyes still seemed so serious, even troubled. Wishing to lighten his mood, I asked, “Now why would you do that? It doesn’t much agree with you.”

He did not smile, did not relax. He just stared at me, as if memorizing my face, before he suddenly whispered, “Go. Go now. Run southeast and find a cottage there. I know not who lives there, but please go, before it’s too late.”

His warning, almost a plea, was odd enough but the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice had me stepping back. “Why-? What-?”

He shook his head. “Go now. The Queen wants you dead. It was my task to kill you, and I’d rather face her wrath than do it. Run, Your Majesty.”

Fear closed around my heart. I stepped back again, gripping my basket tight. There was so much I wanted to say, and I could not find the words. If I left now, I’d probably never see him again, never speak to him, never see those pale eyes in that dark face, never tell him…

“My name is Jaegar Stark, Prince Orin. Remember me.” And he turned to go, moving as silently through the woods as any creature born there. I tried to call him back; at least I wanted to. But my own shyness stayed my tongue and I watched him go with as much sadness in my heart as when I watched both my parents die.

I did not know then what he planned to tell the Queen of my fate, how he planned to prove to her I was truly dead. I only wished he was spared any horrid fate his duplicity might gain him.

I picked my way southeast, unable to run, if only because my eyes were so full of tears the woods blurred around me. Dark shapes seemed all the more threatening; creatures were born from my mind alone, twisted shapes that were nothing more than shadows and trees. I turned them into terrifying monsters, all red-eyed and sharp-clawed, with fangs that dripped, ready for their next meal.

I started to run then, terror driving me through the darkness. The moon had risen high by the time I broke free of a clutch of thick trees, into a clearing. I stopped then, for there before me was the very cabin the huntsman – Stark – had described. What a sad twist of fate it was I only learned his true name before he had to leave my company for what seemed like forever.

I approached with caution. The cottage was dark; no lights were on at all. I crept up to the window and peeked inside, seeing very little. There was no one about and I could not tell through the dark and dusty window if anyone even lived within. I moved for the front door and tapped it timidly, and then with more force, knowing no one would have heard that weak knock, were there someone inside to hear it.

Minutes passed and no one came to investigate who was knocking at the door. I almost turned away, wondering what to do, when I heard the distinct howl of a wolf. It had to have been a wolf, or some similar creature, and it was close, so close I immediately thought it must have wanted me for dinner. I hurled myself back at the door, knocking once more and twisting the knob.

I found the door unlocked and it swung open easily, bidding me welcome into the gloom inside. Whether it was safer in or outside I would have to discover. It was silent within; I shut and bolted the door behind me, as if afraid the wolf would somehow be able to turn the knob and follow me in if I did not.

The wolf was immediately forgotten in favor of the interior of the cottage. It was as dark as I had surmised, and was just dusty enough to seem as though people had not been there in some time. The place was a bit of a mess, things left haphazardly. It seemed more like general disarray and untidiness rather than the clutter one leaves behind when one flees in haste. That thought brought me back to my own predicament.

Oddly, I was less fearful of my stepmother’s plans and more saddened by the sudden realization that, though I never seemed to make much of his presence before, I would sorely miss seeing Stark about the grounds. I would even miss my younger brother, who, when not under his mother’s thumb, was a quick and clever boy, charismatic and apple-cheeked. I thought he’d likely make a good king one day, without her influence, better than I, and so perhaps this was all for the best. Except for the fact that for years until my brother was old enough, my stepmother would rule in his stead. I worried for my kingdom, how it would fare in her hands.

But that could not be my deepest concern at that moment. I wandered about the house, calling as loudly as I could – which was not very loud, as I have a very soft voice. Perhaps if my father still lived he could have bred a stronger personality into me, but years of treading lightly around the Queen kept me shy as the violets of the same name. And so I tried to find the owners of the cottage, and finding nothing but dusty rooms, I decided they must have abandoned the place.

I inspected the rooms, and came to the conclusion that I needed to tidy up before I could rest. I doffed my cloak and went looking for brooms and pails and mops. I did my best, clearing off settled dust, knowing full well this was not the sort of work for a Prince. But then, somewhat exiled from my own kingdom as I was, I supposed I wasn’t really a Prince anymore.

By the time I finished cleaning, I was exhausted and I found a bedroom, one with four beds. The other bedroom had three. I collapsed onto the first one I found and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

I awoke to find four faces staring at me. I let out a sound – it was not a shriek – and pulled back, a spasm in my neck telling me I had slept in a poor position. Four young men stared back at me, with surprise and a collection of other things in their eyes. They were likely older than me, but younger than Stark, except one, who seemed close to my own age. The closest one stood over me, staring almost rudely down into my face. “Who are you and why the hell are you in my bed?” His eyes, deep amber in color, seemed to glow red with rage as he looked at me. One of the others pulled away and walked lazily past, climbing into his own bed as if not even caring why I was there.

I groped for words as I noticed the third, one who looked the eldest of those four, though his round face almost made him seem boyish. The rest of him was round as well, and I could tell the source of it was not youth, but rather the steady stream of food he was pumping into it. The youngest stood at the back looking into a small hand mirror and ignoring us all. He seemed unperturbed even as three more people came into the room, brought by the sound of the angry one’s voice.

“Well?” Demanded the first, as a young woman, again near my age, shoved her way forward. She echoed her angry brother’s – for I could see the resemblance between them all now – words, in a slightly milder tone, “Who do you think you are coming in here and just making yourself at home?” She gave me a contemptuous look, noticed my clothes, my hair, what little finery I’d managed to leave with and her greenish eyes narrowed. She seemed torn between wanting me gone and wanted everything I wore.

“Snow,” I said suddenly, shrinking back a little. “My name is Snow. I didn’t mean to intrude. It didn’t seem like anyone lived here.”

“What is the matter with you all?” Came a low sultry voice from the back. The cluster of siblings parted a little and one stepped forward, a tall woman with long hair, full lips and an interested expression in her eyes. “Leave this pretty boy alone.” She sat on the bed, her voice shifting to a coo. “We did leave this place looking abandoned. Has something happened? Why are you all alone?” She rested a hand on mine, but it wasn’t a warm soothing gesture. It was a kind of caress that had my cheeks flaming suddenly and a stutter coming to my lips.

“I w-was being chased. By a wolf or some creature. I came in to hide. And then I fell asleep.”

“After you cleaned the place,” said the green-eyed girl derisively.

“Snow?” A young woman who hadn’t spoken yet suddenly did. Her eyes were on everything I wore as well, and on her brother’s sandwich, and shifted back and forth, her want palpable. “What a weird name.”

“Charity, don’t you know anything? Don’t you know who he is?” Green-eyed girl’s eyes suddenly gleamed even more. “Lips like roses, skin like snow, hair like night. Prince Orin Weiss, His Highness, Snow White.” Her tone had gone sing-songy, but the derision still lingered.

A small collective gasp went through the room, except for the brother in bed. He snored. The youngest looked up from his mirror looked into my face and then back at his mirror, dismissing me. He reminded me a bit of my stepmother.

“I’m sorry, please, could you all tell me who you are?” I tried extracting my hand. I failed. “I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

The one with her hand still on mine leaned forward, her laugh low. “Poor dear, of course. I’m Chastity, and these are my younger siblings.” She pointed to them in an order I assumed was age. “This is Temperance,” she pointed to the one eating non-stop, and the young woman already identified as Charity. “Charity,” she continued, “Diligence and Patience…” These were the sleeping one and the one full of anger, respectively. “Courtesy,” this being the green-eyed girl, “and that’s Diffidence.” And that was the youngest, the one who could not pry himself from staring at his own face.

I could not help noticing how every single one of their names was truly ill-suited. I had met people before whose names suited them perfectly, and those whose names did not. But never had I seen such perfect corruption of someone’s given name. Each one’s personality was so flagrantly the opposite of his or her name and I was speechless for that moment.

It gave Courtesy another opportunity to speak. “Your turn, Prince Snow. Why were you even out in the woods to be chased by a wolf? I don’t think you’ve ever left the palace grounds before.”

Envy, I called her in my head. But jealous or not, she was right, I hadn’t before, which was why everything was so new. I watched them all carefully and then said, “I think the Queen was trying to kill me. My life was spared by a kind man I will not name, for fear of putting him in danger.”

Silence followed my answer. They all exchanged looks, with eyes that were all hazel or green or amber-red. Something passed between them I did not understand, but whatever it was passed quickly.

“So, what? Are you planning on hiding here from her? For how long?” Diffidence spoke, his eyes on me again and not his mirror.

I stood, finally extricating myself from Chastity. “I need not stay here at all if you do not wish it. I can be on my way. I merely needed a place to rest for the night.”

Chastity shook her head. “You’re a Prince, Snow. You should act like one. We are technically your subjects. You could simply order us to let you stay here.” The others all suddenly started to clamor and Chastity just held up a hand until they stopped.

I summoned courage and started speaking in that brief silence. “I do not wish to order you to take a stranger into your home, even if I am…royalty.”

Chastity interrupted me, standing and leaning close to me again. “You don’t have to. You may stay here with us.”

The clamor that erupted then was even louder than the first. I tried not to shrink back against the wall as voices overlapped, five brothers and sister arguing with Chastity and each other while the last snored away in his bed, somehow sleeping through it all.

“Listen,” Chastity called over the din. “You all saw how well he cleaned the place. Diligence stopped cleaning years ago,” she said of the one who slept in bed. “We could use someone who will keep this place tidy.” She looked at me, her hand reaching to smooth down my cheek. “You will, won’t you?”

Any other Prince would have called her on her forward behavior, made expressly clear that it was highly disrespectful to touch royalty without being invited to do so. I merely pressed back against the wall, wondering now if this was at all a safe place to be. But I had little other choice in the matter. Besides, somewhere back in the palace, Stark knew I was here, and that alone made me wish to stay. “Yes. If I can help in some way, even just keeping this place clean, that can be a fair exchange.” I side-stepped her hand again.

She smiled, and the expression just made me more nervous. “Good. And you’re so very pretty too. It’d be nice to have a new face around.”

“Says you,” Courtesy muttered, but not so low I did not hear her.

My eyes flicked back and forth between them all. This was going to be a trial.


********

I settled into a routine with more ease than expected. That is not to say I did not have daily tribulations. I had little to worry about from Diffidence or Diligence. Diligence rarely woke, rarely climbed out of bed and Diffidence was so wholly absorbed in himself he rarely bothered with me, but Charity kept attempting to steal from me, whether it be clothes, jewelry, or food. Courtesy sniped and jibed at me, Patience grew irritated at anything I did the slightest bit wrong, Temperance ate everything in sight, including some of my own portions, and I found myself nearly running from Chastity. She evoked odd feelings in me, ones I only partly understood. Her voice made me blush, her touch made me shiver, and yet all those thoughts and feelings did not make me wish to yield to her advances. Instead I’d escape her, go to the room they made up for me, and stare out the window towards the palace.

I found out things about them, mostly from Chastity who liked talking to me – any excuse to be close – and Diffidence, who loved speaking about himself. They were a group of performers, one who traveled frequently, which explained the abandoned look to their house. They had performed in fairs, in the streets, and in halls but never in the palace. I wondered why – if they were good, surely their talents should have been on display.

In response to that query, I merely got a sneered reply that the Queen was not fond of them, and then the subject changed. I knew not what the reason for her displeasure was, but I knew why Chastity had let me stay. We all had something in common.

I knew little of what was going on in the palace then. Little did I know how Stark had been ordered to kill me, to bring back my warm heart as proof. He’d killed a deer in my place, and presented the Queen with her proof, and then removed himself from her sight. I knew even less that he planned to steal away from the palace and come find me, ensure my safety, but he had to be sure she was not watching him.

The Queen joyed in my apparent death. Fully convinced was she that her rival in beauty and her son’s for the throne was out of their lives for good. It took her some time before she approached her mirror again, having found one tiny wrinkle and one graying hair. Worried about diminishing beauty, she posed her question to the mirror again. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

The mirror responded, its tone giving away nothing, “You my Queen are far more fair than all except the King’s true heir.”

The Queen, my stepmother, went white as linen in pure rage. “How is this possible?” she hissed. “He is dead! Dead! He cannot be fairer than I!”

“The Prince still lives in forest green, safely hidden from the Queen.” Rhyme by rhyme the mirror condemned me.

“Show me. Show him to me!”

The mirror could not only speak, but it could also show images, and it did, showing the Queen the cottage where I and the seven siblings lived. I had no knowledge of this scrying upon us save a strange prickly feeling along the back of my neck that I attributed to Chastity, as her fingers danced upon my nape to get my attention.

She did have reason to steal my attention from my tasks: she and her siblings had contracted themselves a performance for a noble entertaining guests. I wished I could attend, but I could not risk even nearing the castle for fear the Queen would discover me. Instead I promised to keep myself and the cottage safe in their absence. Upon the next sunrise, they all departed, Diligence trailing lazily behind, wishing he were still in bed.

Sloth I named him silently, for by this point I had renamed them all with names that suited, not just Courtesy who was now Jealousy in my mind. Chastity was Lust, Temperance became Gluttony. Charity I named Greed, Patience was Wrath, and Diffidence Pride. It took only two of those seven renamings to remember some little attention I paid to my religious studies lessons and to realize I had named them - and quite suitably - for the Seven Deadly Sins, for they were named in perfect counterpoint to the Seven Virtues.

I was lonesome in their absence, but I busied myself, reorganizing things and tidying the entire cottage from top to bottom. Hours later, I found myself in the kitchen when I heard a voice from outside.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” The voice sounded thin and reedy, like an old woman’s. Confused, I stepped to the window and peered out to see a figure, cloaked and hunched, carrying a small basket. In it were bright red apples, fully ripe. The caution I would have felt were it any but what seemed a harmless old woman flew to the wind. I went for the door, opening it as manners and good breeding won out over prudence. “May I help you?”

The old woman’s face creaked into a wrinkle-worn smile. I did not notice it did not reach her eyes. “Oh thank goodness. Please, I just need a moment to rest. My grandson is sick and I have been traveling, selling apples along the way to pay for medicine to bring to him. Please, might I have some water.”

Perhaps my heart is too big, or my mind too gullible. I believed her story immediately and brought her inside, rushed a glass of water to her and smiled benevolently as she drank.

Her voice sounded stronger when she finished. “Thank you so much dear boy. Please, please take on of my apples in gratitude.” She plucked from her basket the reddest, ripest apple I have ever seen. Its skin was a deeper red than my lips, said to be red as blood.

I held up my hands, not to take it but to politely deny her request. “Please, I cannot. You need them to afford medicine, and I am sorry but I have no money.”

“It is a gift. Please accept it.” The old woman stood and insisted, holding the tempting apple in front of me. I felt much like Eve in the Garden of Eden, another of the stories I actually remembered from my religious studies. And like Eve I gave into the pull of temptation and took the apple, though I did it more to appease the woman who genuinely seemed to want to thank me.

I took a bite, preparing to delight in its juicy flavor. It was merely an apple. What harm could it do?

********

The next few hours were hazy. All I saw behind my eyelids was white. I could not move, could not see. I tried to open my eyes, but I could not. I could hear Chastity and her siblings around me, could feel them shaking me. I heard their crying and more than once heard the word dead.

Who was dead? Was it me? How could I be dead when I could see them? Hear them? I opened my mouth to call a name, any name, and not a sound issued. In fact, my lips did not even move. I struggled to raise an arm and that too did not move. Tears filled my own eyes then, behind my closed lids, and panic and terror filled my heart.

They thought I was dead, and there was nothing I could do to prove I wasn’t.

It was hard to tell how much time was passing, how many days might have gone by. I lay there, still unable to so much as open my eyes. I felt them move me, change my clothes, and wrap me up, then place me on something soft and smooth. Cushions perhaps, or soft bed linens. I had no idea they’d fashioned a glass coffin for me. My face was left free, open and visible, but my body was wrapped in cloth. Like a funeral shroud.

Unwilling to accept I was truly gone yet though, they kept me like that and I spent my time fighting for strength, fighting to waken. They took turns, but they never left me. Diligence snored by my side, Chastity spoke to me in dulcet tones, of things she wished she could have done while I lived, things that would have made me blush were I truly awake. Charity and Courtesy spoke in whispers about divvying my belongings, and then fell silent as they seemed to realize that crossed some line. Temperance suddenly enjoyed sharing his meals with me, for I could not deprive him of any portion. Patience railed at the injustice of my condition, foully cursing the Queen – and it was then I learned she had been the one to do this to me – and even Diffidence took his turn my by side, talking in a never-ending stop about himself, finally finding someone who would listen without interrupting.

Days blended into each other and I wondered if this was how I would spend the rest of my life: not quite dead, not quite alive, and with seven siblings cursed with the Seven Deadly Sins.

Then one day came that I heard something different. Something that had my heart thumping in my chest, had me begging myself to open my eyes, to move, to do something. I heard a voice I hadn’t heard in at least months, but felt so much longer. It was a deep rough cadence, forceful and powerful, as it had always been, and it demanded to know my whereabouts.

Stark.

I could have cried in joy and cursed the seven myself as they tried to protect me. I knew how fierce he could seem, and if they knew him to be Queen’s huntsman, then they likely thought him here to finish the job. I tried to speak, tried to do something to beg them stand aside, let him come to me, though I had no idea what good it would do.

Either they finally let him pass or he pushed past them all, for then I heard his footsteps, heard a strange scraping sound that was the glass coffin being opened. And then I felt the most amazing warmth – the large palm of his hand smoothing down my cheek I yearned to return his touch, whished I could lean into it. I felt warm all over, a curious feeling that was both like and unlike the stirrings I felt when my thoughts turned to him after those times I managed to escape from Chastity.

But that warmth paled in comparison to the one I felt when I felt his breath puff against my face and then his lips – oh his lips – pressed gently, sadly, and sweetly against mine. Perhaps he thought he was saying goodbye; I thought he might have been, and the tears that had been threatening since the first time I understood my plight finally slipped out, rolling down the sides of my face to my ears. I would have twitched away at the feeling, but Stark’s lips were still on mine. So I pretended I could move enough to kiss him back, the way I discovered I’d wanted for some time.

I was not pretending.

I heard him gasp and pull back, and then my eyes opened, slowly, and I could not imagine a more perfect sight to wake to. Stark’s gray-green eyes were wide, fixed on my face, startling and beautiful in that dark face. Strength flowed into me and I sat up and reached for him, wrapping my arms around him. I leaned into him, letting my lips find his again, ignoring the sounds from everyone else in the room. Stark kissed me back again, and for one long perfect moment, I could forget everything else.

“What in hell just happened?” The voice belonged to Patience, full of more surprise than anything else.

Stark pulled back then, seeming almost guilty. I looked at him, not noticing how the white shroud they’d wrapped me in slid down off my shoulders, starting to pool at my waist. I had eyes for no one but Stark. I noticed he was lightly disheveled, looking just a bit worse for wear, as I had looked when I first reached the cottage. Where had he been? Surely the trip from the castle to here would not have taxed him as it had me, not an experienced huntsman like him.

I wanted to ask him, but he beat me to my questions with answers of his own. “The Queen ordered me to kill Prince Orin a few months ago. I did not refuse her to her face, but instead helped him escape. I tried to fool her into thinking I’d done as she bade me, hoping she would not seek further vengeance against the Prince. But her magic saw through it all. When I realized he was still in danger, I left, but could not come directly here, for fear she would find him, that I would lead her here.”

He looked back at me, swallowing hard and continued, “I had no idea what she would do next. I bullied that mirror of hers into telling me where you were, your Majesty, and how to save you.” The color of his skin seemed to darken and I wondered if he might be blushing.

“It was a spell, then?” Chastity asked, her eyes on Stark. “How did you break it?”

Stark’s eyes locked on mine and when he spoke it was I who blushed. “The kiss,” he said quietly. “Love is strong enough to break any spell, especially once brought on by jealousy, greed and hatred.”

Love. That was what I felt coursing through me, giving me strength. That was what I felt when I thought of him and my heart pined for him. That was what kept me going, waiting for him, knowing somewhere, somehow, he would come for me. I love him, and he loved me in return.

I slowly swung my legs to the side, going to stand, forgetting the way I wasn't clothed. Chastity hadn’t, and she watched with avid interest as my shroud began to slip to the ground. But Stark moved quickly, stripping off his coat and wrapping it around me with a gentility one would not expect from such a man. It was overlarge on me, hung past my thighs, sleeves swallowing my wrists.

Courtesy’s eyes were as jealous as ever when she spoke asking, “So what? We all live happily every after now, is that it?”

Stark shook his head. “No. So long as the Queen lives, she will try to kill the Prince again. It’s time she were gone, and the true heir put on the throne.”

*********

The plan was Stark’s which was why it worked. It also involved me very little, which though it made me fret that I was being no help, was probably for the best. The less attention drawn to me now the better. I would have plenty once I was on the throne, a throne I did not want. I would keep it, only to take it from my stepmother’s hands, and if my half-brother became the man I hoped he could, I would abdicate it for him, as soon as he was old enough. I had no designs on being king. It was almost ironic after all the Queen’s machinations. I never wanted the place she wanted for her son anyway.

It was because I was so minutely involved I did not know exactly what happened. I know what Stark told me, which was that Chastity and her siblings made quite the distraction. He slipped unnoticed into the Queen’s chamber and broke her mirror. Her magic was tied to it somehow, and it left her weak, almost as weak as the old woman she had pretended to be. She still fought though, coming at Stark with wickedly curved knife.

He didn’t want to kill her if he didn’t have to, but she gave him little other recourse. Still, it was not him that killed her but the nasty fall she took when their fight took them too close to the edge of the palace walls. There the wall had been blasted, by the Queen’s own power and anger at some servant who’d done her wrong. It left a hole in the wall that served to protect the castle from the steep cliffs below. The cliffs served to keep enemies from attacking the palace from that direction. And now they served as the instrument of my stepmother’s death. She plummeted to the sharp rocks below, her body to be swept out to sea.

Things changed immediately after her death. A dark gloom seemed to lift from the palace. My brother’s response was not to call me traitor or to seize the guards. It was to cling to me. He was near the same age as I had been when my own mother had died, but he did not love his as I had mine. Even so young he sensed a coldness in her, and wished her gone. Guilt at the wish and happiness at her ‘departure’ mingled in him, and he needed me.

The most noticeable change however, happened to Chastity and her brothers and sisters. The instant the queen’s shriek cut off at the bottom of the cliff, they seemed to shake their heads, as if waking up from spells of their own. Chastity reached for a cloak when she looked down to discover the draft she’d been feeling came from rather indecent clothes. She wrapped herself up immediately, the flush that stained her cheeks one to rival mine. She apologized to me, confessing she was aware of her behavior, and yet had no way to stop it. Her siblings seemed similarly afflicted. Patience had been arguing with a servant, and stopped mid sentence, just before blows began to fly.

Charity had been collecting things that did not belong to her, It was with contrition she gave each item back to its owner, and then gave away possessions of her own she knew she did not need. Temperance stopped eating. In mid-chew he wiped his mouth looked in distaste at what he’d been eating and left the table that had been set out. Courtesy became her namesake, polite and sweet as I never thought she could be, and again apologies came my way. Diligence woke from a half slumber, bright-eyed and alert. I heard he later went home and began replanting the garden, and fixing rundown parts of the cottage I had no idea how to attend to. And dear Diffidence. He became a close friend. Shy and modest, he was very like me in personality now. He did not throw away his mirror, keeping it as a reminder of what he’d been, but neither did he need to look into it. He blushed when a compliment was given, and became an instant favorite in court.

Of course they were allowed in court once I took the throne. It had been the Queen’s order they were not allowed to entertain there, due to some slight, real or imagined, that had happened years before. Cursed to be their own opposites, they were freed of her spell with her death.

It was almost time to live happily ever after, as Courtesy had said. But there were things that needed addressing first. In a ceremony full on unnecessary pomp, I took the throne. There was a grand banquet during which I wished I could just wrap myself in Stark’s arms. Once we could be alone however, I leaned into him and frowned when he gently pulled away.

“Much as it pains me to say, Your Majesty…this cannot be.”

It took me a moment to understand what he meant, and I swallowed past the hurt those words gave me. “You love me, I love you. Why can we not just be together?”

“There are many reasons, Snow,” he said, and as always I warmed when he used my nickname.

“Then tell me them.” And I would find ways to discount them all.

“All right, reason one: you’re fourteen.”

“Almost fifteen. And I’m marriageable age.”

“Reason two then: you’re a Prince. Or the King, rather.”

“Which means I can choose whom I wish.”

Stark’s eyes settled on mine, unblinking. “Reason three. We are both men.”

I stared at him, confused. Clearly this was supposed to mean something to me that it did not. “Why is that a reason? That does no change the fact we love each other, does it?”

Stark shook his head, almost smiling, as if he expected that answer from me. “You pay little attention to things you should notice, Your Majesty. In this country, in this kingdom, that is frowned upon, and would be even more so if the King himself were to engage in it.”

I shook my head, not in negation, but in disbelief at the laws that kept us bound. Suddenly I had an idea and I looked up at him. “We could keep it secret.”

Stark’s eyes widened for a moment and then he shook his head. “You are sovereign, Your Majesty. I am but your servant.”

The words fell from my mouth before I could even consider them. “Then serve me.” My face flushed instantly, the moment I heard what I’d said.

Stark seemed no less surprised. He blinked at me, mouth slightly open as if to try to argue more, but too stunned by my boldness to do so. I summoned all the courage I could find within me and raised up on my toes, pressing my lips against his in a kiss I hoped would end his protests.

It would be in secret for years until my brother took the throne and Stark and I could leave, to be together with no reproach, but we would, like any fairy tale, live happily ever after.