by Dana Piazzi
“King Whitelock, Catherine, this is my daughter, Arella,” Genevieve said, pushing the girl forward. “Say hello, Arella.”
“Hello,” the girl said dully, “and it’s Rella.” Her mother frowned down at her.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Rella,” Thomas said, smiling. “Snow, why don’t you take Rella outside so she can join in the celebrations?”
Snow looked at the scowling girl until her mother nudged her shoulder. A smirk was forced before Rella stalked out of the room. Snow heard her father talking to the woman as she headed back to her friends.
Chapter Three – Punishment
Snow was sitting on a bench, enjoying the fine day and the chitter-chattering of birds, when she heard her new stepsister, Arella, screaming at the top of her lungs. The birds took flight and the squirrels that were scurrying around her feet were now in hiding.
“Catherine!” Rella hollered from the porch. “Where are you?”
Snow stood and started to make her way back to the castle. When she reached the porch, she saw Rella tapping her foot in irritation. “Yes, Rella?”
“I want you to trim my hair,” she ordered, holding out a pair of silver scissors. “Make sure you do it right!”
Snow took the scissors while Rella turned and huffed in annoyance. She knelt on her knees and started to trim the ends of Rella’s blond locks. Snow was halfway done when Rella jerked her head. When a chunk of hair fell in Snow’s hand, she gasped.
“What?” Rella asked, twirling around. When she saw her hair in Snow’s hand, she cried out in horror. “You did that on purpose.”
“No, I didn’t,” Snow protested, standing. “It was an accident.”
“Mother!” Rella screamed. “Mother!”
Snow stepped back as Genevieve came running out of the castle at her daughter’s distressed screams. Thomas was close behind, wearing a concerned expression.
“She cut my hair!” Rella screeched. “She did it on purpose!”
Snow shook her head, sending long black strands of hair into her eyes. The silver scissors were still clutched in her hand while the other held the chunk of blond hair.
“I’m sure it was an accident,” Thomas said, standing beside his daughter. “We can trim it up and no one will notice.”
Rella looked at him, horrified. “She cut my hair on purpose. Mother, do something!” She covered her face with her hands and started to sob.
“Thomas, you need to punish Snow,” Genevieve said, pointing a finger at the raven-haired girl. “If you love me at all then you’ll punish her.”
Thomas sighed then looked down at his daughter. “Catherine, was it done on purpose?” Snow shook her head. “What do you suggest as punishment, Genevieve?”
The woman rubbed her chin, eyeing the girl’s long black hair, flawless white skin, and emerald eyes. “She cut Rella’s hair, so it’s only fitting if her hair is cut.” Genevieve then turned to her daughter. “Arella, take those scissors and cut Catherine’s hair.”
Snow looked at her father for help, but he sighed then turned his back. Before she could escape, Snow was grabbed by the arm and yanked toward Rella. Genevieve’s grip was like iron as Rella came at her with the scissors. Her once long, fluffy black hair was now short and sticking up all over her head.
“There can be only one beautiful girl in this family and it’s not you,” Rella sneered before turning and prancing back into the castle. Genevieve quickly followed while Snow touched her hair with a trembling hand.
“Oh, Snow, I’m so sorry,” Thomas said, kneeling in front of his daughter. “Please forgive me.” He took her hands in his giant ones and gently squeezed her fingers.
“Papa, why didn’t you stop her?” Snow whispered as tears threatened to cascade down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to cut Rella’s hair.”
“I know, Snow.” He brought her closer and kissed her forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Snow replied as Genevieve lurked in the shadows.
Snow was standing in front of her mirror, inspecting her spiky black hair, when she saw movement in the doorway. When Thomas’s reflection joined hers, Snow spun around and ran into his open arms.
“It’ll grow back,” he said, rubbing his hand over her pixie cut. “It suits you.”
“I miss my hair.” She smiled then noticed his clothing. “Are you leaving?”
Thomas nodded. “I’m visiting King George. I’ll be back in a few days.” He kissed her head. “Try and make Genevieve and Arella welcome. They’re still getting to know the castle.”
“I’ll try, Papa.”
Thomas waved at his new wife, stepdaughter, and daughter as he galloped down the road. When he and his posse were out of sight, Genevieve glared at Snow before disappearing into the castle. Snow bowed her head while Rella giggled and pulled at the flyaway pieces of Snow’s dark hair.
“Now you look like a boy,” she cruelly said before she was called away by her mother.
Snow looked down the road and watched as the dust settled from her father’s departure. “Come home soon, Papa,” she whispered sadly.
Chapter Four – Goodbye
The announcement woke Snow from a deep slumber. She raced down corridors and jumped down stairs only to find one of her father’s riders standing on the front porch, covered in blood and dust.
“Catherine, is your stepmother awake?” he asked, wiping a hand across his forehead. “I have important news.”
“What’s going on down here?” Genevieve demanded, coming to a stop behind Snow. Rella was by her mother’s side, yawning.
“Ma’am, I have news on King Whitelock,” he glanced at Snow. “May we speak in private?”
“No; tell me the news.”
The man nodded, avoiding the young girl’s eyes. “I’m afraid King Whitelock was trampled by his steed. He was killed instantly.” His heart broke when his eyes dropped to Snow’s distressed face. As Genevieve and Rella clung to each other, he reached out, embracing the girl who silently cried into his shirt.
The man rubbed her back while the woman and her daughter cried, hollered, and sobbed like dramatic actresses. He thought it strange that no tears could be seen, but he would never question it as Genevieve was now the Queen of The Land of Incandescence.
Genevieve sniffled then wiped away an invisible tear. “Thank you for telling us the terrible news. Do the villagers know?”
“Yes, ma’am; they have been told,” the rider replied. “King Whitelock’s body will be brought back to be buried.” He turned to leave, but the Queen stopped him.
“No, that’s unnecessary. His body is not to be brought back here. Burn it…I don’t care,” she waved her hand dismissively then turned on her heel and headed inside. Rella obediently followed.
“May I see his body?” Snow looked up at the man with pleading eyes.
“Of course. I’ll meet you in the garden in an hour.”
Snow sadly nodded then hugged him around the waist. She pulled away and slipped into the shadows of the castle.
The birds seemed to be affected by the sudden death of Thomas. Their twitters had ceased, along with the scampering of squirrels. The garden was silent, and Snow felt its sadness as her own. A bunch of wildflowers were clutched in her small hand when the rider stepped from behind a stand of trees.
“Catherine, are you ready?” he asked, wiping his hands on his shirt.
“Yes, sir,” she mumbled then followed him deeper into the garden. When they stepped into a field, she saw a large black horse nibbling on a patch of grass. “What is his name?”
“Jasper,” the man said, going over to his horse. “My name’s Jack.”
Snow gave a tiny smile as she approached the horse. With her free hand, she stroked the horse’s head between his eyes. “Hi Jasper.”
Jack helped Snow into the saddle then jumped up behind her. His arms circled her while he lightly held the reigns. The ride was fast and was over in a few minutes. When they stopped, Snow saw her f
ather’s body laid out on a bed of dried grass and twigs. Pink and yellow flowers surrounded him while his clothing was stained with dirt and dried blood. His hands were folded on his chest.
“We’ll give you a minute,” Jack said, helping Snow down from the saddle.
As Snow stepped closer to her father’s body, she saw groups of men standing a few feet away. They were smoking while talking in low voices. Some glanced in her direction, bobbing their heads or tipping their caps.
Snow focused her eyes on Thomas’s still face. Tears threatened to spill over, but she bit hard on her lower lip. She didn’t want to cry in front of these strangers. She knew her father was King and she had to be strong like he was.
“Papa, I love you,” Snow whispered. She looked down at the flowers in her hand and gently stroked the soft petals. “I will miss you and never forget you.” She reached out, placing the wildflowers on her father’s hands. “Goodbye.”
Chapter Five – Silver
“Catherine!” Genevieve hollered. “Catherine, where are you hiding?” Her voice grated on Snow’s nerves. She was ducking down behind a bushel as her stepmother paced the porch, screeching her name. “Catherine!”
Snow sighed before stepping out of her hiding spot. As she walked toward the castle, she saw Genevieve’s scowl from across the yard.
“Where have you been?” the woman spat. “When I call you, I expect you to answer me straight away.” She swiped the back of Snow’s head. “The floors need to be washed and the silver needs polishing.”
“Why do I have to do it?” Snow asked, making her stepmother scowl.
“Are you talking back to me?” Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “You need to learn manners, my girl.”
Snow collapsed into a kitchen chair and looked over candlesticks, cutlery, and platters. She ran a hand over her spiky hair, cringing at the memory of the monthly haircuts she was forced to have, then picked up a polishing rag and started to rub one of the platters.
“Mother,” Rella’s whining voice came from the hall outside the kitchen. “I have nothing to wear for my eighteenth birthday.”
“You have hundreds of dresses…”
“None of them look right,” Rella huffed. “I have nothing to wear.”
Snow listened to the dramatic complaining then heard the women enter the kitchen. She kept her eyes on the platter and hoped she blended in with the furniture.
“What about that peach dress?”
“The lace itches.”
“The dusky pink one looks lovely on you,” Genevieve tried.
“I wore that to Charlotte’s party,” Rella snapped.
The kitchen grew quiet for a moment before Snow felt two pairs of eyes on her.
“What about Catherine’s cream dress? You know the one with the diamond neckline and winged sleeves?” Rella clapped her hands excitedly.
“Oh, yes! That will look lovely, and it is not like it’ll ever be worn.” She met Snow’s eyes and smirked. “I’ll go and try it on.”
Snow raised her head, meeting Genevieve’s narrowed eyes. “Yes? Do you have something to say, Catherine?”
“That’s my dress; it belonged to my mother.”
“It belonged to your mother, who is now dead,” Genevieve cackled. “You’re eighteen now, so I could throw you out. Instead, I’m keeping you on in memory to your dear Father.”
“You never loved him,” Snow mumbled. “You fell in love with his money.”
A painful gasp escaped Snow’s lips when Genevieve pinched her arm. “You ungrateful little…” She scowled at her. “Collect your things and get off my property. You’re no longer welcome in my castle!” she shouted before storming out of the kitchen.
Snow dropped the platter onto the cutlery, making it clatter to the floor. She headed into her room, which was off the kitchen, and shoved her meagre possessions into a satchel. Before stepping into the sunlight, Snow grabbed a fistful of cutlery and the smallest candlestick, and then walked out of the only home she had even known.
Chapter Six – Beef Stew
The Land of Incandescence and her father’s castle was surrounded by the Forest of Light. The forest stretched as far as the eye could see and it felt like a second home to Snow. She knew every twist and turn, and loved spending time with the animals or lying in the cool grass, listening to the soft twittering of birds.
Snow gazed through the canopy and saw clear blue sky peeking through the branches. She was ambling down a trail when she suddenly heard the rumble of hooves growing closer. Before she could duck into nearby bushes, a sleek black stallion came crashing toward her. The rider stopped his steed and jumped down from the saddle.
“Miss, are you okay?” the man asked, rushing to her aide. “I lost control of the damned beast…are you hurt?” His grey eyes roamed over her clothing.
“No; I’m fine, really.” She saw the horse step closer to her. She reached out a hand, petting the stallion between the eyes. “He’s beautiful.”
“He has a mind of his own,” the man said, taking hold of the reigns. “I’m Cristoff Gaines, and this is Barnaby.” He winked then swept a gallant bow.
Snow giggled. “I’m Catherine Whit-” she trailed off when Cristoff’s expression told her he knew who she was. “My father was the King.”
“I’m deeply sorry about his passing,” Cristoff said, wiping a hand across his brow. “Why are you not at the castle?”
Snow sighed while looking into the shifting shadows. “My stepmother and I don’t get along. I decided to venture out on my own.”
“Do you have somewhere to stay?” the man asked as the stallion nibbled on grass.
“No; I have nowhere to go.”
Cristoff grinned. “Well, it would be an honour to have a Lady stay in my abode.”
Snow smiled then nodded. “Thank you. I would like that.”
Cristoff helped her onto Barnaby’s back then started to turn the stallion. Snow shifted her satchel and held on tightly so she wouldn’t slip off the saddle.
As the man led the horse down the dirt road, he started to whistle to the birds overhead. Snow smiled to herself, settling into the gentle swaying of Barnaby and enjoying her surroundings. Turning off the main road, they started to follow a rutted trail which looped off to the right. A few moments later, Snow saw a sprawling log cabin set back in the trees. Smoke billowed from a stone chimney while a pure white cat stretched its long body in the sun.
“Home sweet home,” Cristoff said, halting the horse. “Ma’am,” he held out his arms so Snow slid into his embrace. When her feet hit the ground she smiled.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Go on in. I’ll put Barnaby to pasture and then join you.” Cristoff tugged the reigns, making Barnaby shake his large head. “Come on, ol’ boy.”
Snow watched the man and his horse wander away then turned to the wooden door leading into the cabin. She took a deep breath then pushed the door open.
A small kitchen was to the left with a large fireplace hissing and coughing up sparks. A solid wood table was sitting in the middle of the floor with four sturdy chairs. Dishes were stacked on shelves as lace curtains framed French doors leading onto a large porch. A battered old couch and two single armchairs filled the rest of the floor.
Snow noticed a hall beyond the sitting area then heard heavy footsteps coming across the front porch. When she turned, Snow saw the white cat zip through the door, followed by Cristoff.
“Mirabelle, leave the poor girl alone.” Cristoff went to scoop the kitty up, but she snuck around Snow, disappearing under her long dress. When the cat poked her head out, Cristoff chuckled. “Mirabelle likes you already.”
Snow bent down, scratching the white kitty’s head. When she let out a meow, Snow scooped her up and smiled when she nuzzled her neck. “Hello Mirabelle.”
“Would you like something to eat or drink?” Cristoff asked while heading into the kitchen. “I have leftover beef stew.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Snow replied
, placing the cat on the couch. “Do you live here by yourself?” She dropped her satchel on the armrest then went and sat down at the table.
“I live with my son,” Cristoff said, removing a pot from the hearth. “He should be home soon.” The old man placed the pot on the table then grabbed a bowl and ladle. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some?” he asked when he noticed Snow eyeing the stew and licking her deep red lips.
“Um…yes, please; it smells wonderful.”
Cristoff collected another plate and dished out the stew. Spicy aromas filled the cabin as Snow’s mouth watered. “This was my wife’s recipe.” Cristoff slid a plate to Snow along with a spoon.
“Is she a good cook?” Snow asked, dipping the spoon into the gravy.
“She was an amazing cook, but sadly, Abigail passed a few years back.” Cristoff sat opposite Snow and shovelled the stew into his mouth.
They sat in silence while eating. Snow knew what it felt like to lose someone dear. She never knew her mother, but it had been seven years since her father’s passing and it still broke her heart when thinking about his death. Snow was grateful that she didn’t witness the burning of his body.
Chapter Seven – Lucas
Cristoff cleared his throat, bringing Snow back to the cabin. His bowl was wiped clean while hers was hardly touched. “I have some chores to do, but I won’t be far from the house.” He stood, pushing in his chair. “If you need anything then don’t hesitate in finding me.”
Snow nodded then watched him leave. She scooped the cooling beef stew into her mouth then took her bowl to the metal tub full of suds and began to scrub the remnants off. Before she knew it, Snow had washed all the dishes, cutlery, and had put them away. Wiping her hands down the front of her dress, she went over and perched on the edge of the couch. She smiled when Mirabelle snuggled up to her.
“You’re a sweet kitty,” she cooed, scratching the cat between the ears. “I was never allowed a pet as a child.” Mirabelle shifted her head, making Snow’s fingers move to her neck. “But I always liked spending time in the forest. I guess the forest animals were my pets.”