Faerietale

by Stephanie Rabig

  “Oh, nothing that important, I suppose,” said Red, taking a dainty sip from her glass. “Just a personal victory.”

  “Personal?” The Prince took another sip, following Red's example. “The sort of personal that you can't tell me about?”

  Red smiled, but didn't look at him. “What fun would it be if I revealed all my secrets?” she said. She looked up, the smile gone and her eyes suddenly earnest, wide and hopeful. “We do have fun, don't we, Prince? You do like me . . . don't you?”

  The Prince's breath caught again, hooked on the edges of his throat. He nodded slowly. “Of course I like you, Red,” he said. “What's not to like?” He glanced downwards. “Particularly when you're wearing that dress.”

  Red laughed, throwing her head back. Her hair brushed the skin of his forearm, and he watched, entranced, as the strap of her dress slid off her shoulder. “You flatter, my Prince,” said Red, her eyes shining. “You always do.”

  The Prince shifted, trying to inch closer to her. “I wish you would do the same,” he said. “You're terribly unkind sometimes, Little Red.”

  She half-smiled, the sweet little quirk of her lips that was his favorite. “Not so Little these days,” she murmured, meeting his eyes.

  He tried to swallow, but there was no moisture left in his mouth. “No,” he rasped. “Not so little at all.”

  He reached out for her. His fingers tangled in her perfect hair; all he could think was that it was softer than he'd imagined. He ran his fingers down to her face, watching her for some kind of reaction. She only kept smiling, unblinking, unmoving.

  Maybe she'll let me... maybe she's changed her mind...

  He leaned forward. It wasn't much of a stretch to bring his face close to hers. A quick shifting of his body, a movement onto his side, and he was almost there, nose nearly brushing hers.

  And suddenly she was gone from beneath his fingertips, halfway across the room and shrugging on her cloak. Startled, the Prince sat up, barely managing to set his wine glass upright on his nightstand. “Where are you going?”

  “Have to report to the Queen,” said Red, lightly. She turned to him, the same smile still dancing across her lips, unchanged from moments before. “Wanted to stop by and have a drink with you first. Thanks for the celebration. Your wine is always the best.” She lifted her glass to him and added, “To the Prince.”

  She tossed her head back and downed the remaining wine, then sat the glass down with a clink and turned away. “Sweet dreams,” she said.

  And when he blinked, she was gone.

  Cybele sashayed down the hall toward the Prince's quarters, admiring the job she'd done on her nails. It had taken almost an hour, but she'd gotten each one striped in three different shades of blue, with small white crystalbeads glued onto each one.

  Tonight, perhaps, would be different. Estelle and Wendy both had read passages from books that sounded close enough to things that she and the Prince had tried, but an element was most certainly missing. She'd realized that she wasn't entirely sure what making love entailed. Which might be a rather ridiculous thing for a woman in her line of work to think, but it was true.

  She'd slept with the Prince many times, yes, and had often enjoyed herself. And even on nights when he summoned her and the alcohol got the best of him before she could reach his quarters, she couldn't complain-- he had artifacts from all sorts of fascinating places, so while he was snoring on the bed she simply explored the room or thought up ideas for new outfits.

  But apparently, she needed to love a man in order to make love with him. The frustrating thing about the situation was that she had no idea if she loved the Prince or not . . . she cared about him, yes; laughed genuinely at his jokes when she knew some of the other women were gritting their teeth more than smiling; and if she stayed around his room on nights when he'd passed out to make sure he had no nightmares, was that love or the simple affection of a friend?

  Cybele knew it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Whether or not she loved him, he didn't love her. And she was almost 100% certain that both parties needed to be in love for this to work.

  Still, she was curious.

  Then something in the hall changed, she felt eyes on her, and before she even looked up she knew it was Little Red.

  She was leaving the Prince's room. Cybele quickly moved to the side, out of her way, and Little Red met her eyes and gave her a slow smile as she walked past. Cybele kept herself from flinching, but though she'd hidden it, somehow she was sure Little Red knew about it anyway.

  Cybele ducked into the Prince's room, and when she saw the look on his face her breath caught in her throat.

  Then his expression shifted, looked disappointed for a few seconds, and she realized that intense wanting she had seen hadn't been for her. He'd been thinking that Little Red was coming back. He'd never looked at her like that. Like she was memorable.

  Well, tonight might be able to help fix that, she told herself. She sat down in his lap, straddling him as she gave him a kiss, but he barely responded.

  Cybele edged back, resting her forehead on his. "Why don't you simply ask her to join us, my Prince?" The idea of sharing quarters with Red was a frightening one, true-- she'd expect to wake up with a knife at her throat-- but if that was truly who had caught his interest. . .

  "Who?"

  She smiled. Silly man, thinking she would be put off by such a tactic. "Little Red, of course. You can request any woman in Faerietale, so--"

  "She's an exception. She-- she has a job here already."

  "Well, Beckah had a job," Cybele said, frowning. "As did Fiametta. And Shani was coming here for a job."

  "That's different."

  "Why?"

  "I-- you shouldn't ask such questions," he said, sounding so stern and irritated that she quickly got off him.

  "All right," she said, feeling suddenly awkward here in a room she'd lain in so many times. "I just want to see you smiling again, Prince. You've been so sad lately. If it's for want of her, I might be able to help you with that. We can dim the lights," she said, stepping closer and unbuttoning the first button on his shirt. "I can tie my hair back." The second button. "And I've got a beautiful red dress. . ."

  She barely had time to undo the third button before he was bolting to his feet, stepping back away from her. For a second he was wild-eyed, looked like he would rant at her, and then the breath rushed out of him and he sat back down again. "Just go."

  "Cybele."

  "What?"

  "'Just go, Cybele'. It's my name."

  "I know that, I--"

  "No, I really don't think you do. My name is Cybele. I'm twenty-eight years old. My favorite color is blue and I made this necklace myself and I grew up in the Third Village and I hate wearing shoes and just because I'm not Little Red, it doesn't mean I'm nothing."

  She opened the door, started to go into the hall, and then paused. He'd told her to go and she would, but it wasn't right to do it like this. Yes, he could frustrate her no end, but everyone caused frustration from time to time, herself most certainly included.

  Cybele turned back, leaving the door open as she crossed over to him. She crouched down slightly, framed his face in her hands, and then gave him a kiss on the top of his head. "Goodnight."

  ***

  Cybele was in the midst of trying to decide whether to paint her nails green or silver-- her new dress was both of those splendid colors, so either choice would work-- when two Guards threw open the door.

  The Queen swept into the room after them. All of the women bowed, as was custom, and when Cybele looked back up the Queen's gaze was locked on her.

  "Cybele."

  She could see now that there were other people in the doorway. The Prince stood taller than his mother, also watching her, looking-- hurt? What was going on?

  "Come with us," the Queen said. Her tone brooked no argument and Cybele didn't give it, but her sister did.

  "Why?" Estelle asked, moving forward.

 
; "Because what she's done has been reported to me."

  "What?" Cybele asked, by now completely baffled as well as frightened. "What did I do? All right, I did ask to be let off my duties last night but I was trying to paint the back room yesterday and I forgot to open a window so I had the most atrocious headache and--"

  "It's about the guard you were kissing in the hallway. His name?"

  "I . . . there is no name," Cybele said, once she regained her voice. "He doesn't exist."

  "My source says otherwise," the Queen said briskly. "So you won't tell me who this other traitor is?"

  "Who's your source?" Estelle demanded.

  "Someone I trust."

  "Then that trust is misplaced. My sister would never do such a thing. And if she had even contemplated it, she would've placed me into her confidence first."

  "Ah," the Queen said, her eyes narrowing. "So you know."

  Hating where she was, hating even more where this was going, Cybele spoke quickly. "No, no, she wouldn't know! She thinks she would but I tricked her. I'm very sneaky."

  "Clearly."

  "What is the sentence?" Estelle asked quietly.

  "What do you think, for such a crime?" the Queen asked. She nodded towards the doorway, and the Huntsman stepped forward. Cybele instinctively shrank back, barely resisting the urge to clutch her sister's shoulders when Estelle stepped in front of her.

  "I forbid it!" Estelle snapped.

  The Queen arched an eyebrow. "You do, do you?"

  Cybele came out from behind her sister, going to the only person she believed might be able to help her now, if only he was willing. "My Prince," she said, grabbing his hand. "I would never commit such an act. You took my sister and I out of conditions I loathe to remember. My parents and youngest sister live comfortably now thanks to your kindness. I would sooner die than betray you or your mother. You know this."

  He looked down at her, sadness and confusion shining in his eyes. "No, I don't. I . . . as you so recently told me, I don't really know you."

  She closed her eyes for a few seconds. Finally, she whispered, "The fault of that fact is not mine, Prince."

  "Please remove your hands from my son," the Queen said. "Now, as I told you before you insisted on causing a scene-- come with us."

  "If I may make a suggestion?"

  Cybele nearly yelped. It was quite possible that Mother Miriam had been there all along, but she'd truly seemed to just appear in the room.

  "Death might not be the best solution here."

  "You know the punishment for infidelity," the Queen said. "So this means you doubt my source?"

  Pain flickered across Mother Miriam's face. "I am sure that this source is capable of acting according to their own motivations."

  "And what motivation could possibly be present here?"

  "That I am not so sure of."

  "Then why should she not be punished?"

  "A punishment is indeed in order. But you have not had anyone put to death for quite some time, my Queen. Why break that pattern over a simple harem girl? Your son is a happy man, exactly what you want for him. If he holds the knowledge that a woman he has so recently lain with has been put to death, that will change." She gave the Queen a warning, pointed look, and the Queen stared coldly back.

  "Use the general punishment," Mother Miriam continued. "Send her to the Realm of Shadows."

  The Queen kept her gaze on Mother Miriam for a long moment, and then she turned to Cybele. "Very well. Come along. The rest of you, pack her things for her. We'll send a Guard back for them once the procedure is complete."

  ***

  By the time he finally found a Guard who knew where the Door to the Shadow Realm was, he thought for sure he was too late.

  Instead, the Prince skidded around the corner just in time to see the Guard who was escorting Cybele open the door to the White Rabbit's old office. "Wait!" he called. He ran down the hall, the realization that this was severely undignified slowing his steps as he approached. "I would have a moment alone with her."

  The Guard nodded in acquiescence, and the Prince stepped into the crowded office with Cybele, closing the door behind them, his gaze staying on her. She had three very large bags with her, and she was clinging to the handle of one like a lifeline. Her hair, once brown and shining, was now a dull dishwater gray. Her face had lost all color, as had her body. The most colorful thing about her now was her dress.

  Bandages, bright white, stood out against her skin on her arms and legs, and he couldn't help but curse himself for not accompanying her to the procedure.

  Shouldn't feel that way, he told himself. She'd been unfaithful. She deserved this punishment and more . . . didn't she?

  He touched the side of her face, unable to shake the feeling that his mother had made a horrible mistake-- and that he'd made a worse one, for not even trying to speak against this. Snow would've spoken.

  To his surprise, instead of slapping his hand away and snarling at him, she leaned into his palm, and then moved into his arms. "Whoever said such things against me was lying," she murmured. "Maybe you don't know it now, but I'm sure someday you will."

  "Are you-- this Shadow Realm-- are you going to be all right?"

  She looked up at him, smiling brightly. "Of course! I thought my day would end facing the Huntsman's arrow; anything less is a relief, really. Though I do have a favor to ask."

  "What?"

  "May I kiss you goodbye?"

  He knew he should push her away. If his mother was right-- and why wouldn't she be?-- then she had feelings for someone else, had acted on them within these very walls. Instead, he nodded.

  Should at the very least not kiss her back, his brain muttered, but his body disobeyed thoroughly, deepening the kiss and wrapping his arms around her as her hands came up to play with his hair. She'd always done that, he remembered. Tugging on a curl to make it spring back, making comments about how it wasn't fair he had hair like this without even using one single enchantment. Laughter in her eyes every time.

  He'd never apologized for anything in his life. Had never felt the need. Before he could figure out how to do so now-- or if he even had a true reason for it-- she pulled back at the sound of the Guard opening the door.

  "C'mon, miss," he said, boredom and something else in his voice. The Prince narrowed his eyes. Had that been fear?

  "Is this realm safe?" he asked.

  The Guard started to roll his eyes, then remembered who was addressing him and ducked his head. "My Queen puts criminals of all stripes there. The Knight does his best to keep the peace."

  "It'll be fine," Cybele said. The bright smile was there again. "Well. Good-- goodbye, I suppose."

  Then she turned, and before the Guard could go ahead of her, she stepped quickly through the Door. The Guard gave him a nod, and then followed, dragging the two bags she'd left behind.

  It struck him then that he didn't know how honest Cybele had been with him. Was she truly so grateful to have been spared a death sentence that life in the Shadow Realm was something she could handle, or was she scared? He'd seen no fear in her eyes, but perhaps he didn't know how to look.

  He'd lain with the woman countless times, and wasn't even sure how to interpret something that simple.

  The Prince stared at the seemingly innocuous mirror for a long moment, and then silently left the room.

  ***

  She watched the new arrival talk excitedly with several other women from the Realm, passing out clothes that they couldn't have afforded after saving up for years.

  For a while she simply stood there, content to laugh silently at the fools spending so much time on such inconsequential things. And content to practice her latest trick. Right now she was projecting a vision of herself reading a book in her small room. If the Knight were to use his own powers to locate her, that vision is what he would see.

  Of course, if he saw her in her room, and then came by here in person to see what the commotion was about--

  But rea
lly, the risk only added to the fun. It had been so long since she'd been able to take a chance of any importance. Compared to stealing away children and waiting to see if anyone actually managed to track their trail to her this time, anything that could be done here was absolutely boring.

  Then Little Red had come along, with an intriguing idea.

  After most of the other women had gone and the former harem girl was putting away the remainder of her dresses, she made her approach.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I heard from one of the others that there was some sort of party over here; I must have arrived too late. My apologies for bothering you."

  "No, you're not late at all!" she chirped. "Come on and sit down! I was just giving some dresses out . . . one of the other women in my building, Andira, said that she hadn't been able to get a new dress in almost five years! I simply could not stand for that. Now then, what's your favorite color?" Then she took a closer look at her, and frowned. "You seem familiar."

  She sighed. "I'm commonly known as the Forest Witch." At the expression on her face, she looked away. "I see they've gotten to you as well. I'll go now."

  "Wait. Please? I of all people should know about being in here due to rumor instead of fact. And given the stories that go around about the Forest Witch-- about you-- well, they simply have to be falsehood. There's simply no possibility that anyone that horrifying could exist. I'm quite sorry for my initial reaction; it was unforgivably rude of me.” She held out her hand. "My name is Cybele."

  She smiled and took her hand. "I'm Lamia. Very pleased to meet you." She redirected her gaze to the suitcase of clothing, and a scrap of deep green fabric caught her eye. She pulled out the dress.

  "Ohhh, that would look perfect on you!" Cybele said. "It's such a beautiful color. I-- oh dear," she muttered, looking her over. Several of the women who'd been hovering around her earlier had been stick-thin, or more Cybele's size. She herself was not, and while alterations could be made to trim down a dress, trying to let one out when it was already supposed to be form-fitting was an impossible task.