by Anita Valle
“Is that how she got so pretty?” Stepmother asks bitterly. “I always knew it was something unnatural.”
I can’t help but gloat a little. “Yes, Stepmother. The more you mistreated me, the more magic I earned. I used it to improve my looks. So thank you! Your cruelty was useful to me.”
Godnutter shoots a jet of smoke from her mouth. “That’s enough, brat. It’s time to go.”
“Who has my decanter?” I ask, imperiously folding my arms. I know it came out here, I saw it, though my attention was mostly on the prince. Somebody was holding it. After several seconds of silence, Stepmother says, “Lunilla has it.”
Lunilla is still behind me, so Godnutter and I turn to face her. But once I do, something hard smashes against the back of my head. I pitch forward as a shower of crystal rains down around me. I hit the ground, the white fragments bouncing and mixing with those left by the slipper. My crystal decanter. Stepmother threw it at me.
Pulsing waves of pain wash the back of my head. I’m breathing heavily through my nose. The white magic! The only thing of value I owned. Besides Papa, nothing else ever made me feel special. It was the decanter that generated the magic, I know this. A magical artifact, rarely bestowed. I will not be getting another.
“Well, that was uncalled for!” Godnutter barks.
“Keep quiet!” Stepmother shouts. I hear her footsteps approach me. “Sneaky little slug,” she hisses. “So many secrets. Well! I’ve got a few of my own. Did your precious Papa ever talk to you about your mother?”
“Don’t!” Godnutter says sharply.
“You will let me speak!” Stepmother snaps. “There’s a reason he never spoke of her. Because she was wicked. She cared nothing for your father and broke his heart by fooling with other men. They were like trinkets to her, her collection of lovers. And oh, how proud she was! When your father objected, she laughed at him.”
My head feels swollen, too heavy to lift. I’m lying on my side, Godnutter before me, Stepmother behind. I squint up at Godnutter. “Is it true?”
Godnutter takes a long draw from her pipe. When she sighs, the smoke sprays out of her nostrils. “Our family has problems.”
Lunilla snickers.
“He wanted me to help you,” Stepmother goes on. “Teach you to be pure and kind and as unlike your mother as possible. But look at you.” She pokes my shoulder with the toe of her shoe. “Just as much of a tramp as she was. It’s a good thing your father is dead.”
My eyes focus on the broken bits of crystal spread across the ground. The severed heel of my slipper is within reach. I thought it was intact but now I see a section broke off the tip, giving it a jagged point. I reach out and close my hand around the heel. “Don’t you talk about my father,” I growl. I spread my other hand on the ground and push up onto my knees.
Stepmother laughs. “Why not? He was no prize. A man of moderate wealth at best. His only treasure was his daughter.” Stepmother grinds out the word like a curse. “But take no pride in that, my darling. When he was dying, he confided to me that because of your mother’s wicked ways, he was never even sure if you were his daughter.”
A high shriek breaks out of me. I spring off my knees, thrust upward with my hand, and the sharp heel punctures Stepmother’s stomach. She makes a hard sound - “uh!” – and bends over me, wide-eyed. Grunting, I shove my hand against her and bury the crystal spike in her body.
Loony and Moody scream as Stepmother drops. Now she is on the ground and I’m standing above her. She’s making unpleasant gasps, her whole body jerking. Then, like a clock winding down, her motions slow before settling into silence.
Chapter 28
Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. They all stand there and stare at me, waiting....
I stare at Stepmother. My chest lifts and falls, lifts and falls, breaths quickening rather than slowing. I just killed my stepmother. Someone that moments ago was moving and speaking and blinking. Now she looks like a fallen branch, arms poking out, eyes blank. Blood is pooling through the front of her dress, staining it black. She was alive and now she’s dead. Dead forever.
From the corner of my eye, I detect motion. Godnutter is slowly shaking her head. When she looks at me, I feel her emotions as if they were my own. Shame. Sorrow. Pity. Her eyes have become a sea of sunken hopes.
“I wanted to spare you this,” she says. “But I failed... and so did you. I’m sorry, my child. I cannot help you anymore.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
“Wait!” I throw out my hand. But nothing remains of my fairy godmother except a drifting tendril of smoke. I feel like the wind was knocked out of me again.
And then Edgar laughs. He claps his hands together in slow, mock applause. “Beautiful!” He strolls toward me with a proud smile. “Must say, it’s quite fun to witness a murder. Better than theater, you know? Didn’t I say you were perfect for me?”
I glare at him through my tears. “Leave me alone!”
Edgar steps close to me, dropping his voice to a murmur. “Where will you fly to now, little crow? There is nowhere you can go, except the gallows. Murder is a hanging offense, you know.”
I do know. My mouth goes dry as ashes.
Edgar pokes out his lower lip, pretending to feel sorry. “Whatever shall we do? I don’t want you to die. So... how about this? If you accept my offer of marriage and come quietly, I might be able to smooth this over. I am the prince, after all.”
“What!” Loony shouts. She stomps over to us, her red cheeks slick with tears. “She just killed my MOTHER! She has to die now! Tonight!”
“We’ll do it ourselves, if you don’t,” Moody says. She isn’t crying but her face is sickly gray.
“Huh.” Edgar strokes his chin and winks at me. “They’re awfully troublesome, aren’t they? What should we do with them, Crow?”
I look up at him
“It’s your call, my queen.”
I clamp my teeth together. “Lock them up!”
Edgar turns and nods at his soldiers. Immediately, they head for my stepsisters who gasp and flee from the yard. I hear them shrieking as the soldiers pursue them out to the street.
“How nice. Now we can talk.” Edgar smiles and cradles my cheek with his hand. We’re alone now – if you don’t count my stepmother’s carcass.
Edgar slides his thumb over the cut he made on my cheekbone. “What is your name?”
I close my eyes. “Cinderella.”
“Really! I think I prefer Crow. Well – Cinderella – do you consent to be my wife?”
I don’t want to go with him. But I know I have no choice. I am Edgar’s prisoner now, bound by chains that I forged for myself. I must wear them bravely.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Edgar tilts up my face and presses a soft kiss to my lips. It’s a nice kiss. I suspect this is how Edgar will be, a dove one moment, a wolf the next. I will have to get used to it.
“Now, just for formality’s sake....” Edgar takes a step back and lifts my crystal slipper off the ground. He must have set it down while Godnutter was here.
I sigh and lift my skirt to mid-calf. Edgar bends on one knee and offers the shoe. I slip my toes inside the cool crystal, my heel settling down.
And of course, it fits perfectly.
Chapter 29
Edgar and I drive back to the palace. I can’t see much outside the carriage window, just dark houses, dark pastures, dark trees. Edgar sits across from me, obscured in shadows, his foot raised comfortably on his knee.
“The wedding will be a week from today,” he says.
I nod.
“And I think I would like it if you wore a black dress. It suits you, you know?”
I nod again. I will always wear black after this.
“After which, my mother will instruct you in your duties as princess. Nothing much, of course. Your biggest challenge will be my daughter.”
I stop nodding. I forgot about the daughter.
“Tomorrow I’ll let you have bre
akfast with her. I’ll introduce you as her new mother, though she’ll probably hate you for that. She’s a stubborn girl but not without her charms. You will have to be firm with her, but loving, always loving. Is that clear?”
A new idea creeps into the back of my head. I resist the urge to smile.
“As for tonight, you’ll sleep in the chamber formerly used by my wife. It’ll be your room now. I think you’ll like it, it’s quite luxurious. You’ll have plenty of freedom in your new life, most of the time I won’t trouble you at all. But when I knock-” he looks right at me, “I expect you to let me in.”
I smirk at him. “You won’t be the first.”
Edgar leans forward to pat my knee. “And you won’t be the last. But we’ll make a good team, Crow. You wait and see.”
“What about my stepmother?” I ask.
“Oh, that was terrible wasn’t it? Grabbing your throat just because I didn’t choose her daughter as my bride? It’s a good thing you had that spike in your hand or she would’ve strangled you right there!”
I sit back and smile. “That’ll work.”
“Ironic though, isn’t it? Now you get to be a stepmother yourself. It’s almost like your taking her place.”
My insides curdle at the thought. I don’t want to be a stepmother, especially not for that nasty little princess. She’ll do her best to make my life hellish, that I know.
“What’s your daughter’s name?” I ask.
Edgar snickers. “It might seem odd to you. She was such a beautiful baby – hair black as ebony, skin white as snow. So we called her Snow White.”
Chapter 30
Did I win? Did I lose? I honestly don’t know. It’s a twisted world, a world in which sometimes the worst thing that can happen to you is to get exactly what you want.
The wedding was lavish. Looked like the whole kingdom showed up to welcome me. I was presented to the people from outside the palace, on top of those circular stairs, and they looked like an ocean of heads. Here and there I recognized a face from my old neighborhood. The jealousy was delicious.
My stepsisters did not attend. They’re being held in a remote tower prison until I decide what to do with them. I might make up my mind in a decade or two.
It’s late now, close to midnight. I’m standing alone in my royal bedchamber, gazing into the mirror. I’ve got a new black dress that bares my shoulders, a new tiara with silver spikes. But no more crystal slippers. Those things are bad luck, I think.
The mirror is large and elliptical and framed in heavy gold. For some reason I feel better when I look inside it. Reassured, as if the mirror somehow knows me. I know it sounds weird, but even when I’m in other parts of the palace, I can still feel the mirror, calling me to stand before it.
My beauty – it’s all I have now. But no more magic to keep it fresh. I miss the white magic. It gave me a sense of control. Still... there must be other forms of magic out there. Darker, more sinister kinds, perhaps. But I can learn them. I will find a way.
Edgar has hit me twice already, once on the morning of our wedding. But I know how to punish him now: through his daughter. She’ll have her own wicked stepmother - and I learned from the best. I will ruin her life just as my stepmother ruined mine. It’ll make Edgar furious, probably more violent. But I will have courage and be cruel.
She’s worse than I thought, that Snow White. Too pretty for her own good. If I’m not careful she’ll someday become even prettier than I am. And I rather enjoy being fairest in the land, having the admiration of the whole kingdom. I won’t let her take that from me.
My reflection smiles, unworried. It’s a new life now, new enemies to conquer. The old Cinderella is dead, she died the moment I plunged that spike into Stepmother. No longer will I subjugate myself to anyone, no longer will I take refuge in my memories of Papa. Try as I might, I no longer see myself as his daughter. Not just because of my mother’s secret, but because I’ve taken a life. Somehow, that pushed my father far away, beyond my reach. I have no family left, no real identity. I will have to create it for myself.
My eyes meet those in the glass, blue and brutal. I lift my chin. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who is the fairest one of all?”
I feel the aura of comfort coming from the mirror. And I know who I am.
I am the Evil Queen.
Dark Fairy Tale Queen Series – Book 2
Sneaky Snow White
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About the Author
I’ve sometimes wondered about Cinderella. How could she stay so sweet and cheerful when she gets nothing but abuse from her family? I think even the most good-natured person would become bitter and vindictive after a while. In this story, I wanted to show a more wounded side of Cinderella, the side that is hurting from being unloved. Love brings out the best in people, but hate brings out the worst.
So... about me: I live near Poughkeepsie, New York with my husband, three boys, and no pets. I have a hard time getting my boys to stop playing video games and read more books. My house is often a mess because I’m either out at my day job, or helping my kids with homework, or trying to squeeze in some writing and drawing. Yet I get frustrated when my house isn’t clean. Other than strangers on the internet, I almost never tell anyone I know that I write books, because I have a weird insecurity that they won’t take me seriously. But I never feel happier than when I’m working on my projects.
If you have a few spare minutes, would you do me a solid and write a review? That really helps to give the book credibility. Also, please consider checking out my other books. Most of the time, I’m working on The Nine Princesses, a fun series about a family of teenage princesses. I’ve tacked on a few chapters of Maelyn, the first story, if you’d like to try it out. You can download the whole book FREE from most major book sites.
Thanks so much for supporting an indie author. God bless you.
-Anita Valle
Maelyn
The Nine Princesses Novellas
Prologue
The child was too young to understand death. All she knew was that Mama would not move. The child prodded and whined and stomped her small feet. But nothing stirred Mama from her bed.
When the cottage darkened, the child slept on the floor rushes, collecting bits of dried grass in her brown hair. At dawn she rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands and cried at the pain in her belly. She could speak the word “bread” but she could not find any.
She padded to the door and gripped the latch above her head. Without looking back at Mama, she ventured out in quest of bread.
Everything felt warm. The drying mud that clutched her toes; the breeze against her cheeks; the puddle of rainwater in which she dunked her face, gulping until it dribbled a dark streak down the front of her dress.
She wandered across the scant village, in and out of the scattered huts. No bread. No animals. No people either, except a few who slept like Mama.
In the last cottage she found half an apple and a wedge of cheese on a low sill. She devoured them on sight. The pain in her belly ebbed, but not enough.
Wandering out again, the child watched the stillness around her. She didn’t understand the quiet, only the feeling of wrongness it gave her. So her small feet turned away from the village and carried her across fields of flat emptiness. She found a road and instinctively followed it, walking until her legs ached and the pain in her belly sharpened again.
When evening burned the sky pink as her sun-baked cheeks, she sat on the parched grass by the road and cried into the backs of her hands again. The sound of approaching horses meant nothing to her. Horses were not bread.
“Is that a child?” someone asked.
The child looked up at a very large man on a very large horse. He wore colors she’d never seen and things that sparkled like sunlight on water. She cried harder in fear of his strangeness.
“Yes, Sire. A girl, I
think.” A smaller man on a smaller horse rode by the shiny man. He too wore strange colors, but nothing that sparkled.
“Alone,” said the shiny man, his eyes sweeping acres of nothingness behind her. “Must be from one of the stricken villages.”
“None in the villages survived, my lord.”
“None that caught the Fever survived. Clearly this girl did not catch it.” He watched her for a long moment. “Fetch her, Dorian.”
The child squealed and thrashed as she was carried to the shiny man and placed on his horse. “There now, little pet.” The shiny man held her firmly, one arm circled around her middle. He dug through a satchel at his side and withdrew a small golden loaf.
The child stopped thrashing. “Bread!”
The horse beneath her moved onward. The shiny man carefully picked the rushes from her hair. But the child noticed neither as she crammed her cheeks with milk-white softness, richer, sweeter, more satisfying than anything she knew.
“Next town is not far, Sire,” said the one called Dorian. “Shall we leave the girl there?”
With her belly quiet, heavy sleepiness took over. The child curled against the shiny man, cooling her face on his smooth tunic. She felt his hand rest atop her head; his fingers stroke her hair. Just before slipping under, she caught his soft reply.
“No. Not this one.”
Chapter 1
Fifteen Years Later....
Princess Maelyn frowned at the royal messenger. “Rowan, you look terrible. Your face is red as fire.”
“I feel terrible.” Rowan grimaced and rubbed his forehead. “But no matter, my lady, it will pass. I’ve come with a message from your uncle, the High King of Grunwold.”
Maelyn stiffened in her throne. She liked her uncle as much as she liked bandits in her bedchamber. Less. At least bandits could be hanged.