Winterdream

by Chantal Gadoury

  “Pish-posh! I bake day-in and day-out for no one but me and Lotte,” she huffed, adamant to give us her gift. “You take it and you eat what you need to. I won’t take it back.”

  Nutcracker could hardly keep himself from laughing. “If you feel that strongly, then we accept.”

  “Good! Now, I wish you the best, sire,” she said, taking a step back. “Remain safe, and keep a wary eye on the shadows. It’s where his spies are waiting.”

  He gave a firm nod as he passed the basket to me and then lifted the reins to his lap.

  “Thank you for everything, Mother Ginger,” he replied.

  With a flick of his wrist, the horse moved at once, tugging us away from the house. While the air was still comfortable, there was a slight chill in the morning sky. I nestled beneath the warmth of the blanket, unable to keep my mind from wandering. We were heading for the castle now—a place that could very well be as dangerous as the parlor in my own home. Perhaps worse.

  And yet, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the words Lotte had spoken in my room just this morning: Love. Love from an outsider. Was that my only purpose in all of this? I was to love him? I took in his strong silhouette, the shape of his nose and angular cheekbones. I tried to imagine him as he was before becoming a nutcracker. What sort of human did he make? Could he have been like Lord Yakov? Or was he like Anton?

  “Are you going to keep staring at me like that, Clara, or will you tell me what you’re thinking?” he asked, shifting his gaze to me for a moment.

  My cheeks blossomed.

  “Lotte mentioned something to me. Something that I want to ask you.”

  He slowly nodded. “You can ask me anything.”

  I wanted the words to spring off of my tongue quickly, but there was something. Something that coiled in my stomach and tightened—that made me hesitant to ask. But I had to speak up; it would only nag at me until the truth was discovered.

  “Lotte told me that you require love to break your spell.”

  “Is that all she told you?” he asked, the corner of his lips raised in a half smile. “I don’t suppose she left it any simple sort of love, did she?”

  “No, she said something about it being a stranger—”

  “She told you I required the love of someone who does not reside in Winter Dream.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  It seemed the Nutcracker already knew of what Lotte had admitted to me earlier. He expelled a sigh and darted another quick glance to me before turning his attention back to the snowy field.

  “It’s true,” he admitted softly. “But it’s much more complicated than it sounds.”

  “Complicated how?”

  The Nutcracker tugged back on the reins, bringing the horse and the sleigh to come to a pause. He adjusted in his seat to face me; his eyes were warm and serious.

  “In the story that you know, I saved a princess from a spell placed upon her. She was hideous, and her parents were willing to take whatever means necessary to free her from it. They were so desperate to call upon my master—the creator of Winter Dream—in hopes of finding a magical cure.

  “When we found the nut that saved her, and I was placed under the spell by the Mouse King, I went back to her. I returned to the princess in hopes that she, too, would wish to save me. I asked her to marry me. I hoped that our arrangement would be enough.”

  As I peered at my Nutcracker sadly, I knew it hadn’t been.

  “But instead, the princess mocked me. She cursed me and my devilish form. She said she could never love me. It was in her cruelty that I realized my spell could never be broken by her. The cure to my curse was not in asking for someone’s hand . . . but love. True, unconditional love.”

  “But why me?” I asked, pushing myself to sit up straighter. “Why not someone from Winter Dream? Couldn’t it be Lotte or some other girl who fancied you?”

  “I’m not sure, Clara.” He seemed as lost as I did. “My people, they express a different kind of love. Lotte included. They see their prince, not me.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “My duty is to them, and theirs is to serve me. It isn’t—at least, in my understanding—the type of love that can break my curse.”

  Duty? I thought on this particular word for a moment, because it struck me as similar to my own situation. If I were to accept Lord Yakov’s offer, it would not be out of my own desire to do so. I would be serving my father and fulfilling my responsibility, much like Masha. To choose—to truly love someone and accept them—was a freedom and a luxury.

  That was the lesson he must have learned from the princess.

  “I think I understand.”

  “Love is not so easy, Clara,” he said with a smile, but it was sad and reserved. “Anyone can say they love someone. But love—real love—is felt and earned… It’s more than words. It’s action . . . it’s sacrifice. Love is a great many things, and it has eluded me for so many years.”

  His definition of love was the sort I had always imagined for myself. It was the sort of love I hoped Masha felt for her beloved Viscount. Surely, the connection between them was felt by more than just themselves; there was an energy of devotion around them.

  Masha and I had spent our childhoods imagining our future husbands. My fantasies had been whimsical, even magical. The sort of love I once dreamt of was the kind the Nutcracker required to be free. It was the sort I knew Lord Yakov would never be able to give to me.

  I fell into a dismal silence that I created on my own. The fantasy I had once dreamt of had become a reality. If my role was to fall in love with Nutcracker and save him, then how would I know? Truly know that what I felt was born out of sincerity and not duty? I might fail him and his people.

  I all but had his heart in my hands, and I could break it.

  I didn’t press the topic any further. Instead, I turned my gaze back to the still, snowy forest, unsure of what to say. The Nutcracker flicked the reigns, and the sleigh began to move slowly onward again. As I pulled the fur blanket more tightly around myself, a loud snarl from behind my shoulder startled me, causing me to jolt to the side.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  The look of alarm etched on his face told me all that I needed to know: danger. He flicked the reins, causing the horse to gain speed.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied as he stood, gazing around the drifting snow. “It could have been—”

  Another loud snarl echoed all around us.

  I turned in the seat sharply, looking behind us. There, merely feet away, were three large mice running toward us. Their eyes were blood red and their teeth were sharp. The clothes they wore resembled what should have been regal clothes, now shredded into tatters.

  “Mice!” I cried out, pointing to the three in the distance. The Nutcracker pivoted in place, gazing over his shoulder.

  “More scouts,” he said, and flicked the reins again.

  I fell back into my seat, gripping the edge to hold myself in place as the sleigh jostled violently.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We’ll have to outrun them,” he replied.

  I could hear the snarls edging closer as the mice gained on us.

  “Nutcracker….” they hissed. “Nutcracker…”

  “What can we fight them with? We’re unarmed!” I asked, feeling my stomach tighten with anxiety. Surely, the mice would catch up with us, cause our sleigh to turn about, and we’d be captured.

  “We’ll turn the sleigh toward the woods,” the Nutcracker shouted over the rush.

  “We can’t! The sleigh . . . the horse! It won’t work. There’s no straight path.”

  “It’ll work,” he said with an assured nod. He jerked the reins and used his strength to guide the horse toward the trees. Gazing over my shoulder, I saw the mice approaching with greater speed. Their mouths were wide and almost bright red; their pointy teeth seemed to glisten against the shimmering snow.

  “Hold on!” he shouted as we sped into the f
orest. Branches and pine needles smacked into the sides of the sleigh. I screamed, lifting my hands to shield my face.

  “It would do nicely if we had Fritz’s soldiers at this moment,” he called out to me, and I felt a hysterical laugh bubble out of my throat in response. The memory of the night in the parlor; Fritz’s toy soldiers coming to life and helping the Nutcracker fight the Mouse King.

  The snarling from behind came louder. Peeking between my fingers, I saw two glowing red eyes peer over the side of the sleigh.

  “Nutcracker!” I screamed, pushing myself away from the creature.

  “Take the reins!” he urged and pushed the ropes into my hands.

  The Nutcracker pulled his sword from his belt and pointed the sharp tip toward the mouse.

  “You’ve returned,” the mouse hissed as it twitched its nose. “The King will be so pleased. . . Nutcracker.”

  “I can’t say I’ve missed any of you,” the Nutcracker murmured, lifting the sword to the mouse’s nose. “Now, you can either leave the sleigh alive or dead. The choice is yours.”

  “Only one of us will die,” the mouse growled. “And it won’t be me.”

  The mouse pounced, lifting its sharp claws toward the Nutcracker. I screamed, lunging out of the way. Clinging to the reins, I tried to guide the horse through the trees, darting through bushes and branches.

  “You’re going to die, Nutcracker,” the mouse snarled, swiping his claw. The Nutcracker lifted his sword and sliced the mouse’s arm. A spray of blood splattered the both of us, falling on the Nutcracker’s jacket while it landed on my cheek and the corner of my cloak.

  “Not today,” the Nutcracker countered, and pushed the mouse into the corner of the sleigh.

  Another clang of the sword echoed in my ears as it crashed against the siding, the cushion, and then the side belt of the mouse. I heard a yelp, and then there was a strange silence. Gazing over my shoulder, I saw the Nutcracker was alone; his sword glistened red at the tip.

  His blue eyes met mine for a moment, a sort of sadness and reassurance lingering there. Another large growl pierced the air, and a second mouse jumped onto the Nutcracker. He was pushed back against the cushions.

  “Leave him alone!” I screamed, doing my best to cut my attention between the forest ahead and the scene behind me. “Stop it! Leave us alone!”

  The Nutcracker grunted as he pushed against the snapping jaw of the mouse. Surely, we were going to die. We’d never live to make it to the castle. I’d fail the Nutcracker, all his people. . . and Uncle Drosselmeyer.

  Thinking quickly, I tied the reins to the front railing. Swallowing my fear, I turned and began to hit the mouse with my fists.

  “Get off him!”

  The mouse lifted his blood-curdling gaze to mine and snarled. His teeth were gray and spotted with rot.

  “And this…” the mouse hissed. “This must be the girl.”

  I pushed myself back against the rail, biting my bottom lip. The sleigh jostled as the horse continued to gallop through the woods.

  “No!” I shouted, lifting my hands to stop the creature. The Nutcracker stood quickly and lifted his sword above his head. Closing my eyes, I braced for what would come. I grimaced at the sounds of the sword cutting into the mouse’s flesh. A strangled cry filled my ears, and I suddenly felt the Nutcracker’s arms around me tightly. Splatters of both mice’s blood was on the both of us.

  The Nutcracker untied the reins with his free hand and took charge again with his bloody hands, guiding the slowing horse out through the trees.

  “There should be one more,” I murmured against his chest. “There were three…”

  “If he’s smart, he’ll take news of his dying comrades back to the Mouse King.”

  “Could they attack again?” I asked as I clung tightly to his red jacket. He shrugged slightly as he wiped his hands on his jacket.

  “Perhaps,” he murmured. “And for that reason, we’ll need to get to castle with haste.”

  Slipping his arm from around me, he carefully pushed me back to the cushioned seat and wrapped the blanket around me.

  “Rest for now, Clara. Rest.”

  I was too afraid to give into the weight of exhaustion. The Nutcracker remained on his feet as he snapped the reins gently and guided us into a clearing. The sky was blue and bright; the sun glimmered through the gray clouds.

  “We’re not far from the castle,” the Nutcracker said softly as he turned to look over his shoulder. “We’re almost home.”

  Home. His home.

  Chapter 14

  The basket full of baked goods had grown cold from the winds whipping around the sleigh. Despite the cool temperature, the loaf of bread the Nutcracker and I had torn in half still tasted fresh and delicious. As the sun had begun to sink behind the distant mountains, my eyes once again became heavy.

  Leaning my cheek against his shoulder, I reflected on the night of Christmas Eve: Masha’s pink cheeks as she peered lovingly at Lord Andrei from across the room; Mama and Papa greeting their guests with warm smiles; Uncle Drosselmeyer smoking his cigar. Anton’s familiar blue eyes flickered across my memory; the warmth of his hand as we danced. Did any of them know I was gone? If time acted differently in the land of Winter Dream, what was occurring back at home?

  The Nutcracker shifted beneath my cheek, causing me to lift my head.

  “There,” he said softly, pointing his forefinger ahead. “The castle, can you see it?”

  I squinted, trying to make out the glistening towers. In the distance, I could make out a large structure, adorned with bright, colorful domes—soft pinks and blues. Around the windows, stone had been carved into decorative arches, making the castle look grander.

  “The Winter Dream palace,” the Nutcracker murmured as he darted his blue gaze over to me.

  Sucking in a breath, I nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

  We approached the castle, riding through a set of wrought-iron gates. I wondered if they would stand against the Mouse King’s army. Were their walls fortified enough to keep an army of savage beasts at bay?

  As the sleigh pulled up closer, we were greeted by a set of a large stairs that led to two marble doors. A series of servants emerged and came to our side immediately. Respectful enough, there was still chatter among them about his return. And about me.

  Nutcracker was the first to descend from the sleigh and turned to me, offering his hand.

  “Come,” he said gently, tilting his head toward the doors. “Come meet my courtiers.”

  As I slipped down from the sleigh, I took a moment to give a nod of thanks to the servants. They smiled and giggled, bowing in response. Some of them moved quickly to attend to the horse and our basket of unfinished baked goods.

  I wondered if they noticed the dried blood caked onto the both of us. Did they wonder whose blood it belonged to?

  Both the men and women were all finely dressed in dark blue velvet, with gold embroidery in the shape of leaves and flowers. It was clear they were well tended to. The Nutcracker squeezed my hand and guided me up the stairs to the door.

  “Irina will be most pleased to see you again,” he said, leaning closer to my ear. The servants who stood nearby opened the grand marble doors, revealing a large entryway.

  Everything inside was white stone, with dozens of silver snowflake carvings, golden vines, and other beautiful adornments. Before us, a winding staircase twisted to the higher stories, sprawling into a second-story balcony. A gathering of courtiers stood and watched from above.

  I could hear the echo of their whispers and murmuring:

  “She’s returned.”

  “It’s Clara.”

  Their glittering costumes were elegant and like nothing I had ever seen before. Surely if Masha were here, she’d insist upon having her own gown be made up to match the magnificence of theirs. She would be the finest countess in all the land.

  Everything was pristine and white and perfect.

  “What do you think?” the Nutcracker
asked, breaking the silence between us.

  “It’s. . . .” But words seemed not enough to describe just how majestic and beautiful the castle was. I shook my head, feeling my cheeks go warm. “It is just like a fairy tale.”

  A servant came to my side and helped me pull away the cloak and mittens Mother Ginger had gifted me. Just as I was free from my coat and scarf, a beautiful woman appeared at the top of the staircase. She was tall with long, flowing blonde hair that settled just around her shoulders. Her gown was a soft pink, layered with glistening golden fabric. The bodice and sleeves of the gown were adorned with the same golden embroidery of the servants’ uniforms. And on top of her head, she fashioned a small, pink tiara. There was an aura of majesty and mystery around her as my gaze followed her.

  Who was she?

  “Your highness,” the woman said, piercing the room with her voice. She bowed gracefully and slowly began to descend the staircase.

  “Lady Irina,” the Nutcracker responded, lifting his hand to his chest. “It is good to see you again.”

  “And you,” she replied with a smile.

  As she walked toward us, a shiver of fear and intimidation ran down the length of my spine. There was something about her . . . something that reminded me of Lord Yakov and his calculating smile.

  “And you’ve brought a guest?” Irina continued warmly, her violet gaze meeting mine.

  “This is Lady Clara,” the Nutcracker introduced, gesturing between the two of us. “Clara, this is Lady Irina.”

  I slid a hand across my cheek, suddenly feeling self-conscious of how I must have appeared. Her name seemed so familiar to me, and yet I couldn’t quite place where I had heard it before.

  “We are so thrilled to welcome you to the palace,” she said. The smile she wore slowly met her eyes as she glanced between the two of us. I could smell a sickeningly sweet scent radiating from her. It was overwhelming, as though she had instead bathed in a tub of perfumes rather than water.

  “Lady Irina, we have much to discuss,” the Nutcracker murmured. “We were attacked by some of the Mouse King’s scouts on our way here.”

  As he spoke, the shrilling gasps of the surrounding courtiers echoed around the room. They all pressed their hands to their lips, gazing at each other with fear and surprise. Irina looked at him with alarm etched on her features.