by Megan Derr
A tragic Queen, too young to die, Levaughn would be grief-stricken himself, did he not know she was merely sleeping.
The dwarves, even hours later, remained protectively arrayed along one side of the coffin, leaving the other side free for mourners to approach—but anyone even remotely out of line contended with an angry dwarf, though such misbehavior was rare.
All day long it continued, people trailing in a seemingly unending line, mourners casting flowers and other tokens before the sad, beautiful Queen encased forever in glass.
He stifled a sigh and fought a yawn, longing for the entire affair to be over. Gods willing, it would all go smoothly enough—if the Witch-Queen ever showed.
Beside him, Calder was solid and still as stone, and Levaughn envied him that patience. He also wondered, completely inappropriately, where else patience like that would prove useful and very interesting.
Shaking the thought away, he focused again on the crowd of people, watching as they approached one after another, cast a flower, then turned tearfully away.
As day turned to dusk, however, the mourners began to trickle off, called helplessly away by chores and other necessities, or perhaps they were chased away by a growing fear of the dark. None remained now but a little family of four, the two girls a little young to truly understand why their parents cried, and an old peddler woman muttering to herself as she stood over the coffin and fumbled in her basket for some token she could afford to part with.
Hopefully the Witch-Queen would appear after dark, when there was no chance of anyone seeing what she did. If she did not come he was at a loss as to how else they could draw her from the castle—and going in to get her was simply too dangerous.
He shifted impatiently as the family departed, and only the old peddler woman remained, rifling slowly through the cheap baubles and trinkets that filled the basket.
Beside him, Calder abruptly withdrew, with nothing but a light touch to Levaughn's hand. Levaughn frowned, confused—then he hissed in dismay as Calder appeared at the far edge of the clearing. What was he doing?
The sound of Calder drawing his sword was shockingly loud in the silence that Levaughn only then noticed; not even the insects stirred now.
"Witch," Calder said quietly. "You should have known not to intrude here. Now you have entered my forest, never shall you leave it."
Across the field, still standing before the coffin, the old peddler woman dropper her basket of goods and cackled. The sound of her laugher was like cracking ice, with the promise of cold, deadly waters beneath it. "My beautiful Huntsman, still alive. I should be surprised, and yet I'm not. You have survived curses that toppled Kingdoms. But I wonder how many more you can survive?"
"Try me, bitch," Calder said coldly.
Cackling again, the Queen took a sudden step back—and screamed in pain as her fingers landed upon the glass coffin. Jerking away, taken by surprise, she tripped and stumbled to the ground, holding her now bleeding hand close.
Somewhere in the woods, Levaughn heard Marcum chuckle.
Regaining her feet, furious and red-faced now, the Witch-Queen gave up any pretense of old woman and stood at full height—but her stature and cold demeanor returned, her beauty remained absent, replaced by the wrinkled, decrepit face of a woman who looked to be well over a hundred years old. "Your little parlor tricks will not stop me for long, Huntsman. I will kill you once and for all, and then I take the little Queen."
She moved toward Calder and Levaughn tensed, because he had to do something but he needed to conserve everything he had to ensure she burned down to the last bit of bone.
The Queen abruptly stopped, looking puzzled. She tried again to cast a spell, and her hard face cracked for a moment with genuine fear.
"Now it is my turn," Calder replied. He pressed his palm to the blade of his sword, and slowly drew the blade down, slicing open a thin cut.
Kneeling, he sank his fingers into the ground and said, "Forest, your Huntsman beseeches you, help kill the witch who has murdered the King, harmed the forest, harmed me, and seeks kill the new Queen."
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen—then Levaughn saw the vines.
They caught the Witch-Queen at the ankles, and when she tried to jerk free, they tripped her, then began to twine around her arms as well, twisting, winding—
But it was not until she began to scream that Levaughn saw the vines had sprouted thorns.
He snapped into movement then, abandoning the trees, beginning to gather his power to do his part. Around him, the others reappeared, ready to help should it be necessary. Moving further into the clearing, Levaughn began to focus his gathered magic, pouring all of it into the shape and feel of fire, drawing so much power that he would be depleted for days afterward. When all was ready, he began at last to speak the incantation.
The Queen twisted around, head snapping up, eyes going wide as she realized she had not been the only magic user in the clearing to hide her power and presence.
Her screams turned into wild, angry raging then, as she hurtled curses and empty threats, vows of revenge that soon turned back into screams of mindless, agonizing pain as the fire caught and she began to burn.
The sounds and the smells of the dying witch would stalk his dreams for many nights, but Levaughn thought it a small price to pay, for knowing Calder and all the others would now be safe—that such a terrible witch was now dead.
Eventually, he was able to put the fire out.
Levaughn slumped exhausted against a tree, smiling faintly in relief at Calder and the others.
"The forest will see to the ashes," Calder said quietly, looking as tired as Levaughn felt, but more at peace than Levaughn had seen him since arriving.
Forcing himself to stand upright, he crossed the clearing and dragged Calder close, hugging him tightly, giving a brief, comforting kiss.
"That went smoothly," Marcum said with his indefatigable cheer. "Perfectly in fact. Well done, everyone."
Calder only nodded and said, "It is thanks to all of you. Thank you for coming, for risking your lives for Blodwen, for saving me and everyone else."
"Thank the goblin for coming to fetch us," Levaughn said lightly as Goulet made a face at once again being called 'the goblin'. "I am glad we could help. Shall we wake the Queen now? Then go and destroy all that remains of the witch?"
"Yes," Levaughn said. "Let us have done with the matter, once and for all."
Nodding, Marcum withdrew he antidote from one of his pockets, and painted his lips with the blood-red elixir as the dwarves removed the glass top of the coffin.
Kneeling, Marcum cradled Snow White in his arms and kissed her softly.
"I do not see why such a ridiculous display is necessary," Goulet said sourly, from where he stood off to one side, leaning against a tree. "Kissing her is hardly necessary to reviving her."
Marcum wiped the remaining antidote from his mouth as he drew back, and smirked. "And who would refuse a chance to kiss a pretty maiden and wake her from her slumber? Did you want to be the one to kiss her, goblin?"
Goulet narrowed his eyes in annoyance, but said nothing.
Levaughn started to ask when they were going to just give in and fuck each other, when Snow White stirred in Marcum's arms.
She sat up groggily, still holding fast to Marcum for balance. After a moment, she looked around, nose wrinkling at the lingering stench of burned human flesh. "She's dead?"
"Yes, Majesty," Marcum replied, and helped her to her feet. "Your kingdom is safe again."
Snow White nodded and leaned up to kiss his scared cheek. "Thank you, Prince Marcum."
"You're welcome," Marcum said with a smile.
Turning away, Snow White thanked each man in turn, kneeling down to tightly embrace each of the seven dwarves. She approached Calder last, smile sad but pretty, determined, as she said, "Huntsman, take me home."
Calder bowed, then extended his arm for her to take, and the Huntsman led the Queen back to her castle.
*
*
Epilogue
"A servant, can you believe it?" Marcum said, thumping down the book he had been reading, obviously in an effort to avoid doing what he should be doing. He pulled off his spectacles and dropped them on top of the open book, an old volume bound in red leather and filled with page after page of neatly penned script. "She was the Bloody Beauty's hand maiden. Must have been the easiest thing in the world for her to secret away all she needed, make them think it had been destroyed. I'm as impressed as I am horrified, I think."
"I'm just glad it's over," Calder said, looking away from the book, a journal they had found amongst the Witch-Queen's possessions. It did not surprise him in the least that she had kept such a thing. He wished they could burn it, but the knowledge it contained was too valuable. At least Marcum had destroyed all she had written in regards to Calder.
Eager for distraction, he looked around at the chaos filling the old armory. He had thought he would be sick, returning to this place, but it looked nothing like it had when the witch had occupied it. All signs of her were gone, the terrible mirror destroyed by Levaughn, Marcum, and Goulet.
Now, the window had all been open to flood the place with sunlight, and the floors had been scrubbed clean to reveal cream-colored tiles. Old furniture had been pulled from storage to fill it—desks, wardrobes, cabinets, tables, chairs, stools. Calder did not doubt there was still more which he could not see beneath an alarming number of boxes, crates, bags, chests, trunks, and the strange array of already unpacked bottles, vials, and strange equipment.
"So you are officially the Royal Alchemist of Blodwen now, I see," he said with a smile.
"Yes," Marcum said with a bright smile. "Wolfram signed the papers himself, while father sulked over losing Levaughn." He laughed and winked. "Father was quite put out, to hear Wolfram tell it, that even being King does not trump 'leaving to be with the man I love'."
Calder smiled, and hoped he was not flushing, though he suspected he was. But Lev was here, and here to stay, to be with the man he loved and that man was him. "I'll leave you to finish settling in, or reading, or whatever it is you want to do. You should probably unpack and straighten this place up, however, because if Goulet sees it he will clean it himself and harangue you for it relentlessly." Which would be a nice change from Goulet constantly talking about the alchemist he professed to dislike vehemently—too vehemently Calder thought privately, but was vastly too amused by the entire situation to call his friend on it quite yet.
With a wink and a laugh at Marcum's furious scowl, Calder departed and made his way quickly back to the castle proper.
It took only minutes to learn Snow White's location within the castle, and Calder strode quickly through the halls and up the stairs to the Queen's Solar.
Only a month ago, he thought sadly, it had been the King's Solar. But Snow White was alive; that would have mattered most to the King, and he rested now with the only Queen he'd ever truly loved. They would have to be content with that.
He opened the door, then simply lingered there in the doorway. Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the stained glass windows, washing Snow White in rainbows. She sat at the far end of a large, round table, quietly penning a letter, the accoutrements of writing scattered around her, a glass of blush wine at her elbow.
Queen Snow White was dressed in black, an elegant, modest dress of velvet trimmed in lace. Her dark hair was pulled neatly back in a simply bun, black roses pinned to it. The diadem of the Queen rested over all, looking far more suited to her than it ever had to her would-be usurper.
She looked up, then smiled and set her pen aside. "Cal. Did you need something?" She glanced at a clock on the wall off to his right, then back at him. "The day is nearly over, I thought you would already be gone."
"Goulet was situating himself in the east wing; I was talking to him for a bit, then I went to see that Marcum was settling into the armory. I am returning to the forest now, and thought I would come to bid you a good night. Summon me should you have need, my Queen."
"I shall, Huntsman," Snow White said softly. "Enjoy your night, and sleep well." She giggled then. "If you sleep."
Calder rolled his eyes and did not dignify that with a response. He swept her a bow, and departed. Leaving the castle, he quickly made his way through the forest, cutting through it in a way that he could wave to the dwarves fighting and drinking by their lake—ignoring the colorful things they shouted.
Continuing deeper into the forest, jogging by a small waterfall, finally he curved around a massive cluster of boulders until at least he reached his own cabin.
Smoke was curling from the chimney, and it warmed Calder clear to his bones to see such blatant evidence that he was no longer the sole occupant of the cabin. He quickened his pace, and burst into the large front room of his three room cabin.
Levaughn looked up from where he was reading a large book at the table. He closed it and stood, crossing the room to greet Calder. "Welcome home."
Calder smiled. "Thanks. Settled in?"
"Just about," Levaughn said, one side of his mouth tilting up in a playful smile. "One thing is missing."
"Oh?" Calder asked, frowning. "What's that?"
"I'll show you," Levaughn said, and motioned for Calder to follow him as he led the way to the bedroom.
Calder stepped inside, and grinned, feeling warm and silly and happy, and still stunned beyond belief that he had Levaughn. In the month since killing the Witch-Queen, he had been busy helping Snow White settle into her new role, while Levaughn and Marcum returned home to sort out their moving to Blodwen. It was only in the past few days that everyone and everything had begun to settle back into a rhythm.
When he'd been able to find a few hours of free time, he had worked diligently to spruce up his cabin—and build a larger bed. It was made up now with light blue sheets that definitely did not belong to him. Neither did the thick quilt, or the new pillows—but all were better by far than the stuff which did belong to him.
Arms slid around him from behind, fingers slipping beneath his clothes to caress and tease.
"I do not see a problem in here," Calder said, smiling, pushing back against Levaughn. "What precisely is missing?"
Levaughn's laughter was hot against the back of his neck. "You and me naked on that bed."
Calder grinned, then twisted sharply, grabbing Levaughn and turning around again, tossing Levaughn upon the bed. Then he knelt on it himself, crawling up the length of Levaughn's body. He took a deep kiss as he reached his destination, sinking one hand into Levaughn's hair, bracing himself with his other hand, moaning and pleading as Levaughn wasted no time touching and exploring.
"I'm glad you're back, and for good," he said when he finally managed to tear away from Levaughn's mouth.
"Me too," Levaughn replied—then grabbed, making Calder jerk and cry out. "Sentiment later; right now I want you naked and riding me."
Calder groaned. "That, I can do."
Getting their clothes off proved to be far more difficult than it probably should have, but at least they did succeed in getting the clothes out of harm's way. Calder wasted no time thoroughly relearning the man he'd never forgotten, had only briefly enjoyed their evening by the dwarf lake. "Lev—"
"I never forgot the way you said my name when you were riding my fingers," Levaughn said, a hint of growl to his voice. "If ten years was the price I had to pay to hear it the rest of my life, it was a price worth paying."
Making a few noises of his own, Calder bent to take a ravenous kiss. He whimpered as the fingers Lev had pushed inside him finally withdrew—but then he was being guided onto Lev's cock. He bit his lip at the fullness, the tightness, the heat. Once settled, adjusted to it, he began to ride. Slowly at first, watching Levaughn's face, savoring his expression, the feel of it all, splaying his hands on Levaughn's fine chest—
But need eventually overrode all else, and he went from slow to frenzied, needy, riding h
ard and fast, desperate—
They came within moments of each other, hoarse cries that might have been names, might simply have been wordless cries.
Passion momentarily slaked, they lay tangled together in a sweaty heap. "Better now?" Calder asked.
Levaughn chuckled. "Perfect." He fell silent for a few minutes, then said, "I have a gift for you."
Calder stirred, and propped himself up on one arm to look down at Levaughn. "A gift? I don't need anything, and you're all I want."
"Hush," Levaughn replied. "Need has nothing to do with it, and you have me, so that has nothing to do with it either." He reached beneath Calder's pillow and extracted a small item wrapped in a scrap of blue velvet, tied with a white ribbon.
Calder sat up properly, folding his legs under him as he took it. Untying the ribbon, he set it aside and slowly unwound the velvet—then simply stared.
Levaughn looked suddenly anxious. "It's not a family heirloom, and it only has three jewels of protection instead of four, but—"
"Idiot," Calder said, cutting him off with a sharp kiss. "I love it. Where and how did you get it?"" He ran his thumb over the jewels; emerald, ruby, and sapphire, set in silver, hung on a like chain. It was even more beautiful than the first one Levaughn had given him.
"I made it," Levaughn said, smiling happily. "Marcum and Goulet helped. I'm glad you like it."
"I love it," Calder repeated firmly, and slipped the necklace over his head. "I love you. Thank you. I don't have a gift for you, though."
Levaughn only laughed and dragged him close, tumbling them back into the sheets and quilt. "I get to call the great Huntsman of the Forest of Blodwen mine. What more could a man and a wizard want?"
Calder smiled and let his hand begin to wander. "I can think of a few things."
"You make excellent suggestions, Huntsman."
"It is my duty to serve all who dwell in my forest," Calder said, and bent to give a kiss.
*