Apples and Princesses (The Tales and Princesses Series Book 2)

by Aleese Hughes

  Aeryn raised an eyebrow and pulled a casual blue dress from the Queen’s wardrobe in the corner of the room.

  “I can’t believe you’re defending him! I know you like him— even if just a little.”

  Dalia cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Hush, will you.”

  The lady-in-waiting slipped the Queen’s nightgown off and slid the modest gown over her head.

  “It’s your life,” Aeryn said as she moved back to let the Prince in. “And you’re the Queen.”

  Prince Frederik’s eyes were still squeezed shut. “Can I look?”

  “Why would I open the door for you again if you couldn’t?”

  “Aeryn, really,” Dalia snapped.

  Aeryn rolled her eyes and retreated to the washroom connected to the Queen’s bedchambers. The Prince chuckled nervously as she left the room.

  “I understand why she might be angry. She’s really loyal to you.”

  Dalia’s arms were stiff at her sides as she studied her betrothed, searching for something off in his features. She almost expected him to start spewing off a bunch of lies.

  “I’m sorry,” he said instead. “I’m so sorry. It was very wrong of me to have done what I did, and I beg your forgiveness.”

  She felt taken aback by the words and was left speechless. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, awaiting a reply.

  “Why?” she squeaked.

  It was his turn to feel shocked, and he even stumbled slightly.

  “There’s no real answer,” he said after a lot of thought. “But I thought I found something with… her I never thought I’d be able to experience.”

  Dalia inhaled sharply at his words. “Love?”

  He nodded, meeting the Queen’s eyes.

  “I understand that,” Dalia sighed.

  The Prince shifted from foot to foot, and Dalia could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he tried to form his next words.

  “I still believe a marriage alliance between Wilaldan and Edristan to be beneficial. I know I made a mistake, but I plan on remaining faithful from here on out.” He clenched his jaw, still making eye contact with the Queen. “If you’ll still have me.”

  Dalia heard a soft groan from the washroom behind them. She should have known Aeryn would try to eavesdrop.

  “I’m willing to put things in the past,” Dalia said. “But I won’t be so forgiving a second time.”

  Chapter 20

  The shining red of the apple in my hands. The knife as I cut it into slices. The pie I watch Father take bite after bite of. His trembling body followed by empty eyes. The seven boys taking me in. The seven boys laughing at the table, throwing food at each other. Arnold telling them to stop. Nick rolling his eyes beside me and whispering to leave with him. Frederik’s fingers in my hair as we kiss. Frederik’s face as he learns of my deception. Frederik’s broken heart as I ride away. The witch— she cackles in my face, so close I can smell the rank of her breath and count the dozens of wrinkles crinkling in her skin.

  “Don’t fall in love,” she says. “It won’t work out for you.”

  I woke up with a scream, throwing myself upright in the bed I was in. My hair was nearly drenched from sweat.

  “Miss?”

  A soft knock sounded on the door as a tiny serving maid pushed it open a crack.

  “Miss, are you alright?” She held out the stub of a candle towards my face to study me.

  I shook under the white linens on top of me, trying to remember where I was.

  “Miss, you shouted awf’lly loud just now.” Her bumpkin accent was heavy, not from a city, or anywhere near Edristan, for that matter.

  “Did I?” I said, rubbing my face.

  I took in my surroundings, memory starting to return. I stopped for the night in the first inn I could find, not caring what the expense might be. It seemed I had picked a nicer one. The room was spotless and even had its own washroom, small though it was.

  “You did,” the girl continued. Her brown eyes were wide with worry, making her look even younger than she was. What was she? Fourteen? Fifteen?

  I shook my head and tried to laugh it off. “It was just a nightmare. I’m sorry if I disturbed anyone.”

  “Oh, no miss.” The girl smiled warmly. “It’s nearly noon. I was actually coming to check on you. The innkeeper said you only paid for the night and was expecting you to leave after breakfast like most people do.”

  I looked outside the window behind me, noticing the light streaming through the curtains for the first time. I groaned.

  “Was I really asleep that long?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Well,” I said, “tell the innkeeper I’m willing to pay more if he needs me to. I think it will take me a bit to get going.”

  “Of course, miss.”

  Before she could leave the room, I stopped her.

  “Are you still serving food?”

  The maid smiled at me again, eyes crinkling up into thin lines. “We’ve just started serving lunch and will be for the next two hours.”

  My stomach rumbled. All I had eaten in the last twenty-four hours was dried-up meat and fruit. I needed something substantial.

  “Wonderful,” I said. “I’ll be down soon.”

  The young girl nodded her head quickly and scurried out, shutting the door behind her. I threw myself back onto the mattress. It was definitely much more comfortable than the cot the seven boys had me sleep on for the last couple of weeks.

  The boys.

  I groaned, feeling the guilt crawl up inside me once again. And that nightmare didn’t help one bit. What did it even mean? That my subconscious was disappointed in my choices? And why had that witch become such a recurring person in my life?

  I looked over at my reflection in the vanity across from me. My long hair was disheveled, and my eyes looked sunken in and dark. Regardless of the sleep I had supposedly gotten, the tiredness I felt had not subsided.

  I ran my finger over the wood of the table before me and stared at the steaming bowl of soup. Though I knew I was starving, I couldn’t find a desire to start eating.

  “Bread is really good with chef’s broccoli soup.” The same serving maid from earlier placed a hunk of fluffy bread on a plate next to me.

  Noticing I didn’t even move my eyes to look up at her, she continued: “You look pale, miss. I think some food will do ya some good.”

  “What was your name again?”

  The girl straightened her spine, seemingly thrilled to share this piece of information with me. “Hanna— after my late grandmother. She was quite the lady.”

  A small smile came from my lips. “Beautiful name.”

  “What’s your name, miss?”

  I hesitated, not sure as to who might be looking for me and if I should share my name with Hanna, but a shout from across the room decimated any plans I had of concealing it.

  “Snow!” a familiar voice called.

  My eyes flitted in front of me to find Edgar, a loyal footman to my father, waving me down. He had a shocked look on his face, and his hazel eyes kept studying me up and down.

  “That’s such a unique name!” Hanna exclaimed.

  I blinked twice and tried to give the girl another smile. “If you’ll excuse me…”

  I lifted the soup and bread in my hands, careful not to spill the hot liquid of the soup on my hands, and carefully hobbled over to Edgar. He leapt from his chair, scraping and bumping loudly, and took the food from my arms and placed it down for me. I nodded in thanks and took a seat across from his place-setting.

  “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” The older man moved to sit again and reached his arm out to touch my shoulder. “Are you alright? What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve had… an experience,” I replied in hushed tones, not able to answer his questions.

  He studied me again as worry lines continued to crease his wrinkled forehead. “We thought something happened to you after your father was killed.” His eyes grew w
ide in realization. “Oh, did you know about your father?”

  I didn’t have much time to think through his words, but they gave me enough to assume the servants of White Manor didn’t know the culprit was me. I let my jaw drop open.

  “W—what?” I stammered. I was once again pleased with my acting abilities.

  Edgar moved his hand over my own. “We found him alone in his study. No one knows what happened, but a doctor suspected poisoning.”

  I lidded my eyes and shifted my gaze to the floor.

  “Oh, Snow,” he said. “I’m sorry. We thought whoever got him had you.”

  “I could see why someone might want to poison him.” I bit my tongue, not having meant to speak those words aloud, but Edgar didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

  “He was not a good father, was he?”

  I shook my head, a real tear escaping out of the corner of my eye.

  “What happened to you, Snow?”

  I looked up at his face and saw the confusion swimming among the gold specks in his eyes and quickly tried to think of a believable story.

  “I ran away. I couldn’t take the abuse anymore. I thought— I thought I could manage on my own somehow.” That much was true, but a hint of thrill pierced through me as I concealed my crime from Edgar. It felt really good for that intoxicating feeling to return.

  He merely nodded, rubbing his chin. “No one could blame you for that.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “If you want to come home, you will be mistress of White Manor, Snow.”

  Astonishment struck me in that moment like a stab through the heart. He was right. I hadn’t thought of that even for one second before. He regarded me with affection, like a grandfather would his granddaughter, and awaited my response. I thought of how wonderful it would be to own and run the Manor… to have a comfortable consistency of luxury, food, and even money. Father had not been poor. But then my thoughts turned back to the fact that I was a fugitive. Would camping out at White Manor, just a few days south of Bothar, be riskier for me? But then again, no one had pursued me thus far.

  “Edgar,” I finally said, “take me home.”

  He sat back, an incredulous look crossing his face.

  “What luck?” he exclaimed. “I was traveling to visit my daughter and my new grandbaby last week. What are the chances that on my way back, I’d find you, Snow?”

  I found myself smiling. Maybe it was fate.

  Chapter 21

  I was settling into things nicely at my old home. It turned out I had a knack for running things— leading the servants in their cleaning schedules, keeping Father’s textile business afloat… The White family was one of the most highly respected for the material they provided for merchants and traders alike, even having some of the textiles making it to port in Wilaldan and traveling to Lurid. The Queen herself wore dresses made from our fabrics. Multiple rooms in the Manor were dedicated for producing and packaging these materials, and at least half of the staff were hired just for that purpose. I, myself, worked in those rooms many times during Father’s life. The business in this export had been in my family for generations, providing a steady flow of income, and I was going to keep it that way.

  The haunting memories of White Manor that I had been afraid to face didn’t plague me nearly as much as I’d feared. Every once in a while I’d jump after thinking my father was shouting to me from another room, or I’d even keep hidden for hours at a time in dark corners thinking he’d be searching for me. But after none of that happened, I was becoming more and more able to walk through the familiar hallways and various rooms with less tension in my steps.

  There was one thing I still had a hard time looking at, however. Right next to the dining hall, my mother’s portrait still hanged. I often found myself staring, frozen, at her chillingly similar features to mine and continuously wondering if things would be different if she hadn’t died. If I hadn’t killed her. And if I would be the same person I had become. It finally got to the point that I demanded her portrait be taken down and put out of sight. I could tell it upset many of the servants who’d been with the White family for many years. So many loved and admired her, but no one dared argue with me. I was the mistress of the Manor, and it helped that no one wanted to agitate me after the ordeal I’d been through.

  I sat in Father’s study— my study. The servants cleaned it long before my return, something I’m sure they were thrilled to do considering Father never let them touch it before. I grumbled at the paperwork before me. It was my least favorite part of running the Manor. I would much rather be reading a fairy tale or taking a stroll outside.

  “Lady Snow?” Agnes, White Manor’s chef, poked her ruddy head around my open door.

  Lady Snow, I marveled to myself. Though that should have been my title all my life, it was never actually acknowledged.

  “You can come in,” I said, pushing the papers away. I was glad to have an excuse to avoid them a little longer.

  Agnes stepped in with a big smile lighting up her aged face. In her hands was a plate piled with a steaming slab of white pork, and a generous serving of sweet potatoes.

  “I wanted to bring you lunch myself today,” she said. “We’ve barely seen each other or talked. Not since the night you disappeared.”

  I thought of that fateful night when Agnes herself was curious as to my need to cook Father an apple pie. Still, no one suspected me for his death. And that was the last I saw of Agnes before my return. Even with my return, we were both too busy to share more than a word or two when passing each other in the halls.

  “My new responsibilities have made time for socializing difficult to come by.”

  Agnes nodded, chuckling. “You seem to be enjoying yourself, though.”

  I sighed happily and lifted my feet onto my desk. “I never thought life could ever be like this for me.”

  “None of us did.” She shooed my feet away, glaring at the rising of my skirt, and put the plate in front of me. Agnes, in many ways, was like the mother I never had.

  I began to dig into the food ungracefully, relishing in Agnes’s cooking. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I made my return to White Manor.

  “Did you hear the news?” the chef said with a grunt, displeased with my manners.

  “What news?” I said around mouthfuls of pork.

  “Queen Dalia and Prince Frederik set a date.”

  I nearly started choking. “A wedding date?”

  Agnes raised an eyebrow at me. “What other ‘date’ could I mean? The engagement was announced nearly three months ago. It’s about time.”

  Had that much time really gone by since the ball?

  “When?” I croaked, failing to hide the turmoil I felt from my face.

  Agnes studied me with her brows furrowed in concern. “Two weeks from now.”

  “So soon?” My breathing became ragged as the memory of Frederik’s kiss ran over and over again in my mind.

  “Snow, are you alright? You’re awfully pale.”

  I lifted the back of my hand to my forehead and realized how hot I was beginning to feel.

  “I’m sorry, I just realized how much work I need to do. Do you think you could leave me alone for a little while?”

  I could tell she didn’t believe me as she pursed her thick lips together. She hooded her eyes in suspicion, but nodded and left me alone.

  “Close the door!” I called behind her.

  I barely heard the door click shut as I grabbed at my pounding chest. It was happening again— that overwhelming feeling of anxiety. I didn’t think I would care so much anymore about the wedding between Queen Dalia and Prince Frederik.

  I rose myself from the cushions of the chair and began pacing the room frantically, scared of the tight feeling in my chest and the labored breathing. I had almost assumed that Queen Dalia would break off her engagement with the Prince after learning of his affair with me, but that didn’t seem to be the case. I sprinted over to a nearby window and threw the glass pane
open, hoping the fresh air from outside would help calm me, but the muggy air made things worse.

  “What was I thinking?” I shouted to myself. “That one day we would find each other again, he would forgive me just like that, and we would live happily ever after?”

  I dug my nails into the white wood of the windowsill.

  “Idiot,” I hissed aloud.

  But then, realization struck me. I was never truly in the wrong. I was a parentless girl doing what she could to survive. There was nothing wrong with that. Even though I had lied to and manipulated Prince Frederik, there was no lie in the way I felt about him. I loved him.

  No, I didn’t think I would care of their impending nuptials, but I did care. I felt a rush of anger boil up inside of me as I thought of Queen Dalia— she was the one who ruined everything, sending her servant to reveal my true identity, and she was the one stealing my Frederik. Yes… my Frederik. He was mine, and I was going to make sure no one could ever have him.

  I slid my way across the thick, red carpet of the study and slammed the door open. I searched the corridors to each side of me for a roaming servant.

  “You there!” I shouted to a young boy re-lighting the stifled candelabras along the wall. I’d never seen him before. He must have been new. “What’s your name?”

  He jumped at my beckoning and turned towards me slowly. His buggy eyes were even more prominent as he gazed at me in apprehension.

  “Rothfus, m’lady.”

  “Do you know of any traveling gypsies, witches, warlocks, fortune tellers, anyone claiming to have magic, near here?”

  He nodded quickly but still seemed confused. “Yes, my lady. There was a theatre troupe in town just yesterday, and they had a man with them doing all sorts of tricks.”

  “Just tricks?” I pushed. “Not real magic?”

  “He was doing all sorts of mysterious things, m’lady. I saw him heal a sick dog with enchanted water for one thing.”

  I felt skeptical, but it was worth a shot. “Meet me outside. We leave immediately.”