Fairytales Slashed, Volume 2

by Megan Derr

  "I like the assumption I might be staying," Levaughn said. "Don't you think that might be a tad presumptuous, Marcum?"

  "Not the way you two keep looking at each other," Marcum said, smiling faintly, a trifle sadly. "Looks like that, you shouldn't be thinking of doing anything but staying here. It's not like a Huntsman can just stop being bound to the forest. This place needs a wizard more than my father." He looked out over the lake, expression ever so briefly wistful before he smoothed it out again.

  Levaughn stared at him thoughtfully. "I wonder if they'd need a permanent alchemist, too."

  "Huh?" Marcum turned back to him. "I sincerely doubt it. My father would forbid it just as a matter of his Kingdom's safety. If I blow up this place, they'll declare war just for letting me out of Roseberry Castle."

  "You haven't really caused harm in a long time," Levaughn said, "and that was only to yourself. Alchemy is what it is, and magic has all the same risks. You're not happy at the castle anymore, Marcum."

  Marcum scoffed. "I'm fine."

  "Is that why you're always hiding?" Levaughn asked.

  Marcum stiffened, then simply let out a soft sigh. "A change of environment might be nice," he conceded, "but I really cannot defy my father if he does forbid it. Anyway, if I stay here, I'm going to kill that damned goblin and I'm pretty certain that will not endear me to anyone here."

  Levaughn smirked. "Kill, eh? Is that what you want to do to the goblin?"

  "Like he'd let me do anything else," Marcum muttered, sadness flitting across his face again. Then he grimaced. "I didn't come out here to discuss me. I came to make certain you were okay, and that you knew you could stay. If father has an issue with it, well, he'll just have to get over it. Wolfram will take care of him, trust me."

  "All right, all right. Why don't you tell me what you've got in mind for snaring the Queen? I know you've got something stewing in that cauldron of yours." He reached out and rapped his knuckles on Marcum's head.

  Marcum only grinned and stood up. "Why, True Love's Kiss, of course." Then he strode off, back toward the dwarves' house, and Levaughn groaned. Never ask an alchemist a direct question, when was he going to get that through his head?

  True Love's Kiss. That was probably something extremely deadly, but had something to do with a kiss. Ugh, he'd been hanging around alchemists too long. He wasn't certain now he wanted to know what Marcum was plotting; at the very least, Calder would strenuously disapprove, since Levaughn was fairly certain it was the Princess they would have to make the bait.

  He raked a hand through his hair and sighed, wondering if he should go for a walk. But just as he was about to make himself stand and do precisely that, the sound of feet in grass drew him, and he looked up half-expecting to see Marcum again—

  "Cal," he greeted softly. "You're looking back to full strength."

  Nodding, Cal dropped down next to him, sitting far closer than Marcum had. Close enough that Levaughn would not have to lean over much at all to steal a kiss; he could feel the warmth of Calder's body, breathe in the woodsy scent of him. How in the world had he gone ten year without ever finding Cal, simply to see him?

  But he knew why—he'd been stupidly afraid to admit he was in love, and then it simply seemed like too much time had passed.

  "It's funny," Calder said quietly, "what you think is impossible, until you realize too late that it wasn't impossible at all, if only you hadn't let fear stop you."

  Levaughn frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that for ten years I've missed you every single day. Every hour. I never took the pendant off, save when I thought I might lose it in this lake every time the dwarves made me retrieve their boat. On my way…" He swallowed. "On my way to see her that last time, I remember thinking that should I somehow live, and when it was all over, I'd go and see you. I wasn't looking forward to seeing you with a lover, or to find out you'd forgotten me—"

  Making a rough sound, Levaughn leaned over and kissed him—it was hasty, clumsy, but it only took a moment before it slid into something surer, hotter, and he did not want to go another ten years, ten days, or even ten hours without Calder's kisses.

  "I never loved anyone but you, Cal," he said when he finally able to tear away. "I was scared to death, when Goulet showed up and told me you were in danger. I can't believe you thought I wouldn't come."

  Cal's fingers curled around his neck, and he pressed their foreheads together with a soft laugh. "I was just afraid to find you'd moved on, when I never could. And I didn't want to presume—"

  "You're an idiot," Levaughn said softly, and shifted so that he could kissed Calder again. He went eagerly when they seemed to move, content to go wherever Calder led him—but drew back when he felt fingers slide up beneath his clothes, along his skin. "Cal—"

  "I don't want to remember how she felt," Cal whispered. "Make me forget how she felt."

  Levaughn had no reply to that, except to kiss him again, and whisper in reply, "I'm sorry I arrived so late."

  "You're here now."

  After that, there was nothing more really said, outside of soft moans and whimpers and gasps, as he renewed his acquaintance with a body he'd never forgotten—and which had only improved beyond belief by ten years as a Huntsman. The wizard lights he'd set on coming out to the lake shone on Calder's skin, the tattoos inked into it. "My gods, Cal," he said on a groan, stroking along the rose and thorns wound low around his hips. He bent to taste it. "You were always hell for my concentration, but I think I may never be able to focus again, with memories of you and these tattoos lodged in my head."

  Laughing, writhing beneath him, Calder said, "I'm glad you approve. Goulet has one planned for my chest, did you know?"

  Levaughn groaned again. "No, I didn't. What?"

  "I guess you'll have to wait and see," Calder said with a smirk, then wrapped his arms around Levaughn's neck and dragged him down for a kiss that left Levaughn harder than ever, and eager to reclaim his long-missed lover once and for all.

  After that, it went quickly, neither of them in the mood for slow and easy. He'd had other men over the years, some lasting longer than others, but not a one of them had ever come close to the way Calder wore pleasure, the way he moved, the way he felt, the way he cried Levaughn's name as he came—and the way he lingered, close and so perfectly fitted, after their passion was spent.

  Levaughn kissed his shoulder. "You realize that if we go back inside they will harass us relentlessly."

  "You don't know the half of it," Calder muttered in reply. "Their stupid boat is always coming loose and I have to go out and swim to it—and I have to strip first and then swim around and then get out—"

  The entire image made Levaughn's cock twitch, and he groaned. "Stop it."

  Calder laughed softly, and traced one finger along the scar cutting down Levaughn's face. "So how did you come by this? It's quite dramatic."

  "Goblins," Levaughn muttered. "My first real job as a royal wizard was dealing with bandits, and there were goblins amongst them. Your goblin is a good sight nicer."

  "He's just an ass in different ways," Calder said with a snigger.

  Levaughn laughed. "Well, he has his good points, certainly. He, for one, had enough sense to come fetch me."

  Calder rolled his eyes, but dragged Levaughn's head down and kissed him softly again.

  Eventually Levaughn managed to pull away, and reluctantly said, "We should probably go back inside, before they get impatient."

  "Before we find ourselves with an audience," Calder said, rolling his eyes again, then stole one last, lingering kiss before he rolled to his feet and began to pull his clothes on.

  Levaughn followed suit, though it was hard to drag his eyes from Calder's fine form, and he might possibly have pouted when all that lovely tattooed skin was hidden from sight again. "I hope we can do this again, and in more leisurely fashion, sometime in the near future."

  Calder smiled, slow and hot and promising. "I have my own cabin, you know. I fully int
end to show it to you."

  "Good."

  Turning, Calder led the way back to the cabin. "Don't say a damned word," he said as they stepped inside the cabin, directing a glare at the seven dwarves clustered around the dining table.

  In reply, the dwarves only snickered and leered—but wisely stayed silent for once.

  Levaughn shook his head, chuckling softly, and cast his own attention to the corner where Marcum sat bent over a book. Goulet leaned against the wall nearby, frowning at an oblivious Marcum, both of them completely lost in thought.

  "So what did you mean by your last comment?" Levaughn demanded, resting his hands lightly on his hips as he gave Marcum a look.

  Marcum snickered and removed his glasses. "I told you what I intend to do. True Love's Kiss."

  "What is that?" Asked a quiet, subdued voice, and all eyes snapped to where Snow White stood, haggard and withdrawn, but with a stubborn set to her jaw as she took the seat a dwarf immediately offered. "What are you planning? How are you going to kill her?"

  "The killing of the witch will probably fall to Levaughn, I will have my hands full with other things," Marcum replied, his joking manner immediately dying. "My plan is to offer her bait to draw her from her the castle, to a place where she can be killed."

  Snow White looked at him a moment, then said, "I'm the bait."

  Marcum smiled approvingly. "Yes, Majesty. My plan it to put you into so deep a sleep, she believes you are dead, the story being that you killed yourself in a state of deep grief. She will come for you; she won't be able to resist, not when we have taken all her emergency resources and she dare not kill anyone else after so many have died, and now your father. I will wake you again when she is dead."

  "So why did you call it True Love's Kiss?"

  This time, Marcum grinned outright, "The name comes from an old alchemist's tale. Have you ever heard of the Sleeping Beauty Curse?"

  "Yes," Snow White replied. "That was the princess who was put to sleep for a hundred years, and went mad when she woke up after the hundred years had passed."

  "Mm," Marcum said, nodding eagerly, "That is it precisely. She was poisoned with an elixir we alchemists call 'waking death'. It's not really supposed to be used—"

  "But you are going to use it anyway," Levaughn drawled. "Why am I not surprised you even know how to make that?"

  "It took me seven years to get it right," Marcum replied. "Another three to create an antidote, which is really just a variation on True Love's Kiss—the story of which is about a noble's who believed herself to be in love with a poor, lowly baron. When her father refused to permit them to be together, the baron suggested a scheme devised by an alchemist friend of his—put the princess under a 'curse' cast by a 'witch' that could only be broken by the kiss of true love.

  The girl did not know then, that the baron and alchemist were only schemers after her father's fortune, but a young Duke did uncover the ruse. The 'true love's kiss' was actually just the antidote put on the lips of the scheming baron. The young Duke stole the antidote, switching it with something harmless, and woke the unwitting girl himself. The scheme was then revealed, the baron and alchemist punished, and the story has it the girl married her Duke."

  Goulet sneered. "Far too pretty a tale to be true."

  Marcum shrugged. "The poisons are true enough, and that is all that matters to me." He reached into a pocket of his jacket and extracted two small, glass vials, holding them aloft so all could see. The firelight struck them, turning the contents of each jewel bright—one a rich red, the other a pale green. "I finished them yesterday."

  "When and where were you making potions?" Levaughn demanded. "How did I never notice?"

  "You were too busy fussing over Calder or staring very hard at his tattoos," Marcum replied, smirking.

  Levaughn made a face, and ignored the sniggering and ribald comments of the dwarves.

  "Watch your mouth around her Majesty," Calder growled, swatting a couple of them lightly. Then he looked at Marcum and said more seriously, "Are you certain this madcap idea of yours will work? Without truly endangering Snow White?"

  "She'll be fine, I promise," Marcum replied. He touched fingers lightly to his ruined cheek. "I know I look incompetent, but I am probably the best alchemist in the country, though it's not a theory I have actively tested."

  Levaughn snorted. "You don't need to test it; I can tell you he is the best—I don't know of another who could have unraveled that poison and created an antidote in a lifetime, never mind a decade, and he would have only been fifteen when he began."

  Calder nodded. "Good enough for me, but it is Snow White's approval which matters."

  "Do it," Snow White said flatly. "She killed my father, my people, and she will kill far more if we do not do something. I am Queen now, and I will do whatever is necessary."

  Marcum sketched a remarkably elegant bow from his sitting position, and held out the pale green elixir. "This the Elixir of Sleeping Death. Take no more than one capful's worth. It's extremely bitter, so you may prefer to take it with tea."

  "Should I do this now?" she asked, looking at the bottle.

  "You can," Marcum replied. "The bulk of this is up to us; all you have to do is sleep." He winked at her. "We shall endeavor to find a handsome Duke or Prince to wake you."

  Snow White managed a smile as she said, "You seem a handsome enough one to me, Prince Marcum."

  Marcum looked at her, clearly startled though he tried to hide it, but then only returned the smile. "Then I shall wake you, when your throne is ready for you, my Queen."

  Nodding, Snow White rose and gathered her skirts, the elixir clutched tightly in one hand. She moved to Calder, and tilted her head up, and Calder obediently bent to let her kiss his cheek, and kissed hers in turn. "I am sorry about your father, Majesty. I wish I had been able to save him."

  "I suspect she took him where no one could save him," Snow White said sadly, "but thank you, Cal." She nodded to everyone else, then returned to her room, closing the door quietly.

  Calder sighed. "Let us get on with this, then. What is the rest of your plan?"

  Marcum picked up a long piece of rolled up leather, then stood and strode to the table where the dwarves still sat. Clearing a space, he then unrolled the leather to reveal a forest map.

  "That looks like one of mine," Calder said, looking amused. "I am fairly certain that I left it in my cabin."

  "You did," Goulet said, moving to stand with them at the table. "He kept whining, so I fetched it. You hardly need the things."

  Calder laughed. "So why did you need the map?"

  "To find a suitable location," Marcum replied. "It took a bit of searching, but I believe this field here, just beyond the forest and a good distance from the castle, is the perfect place to set our trap. The way the trees thin out and circle about for a bit, and the waterfall there, it could almost pass for part of the forest, and with you dead the Witch-Queen would not be surprised that we think it is part of the forest. It's a beautiful little place—"

  "How would you know?" Levaughn demanded.

  Marcum shrugged. "You've been busy, I've been busy."

  "I would have noticed you slinking off for hours at a time!" Levaughn protested.

  "Ha," Marcum retorted, and jabbed a finger at the map. "The dwarves will carry her in some manner of coffin, or whatever, and we will conduct a proper funeral to draw the Queen. Once we leave the safety of the forest, she will see us in her mirror in a moment. After that, it will not take her long to come, and I'll do what I can to see she does not sense us."

  "Leaving me free to arrange her demise," Levaughn said grimly. "The only way to kill a witch is to burn her." Which was far easier said than done. As powerful as she must be, it would not be so simple as setting a flame spell upon her. "As weak as she is, I'm not certain she's so weak she can't repel any flame spells I might cast upon her. It would be a waiting game." He worried his bottom lip, thoughts turning over and over in his head. "Let me sleep on it
; I'll figure something out. If I can survive tax season without resorting to desperate measures, I can outsmart a witch."

  "The forest will help," Calder said. "That field you speak of was once a neutral ground offered by the forest, so that magic users could meet it on equal footing. Otherwise, magic users can use their powers within the forest only with the permission of the forest. But, that field has not been used in years upon years. It belongs to the forest more than the forest cares for anyone to know. If you can bring the witch to that field, and it sounds like you can, then the forest can help Levaughn take care of the rest. She has committed too many crime against it, from slaughtering innocents to murdering the King."

  Levaughn smiled faintly. "I would imagine the forest is none too pleased she almost killed its Huntsman, too. The forest was quite protective of you, when we arrived."

  Calder nodded, but said only, "When do we do this, then?"

  "Give us time to prepare a suitable coffin for the new Queen," one of the dwarves said. "A couple of days should do it, and then we will temp the Witch-Queen proper, eh?"

  "Very well," Levaughn said. "In three days, we kill a witch."

  *~*~*

  Levaughn's guilt over tricking people was not really assuaged by the knowledge Snow White was truly alive and the ruse would soon—hopefully soon—end.

  It was a terrible thing, to see people sobbing and crying, nearly mad with grief, weighted down by fear and horror that the terrible Witch-Queen had won after all.

  There was no help for it, however. Nothing was more important than snaring the Witch-Queen, and to do that they must make everyone believe Snow White was dead.

  Earlier that morning, one of the dwarves had gone to the castle to announce the terrible tragedy, and led people to the field where Snow White had been put to rest.

  She lay in a field of snow drops, ensconced in a masterpiece of craftsmanship—a coffin made of glass, etched with roses and vines around the edges. Inside the glass, she rested on a bed of velvet and silk, dressed in deep blue, and holding a bouquet of red roses which Calder had placed there himself, the thorns carefully removed from the stems. Her hair was plaited and bound, with red and blue ribbons woven through it, with a diamond and ruby comb holding it all together.