The girl’s cheek felt as soft as silk on the Queen’s lips. She left the child to her dreams. She was sure they were filled with lovely ladies spinning in circles and colorful dresses and banners swirling all around her.
The King took his new wife by the hand and led her to their chamber. The sun, now coming through their curtains, was casting an otherworldly glow. They stood there for a moment looking at each other.
Bliss.
“I see you have opened my gift,” the King said looking at the mirror.
The mirror was oval-shaped and beautifully ornate, gilded, with serpentine designs around the perimeter, and crowned with an engraving of a headpiece fit for a Queen. It was nearly perfect. But something about it made her feel that same uneasiness that had shaken her before the ceremony. Her chest tightened and the room suddenly felt oppressively confining.
“What is the matter, my love?” the King asked.
The Queen moved to speak, but she could not.
“You don’t like it?” he asked, looking crestfallen.
“No, my love, it…I’m just…tired. So tired,” she finally muttered. But she couldn’t take her eyes off of the mirror.
The King took her by the shoulders and drew her close to him, kissing her.
“Of course you’re exhausted, my love. It’s been a terribly long day.”
She returned his kiss, attempting to banish all fear from her heart.
She was in love. Bliss. And she would allow nothing to ruin this day.
On the fourth night after the wedding, the Queen finally had her little family to herself. Lingering wedding guests and extended family had made their way back to their own kingdoms. The Queen had just said her good-bye to the King’s great-uncle Marcus that morning after breakfast. He was a funny man, as wide as he was tall. Stocky, sturdy, and well-built for a man his age. He was kind and clearly loved his nephew, so she couldn’t begrudge him the extra time at the castle. The King, along with his uncle and the castle’s Huntsman, had spent days in the forest hunting foul and game for the evening’s banquets.
“You may never see me again, my girl,” Uncle Marcus had said, as he bid the Queen farewell. “I venture south in pursuit of dragons! It’s a risky business, swamp dragons, but not quite as dangerous as cave dragons, I do swear to you! Did I ever recount my encounter with the great sapphire beast? The most beautiful and deadly creature I’ve ever stalked? She nearly burned my beard right off!”
Uncle Marcus was very animated when he spoke of dragons; he would gesticulate wildly, and reenacted the singeing of his beard.
“And what does Lady Aunt Vivian think of your adventures, Uncle?” the Queen asked.
“Oh, she has wild notions indeed!” he said.
“Does she? And what might those be?” the Queen asked.
“She thinks it’s all fancy. Can you imagine? Fancy, indeed! She thinks I’m fearful of becoming idle and bored in her company!”
The Queen laughed again. She had come to love this man and his wild tales of dragons lurking in damp caves and his grand campaigns to steal their treasures.
“Well, I’m nevertheless sorry she was unable to attend the wedding, Uncle. We must have her to visit as soon as she is well enough to travel.”
“Oh, you can be sure your aunt Vivian will swoop down on you in no time. She’ll take over the house, I gather.”
The Queen was sorry to see him leave. But she was happy to have her husband and daughter to herself, even if the castle seemed almost too quiet after so many festivities.
She arranged for a family dinner in one of the smaller dining halls. The Queen preferred the smaller rooms of the castle. They made her feel more at home. She wasn’t a Queen here. She was a wife and mother. She was herself.
The stone walls were covered in lavish tapestries depicting images of knights in battle or lovely maidens gazing at their own beauty in reflective ponds. The fireplace was the grandest focus of the room. It was twice as tall as any man, and decorated with the face of a woman carved from the finest white stone, her eyes, downcast and serene, made the room feel protected. The warm fire made the dining hall feel cozy. The Queen sometimes wondered if the white stone beauty had been modeled after the King’s former wife, Snow White’s mother. She wondered if she were there to watch over the household—watch over the Queen—to ensure she was a worthy mother and spouse. The Queen never asked her husband, for fear of slicing open his old wounds. He had loved Snow’s mother dearly, the Queen knew that, and she did her best to convince herself that it didn’t diminish his love for her.
Before dinner the King gave the Queen a small box filled with his first wife’s writings. The box was ornately carved with a heart and a sword lock. And the King told the Queen that it had once contained his first wife’s meagre dowry. “When she knew she was dying, Rose decided to document her life so Snow might know her a little,” he whispered to the Queen, “I want you to share these with Snow when you think she is ready.”
It warmed her heart that her husband should trust her with this task. But it troubled her as well. Would she be capable of it? Could she take on such a responsibility? And what if Snow fell so deeply in love with her mother through her letters that she began to resent the Queen?
“Of course,” the Queen said.
Tonight the Queen wore a simple and elegant empire-waist gown of deep red, edged with black ribbons. Her long dark hair was pulled high on her head in a circlet of braids intertwined with red ribbons and jewels, and her dark eyes sparkled in the firelight as she smiled at the sight of her daughter walking into the hall hand in hand with the King. Snow was wearing a deep blue dress, which brought out the rosy color in her plump little cheeks. The King was wearing one of his less formal, but still handsome, tunics of black, edged with gold finery.
“Ah. My love,” the King said, smiling as he entered the chamber.
The new family sat down to a fine meal of baked rosemary bread, sweet butter, hearty cheeses, roasted pork, and sweet potatoes smothered in garlic and olive oil.
“I miss Great-uncle Marcus!” Snow said between bites of bread soaked in gravy.
The Queen had cut Snow’s bread into interesting shapes, soaking them in gravy in hopes of inspiring the girl’s appetite. Snow was a finicky eater.
“Come now, little bird, will you have no pork?” urged the Queen.
“I feel bad for the piggy, Momma,” said Snow.
“Very well, my girl,” the Queen sighed.
“What do you miss most about your uncle, Snow?” her father asked.
“I want to hear more about dragons, Papa,” Snow said, her eyes lighting up, as she straightened her back and pretended to be one of the rare breed of ice-breathers Uncle Marcus had spoken about.
The King smiled mischievously. “Oh do you? Well, perhaps we should play a game of dragons and knights then.”
Snow jumped from her seat, knocking it over, and bolted to the farthest end of the hall.
“Try to catch me, dragon!” the King shouted as he stood upon his chair and with a giant roar jumped off and tore after his daughter as she screamed with peals of laughter. He gathered her into his arms and smothered her with kisses.
“Save me, Momma! The dragon is getting me!”
The Queen laughed. She considered the gorgeous stone woman. She was gazing at her, smiling down upon all of them. The Queen felt this shower of approval, and it made her happier than she’d often been.
“Shall I have the servants bring our desserts to the morning room? We can sit by the fire and tell stories until bedtime, if you’d like,” the Queen said.
“Oh yes!” said Snow. The dining hall might have been homey, but the morning room was cozier still. There were many cushions and warm furs laid before the fire. The walls were constructed mainly of paned glass, and the doors opened onto a lovely garden filled with beautiful flowers in shades of pink, red, and purple. During nighttime hours it was lit with candles and torches.
The three snuggled together in the m
orning room eating strawberries and cream. A storm had stirred up and rain pelted the windows. Snow’s eyes looked heavy, and the King told her it was time for bed.
“No, Papa! Just one more story, please!” Snow pleaded.
“I’ve no stories left in me this night, child. We’ll continue tomorrow.”
“Momma, you tell me a story about dragons, please.”
The Queen looked at her husband nervously. The King shrugged.
Unable to deny her little bird anything, the Queen put aside her inhibitions and complied: “Once, a very long time ago, a sad, lonely, and greatly misperceived woman enchanted a young princess into a deep sleep for her own safety….”
“Why was she sad, Momma?” Snow interrupted.
The Queen thought about it for a moment and said, “I think it was because no one loved her.”
“Why?” asked the child.
“Because she didn’t love herself. She feared rejection because she was so unlike anyone she’d ever known. She was so full of fear that she sequestered herself away. This sad woman’s only companions were striking blackbirds that soared in the skies around her home, perching in trees and on ledges, gathering information so she would have news of the outside world. That is how she learned of the princess’s christening. No one understood why the woman was so angry for not being invited to the christening. But you see, my little bird, she knew something the girl’s parents and fairy godmothers did not.”
“I thought you were going to tell me a story about dragons, Momma,” Snow interrupted again.
“I am, my dear. For you see this was no ordinary woman, she could turn into a dragon, and when she did, she was a fierce, frightening creature.”
“Really?” Snow’s eyes were closing, heavy with tiredness.
“Indeed, but we are getting ahead of the story….”
Before she could continue the tale, Snow had fallen asleep in her arms. The King took his wife by the hand and looked at her tenderly. The firelight flickered upon his face, transforming him from a King into something more like an angel.
“You have already become a mother to her. And I adore you all the more for that.
“I’m sorry to be away from you so soon after our guests have left, my love,” he said with a sincere gaze.
“Away?” the Queen asked, taken aback.
“My Queen, I am not a King who sends my men off to die in battle without sharing in that risk. If we are fighting for something—some worthy cause—then it should be worth my life as much as the lives of my men.”
The Queen thought this was an honorable and valiant ethic. But it did not alter the fact that the thought of her husband out on the battlefield paralyzed her with terror. And how could it be that he would rather be in battle with his life on the line, when he was King and could choose to be home with her? Was he choosing his duty over his love for her? And shouldn’t she—and Snow—be paramount in his life? And then, a more worrisome thought entered her mind—perhaps his loving words to her since his courtship had been untrue and he wanted nothing more than to escape her, even if it meant certain death.
“We will have to make the most of our time together, then,” she said, crestfallen.
“And what will you do while I am away? How will you spend your days?” he asked.
“I think I will take Snow to the forest to pick wildflowers. And if you do not object, I would like the child to visit her mother’s grave.”
The King fell silent. His eyes welled up. It was strange to see such a great man, still with stony countenance, dissolve into such a state.
“I’m sorry, did I overstep…?” the Queen began.
“No, love, you did not. It means so much to me that you should want Snow to know of her mother. You are a remarkable woman. You have a beautiful heart, my darling. And I love you more than you will ever know.” The Queen kissed the King on the cheek and stepped away from him.
“And I, you. We will anxiously await your return.”
The Queen spent the following months further acquainting herself with her new home. With the King away, Snow occupied much of the Queen’s time. The two picnicked in the woods, and the Queen taught the child delicate needlepoint. She told her tales of dragons while they snuggled by the warm fire in the Queen’s chamber, where Snow slept while the King was deployed.
The two also spent many sunny afternoons visiting Snow’s mother’s grave site. The mausoleum was surrounded by a lovely overgrown garden filled with creeping roses, wisteria, jasmine, honeysuckle and gardenia—all favorites of the King’s first wife.
The scent was almost intoxicating. The Queen would sit with Snow for hours, telling her the stories of her mother that she had learned from the letters the King had brought her, and reading some aloud.
“Was my first mother very pretty?” Snow asked.
“I believe she was, my dearest. I shall ask your father if there are any portraits I may show you. I’m sure she was very beautiful.”
Snow looked distressed.
“What is it darling?”
Snow cocked her head like a little rabbit might at hearing a noise. It warmed the Queen’s heart.
“Well, Momma, how can you be sure she was beautiful?”
The Queen smiled at the precocious child.
“Well, my little bird, you are the most beautiful creature I have even seen, and so it only stands to reason…”
Snow seemed contented with this deduction. “Tell me more about her, please, Momma. What was her favorite color? What was her favorite dessert?”
“I’m not sure, Snow, she may speak of these things in her missives. But I do know she was a very capable horsewoman. She adored horses and hoped to teach you how to ride when you were old enough. Shall I teach you to ride, little bird?”
“Oh yes, Momma! I love horses!”
“Do you? I hadn’t known.”
“What’s your favorite color, Momma? Is it red? I think it must be red, you wear it so often.”
“Yes, you’re right, little bird.”
“And mine, Momma? Do you know?”
“I think…blue.”
“Yes, Momma!”
“Shall we pick some flowers to take back to the castle? It looks as if it may rain soon. We should venture home before we get soaked through.”
“Yes, Momma. Let’s pick flowers. Red and blue flowers!”
They gathered flowers as it began to rain. They arrived at the castle steps soaked indeed, little sprigs of flowers in the folds of their skirts. But they were happy, and their soaked clothes did little to dampen their moods.
Verona was waiting for them when they arrived back at the castle, both laughing with the giddiness of the day.
“My gods! Look at you both! You’re wet to the bone. You had best get out of these wet things. I have hot baths ready. Hurry along,” Verona said, taking the flowers from the rain-drenched beauties.
“Will you float the flowers in bowls of water and distribute them around the castle, Verona?” the Queen requested. The Queen thought having the castle filled with Snow’s mother’s favorite fragrances might make it feel as if her mother were near her. How the Queen wished she knew where her own mother was laid to rest.
“Of course, my Queen,” Verona answered. Then she ushered her into the Queen’s chamber where her bath had been prepared.
The Queen spent most of her time in one remote part of the room where she could settle into what she was sure was the most comfortable seat in the kingdom—a thronelike padded armchair upholstered with velvet cushions and plush trimmings. The chair was set near the fireplace, beside an alcove shelving her best-loved illuminated manuscripts. With her husband gone, she’d been ending most of her days there, and would do so again this evening. But first, a bath.
Verona exited, and the Queen stepped into the soothing tub. The steaming water melted a frost that seemed to cover the Queen’s every bone. Despite the rain and the resulting shivers, she’d had a pleasant day with Snow.
Still, she
missed the King terribly.
She mused as she watched the swirls of steam rise. The chamber was enormous. The stone walls were draped with detailed tapestries of red, gold, and black that hung from ornately molded rods set in iron brackets. The tapestries not only beautified the room, but kept the frigid chill outside.
The grand fireplace was flanked by two enormous statues that seemed to have souls. Each portrayed a beautiful and beastly winged woman, both with faces severe and remote; their downcast eyes gazed down from a towering height.
A quiet knock upon the chamber door caused the Queen to stir.
“Verona, I presume?” the Queen said.
“It is I,” Verona responded from behind the door. “My lady, I took the liberty of suggesting the cook make some of Snow’s favorites for this evening’s meal. The girl seems a little sullen.”
The Queen didn’t respond.
“She’s missing her father,” Verona continued, “as you are, I am sure. He has been away for several months now.”
The Queen considered Verona’s words for a moment, then broke her silence.
“Neither of us would thrive so well without you, Verona. We thank you and love you for that.”
“Thank you, Majesty. Will you need any further assistance? More hot water? Or your bath sheet, perhaps?”
The Queen had already begun to step from her tub, wrapping herself in the huge, soft towel, which had been warmed on a small coal apparatus next to her.
“I’ve already emerged, my dear. You may enter,” the Queen said.
As her attendant, it would have been Verona’s duty to bathe the Queen. But the Queen was insistent that no one see her without a painted face and coiffed hair. Recently, however, she’d become much more comfortable with Verona, and had allowed the woman to see her without makeup and finery.
Verona shifted uncomfortably, no doubt because she knew how the Queen felt about others seeing her before she’d been made-up.
“I’m sure the King will be home soon, my lady,” Verona said, while shifting little trinkets in the room, pretending to organize them though she might have just been attempting not to look upon the unpainted face of her Queen.
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