by J. M. Page
"Thank you," she said, not wanting to upset it. If that was possible. She wasn't quite clear on its full abilities, but no need to risk a hysterical killer robot. She turned slightly, pointing at Hunter. "Don't hurt him. He's okay," she said, hoping it was the truth. If Hunter was out to get her, she'd just disabled her best line of defense by telling the android to give him a pass.
Robbie regarded Hunter briefly before waddling over to him, joints creaking all the way. Robbie thrust a metallic hand between them and Hunter looked at it like it might bite him.
"I think he wants to shake your hand?" Snow guessed, seeing Hunter's puzzled look in the glow of the android's light. He made a face, but then extended his hand slowly.
Robbie took hold of Hunter's offered hand and the robot's grip glowed bright and white. Hunter hissed and snatched his hand away, retreating another step, crunching broken shards of pottery under his boots.
"DNA registered," Robbie said, his hand dimming as it lowered to his side.
"So..." Snow said, rocking on her heels. She didn't have any idea where to go from here. "Any way we could get some lights on in here?"
"Request granted, Princess," Robbie answered as the cottage was suddenly bathed in light.
She blinked quickly, her eyes slow to adjust to the sudden change, and instantly, her heart ached at what she saw.
There was no denying that this place belonged to her mother once. On one side of the room, there was a worn floral-print armchair sitting in front of an old-fashioned fireplace. A shelf full of dead-tree books was nestled into the corner — the kind of books Snow still remembered her mother reading to her by a fire just like this. The kind that had been too much of a luxury for Plick to smuggle to her.
There was a compact writing desk, too, with more dead-tree books, but these looked less like bound and printed stories and more like diaries. Snow had the sudden urge to thumb through every page, to trace over the looped writing with her fingertips, to lean in and see if she could smell any lingering trace of her mother's floral sunshiney scent. She kept her hands at her sides, though it was only through sheer force of will that she managed it.
On the opposite side of the room, a kettle sat on the wood-burning stove, neglected for who knew how many years. And everywhere Snow looked, there were flowers. Or, there had been flowers. Now, they were long dead and wilted. Only a few were preserved by dehydration.
"So, your mom really liked flowers, huh?" Hunter said from right behind her, making Snow jump a little. She'd almost forgotten he was there.
She swallowed and gave a stiff nod, trying her best to keep her expression flat and keep the prickling tears at bay. "She did," Snow said, her voice a little distant. "Every year, she'd wait eagerly for winter to end, for the flowers to come back in full bloom. She said it was like watching the world wake up from a long nap, coming back to life."
Snow wandered to the desk now, not able to resist the urge to trail her fingertip along the spines of the neatly-lined-up diaries. She was certain she could smell her mother's sweet scent lingering in the air and her chest constricted.
"The year I was born, Spring had already arrived. The flowers were blossoming, blooms painting the palace grounds with a riot of color, but during the night, while she was in labor, a late flurry came through. I was born just after sunrise and she always told me that she'd never seen flowers as beautiful as they were dusted with glittering snow."
His hand found her shoulder and squeezed. She froze. Had she just said all of that out loud? "That explains the name," he said, a strange look in his topaz eyes. Snow struggled to keep herself from looking at him, to hide her moment of weakness best she could. She nodded, trying to free her expression of the wistfulness she was sure was written all over her face.
A loud rumble from her stomach pierced the silence and Hunter's hand fell, his brows lifting. His face broke into a smile and then a laugh, and Snow found the corners of her mouth drifting upward, too. That strange bubble of brightness glowed warmer.
"I guess this place doesn't have any food after being abandoned for so long, eh, Robbie?" Hunter called to the android.
"There are dehydrated meal packs in the cupboard," he answered.
Hunter pulled a face that made Snow stifle another laugh, nervousness, fear, and exhaustion taking their toll on her. "Sounds scrumptious," Hunter said, his nose wrinkling.
Snow had her share of those dehydrated meals in the past few months, but she couldn't argue with him. They were awful.
Hunter glanced over his shoulder, looking contemplative, and finally said, "There're woods all around us here. I'm sure I could find something... fresher."
Snow arched an eyebrow, her arms folding in front of her. "What, you think there's a market nearby?"
"No," Hunter said, scoffing like that was the most ridiculous notion. "I was going to hunt for something, obviously."
"But you're a merchant. What do you know about hunting?" Snow asked, the hairs on the back of her neck raising with renewed suspicion.
"It's literally my name, Princess. Would be pretty embarrassing if I couldn't manage such a simple task. Besides, I wasn't always a merchant," he said, sounding defensive. "When I was growing up, we were pretty poor. I was the one responsible for putting food on the table while my dad worked to keep the roof over our heads."
Snow dropped her eyes to the floor. "I didn't mean to assume," she said, playing demure while covertly watching for another reaction. At the mention of his father, something had flashed through Hunter's eyes, but it went too quickly for her to see. She was sure it was there.
"It's fine," he said, almost a bark. Then, his voice getting a little softer, he added, "I won't be long. See if there's anything useful to us here." He headed to the door, pausing in the threshold to turn back to Snow one more time. "Don't open the door for anyone. Robbie, keep her safe."
"That is my prime directive," Robbie answered, sounding as testy as a robot could.
As Hunter walked out the door, Robbie turned to Snow. "Princess, may I offer you a hot beverage?"
Chapter Six
Hunter
He let the door close behind him, simultaneously glad the hinges were too rusty to slam and disappointed that he couldn't vent his frustration on it. Hunter stalked through the blue forest, crashing through branches and vines without care.
How had he already let this get so far? He should have stopped it by now. He should have let the guards capture her. He could have taken his ship straight to the palace. he could have done a million things that didn't involve bringing the exiled Princess to a safe house and offering to capture her dinner.
So why didn't he do any of those things? Why was he still putting his own life at risk for her?
Hunter rubbed his chest absently, the spot right over his heart, knowing he couldn't really feel the thing under his skin, but feeling like there was a lump there anyway.
As much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, he wanted to have hope. He wanted to believe that Snow could be his ticket out of all of this. Out of his forced servitude and pathetic life.
He wanted to hope that she could follow through with her plans — if she ever managed to come up with any — and save the Empire from the Queen.
But it was a foolish hope and he knew it. She was just one girl. One girl who half the galaxy thought dead. A girl without a plan, without a prayer.
And Hunter knew better than to rely on anyone for his salvation. That only led to heartbreak and disappointment. The only person he could rely on was himself. Not some spoiled Princess who didn't know up from down.
Even if that Princess had dark eyes that drew him in and made him wish he could be someone else. That they both could be someone else. Somewhere far away from all of this. Where they could just get to know each other like normal people.
He shook his head, trying to clear it of traitorous thoughts like that. He couldn't say why he thought there was something special about her, but he needed to disabuse himself of that notion an
d pronto. He was just asking to get himself killed thinking things like that.
His father, too. Assuming the old man was even still alive. He probably wasn’t.
No, if he wanted something to hope for, it should be taking down the resistance, bringing Snow back to the Queen, and getting his promotion. Maybe then he could stop hunting people. Maybe then he could be free of the Queen’s shackles. It was his only real hope for survival.
The spot just above his chip burned and Hunter rubbed at it without thinking. It wasn't a real burn. It was all in his head. Always had been. It was his mind, rejecting everything to do with the Queen and her Empire. Rejecting the man he'd become.
But what choice did he have? The Queen held his future, his life, his very heart in her hands. Telling himself there might be an alternative was just a delusion destined to end in his death. His life might be terrible, but it was better than no life at all. A terrible life still held potential.
He'd torn off into the woods without getting his bearings, but it didn't worry him. He'd be able to find his way back. If nothing else, she was there. As foolish as it was, as ridiculous as he felt, Hunter couldn't deny that something about that girl spoke to him. The moment he'd saw her glowing in the firelight of her own creation, he'd been a little smitten. And the more he learned about her, the more he tried to peel away her carefully-held layers of protection, the more he wanted to see. She was an enigma. A mystery. Curious and challenging all at once.
Maybe he'd just been lacking for excitement lately.
A familiar chirrup emanated from his pocket and Hunter cursed under his breath. He'd been hoping — without any reason to back it up — that his communicator wouldn't work here where it was so remote.
But at least she was calling now and not while he was in the cottage with Snow. Or trapped on the ship with her.
He took a fortifying breath and pulled the palm-sized disc from his pocket, opening it on a clam shell hinge.
For a moment, his reflection stared back at him in the pocket-sized mirror. His eyes looked tired and weary. His face was ashen, gaunt. When had he become this sad old man? He rubbed his chest again before he tapped the mirror's surface.
"Hunter," the Queen cooed in her simpering sweet voice, the sound drifted from the speakers and wriggled into his ears making him feel slimy inside and out. Her taut face twisted into her own gruesome version of a smile and Hunter fought to control his visceral reaction to her.
"Your Majesty," he said, dipping his head slightly, keeping his eyes on the screen. Even planets away, the Queen could kill him in an instant. There would be nothing he could do about it. But at the very least, he'd have the satisfaction of looking his murderer in the eye as she killed him. He wouldn't let her catch him off-guard.
"I have a little problem," she pouted, forcing her voice into that fake innocence she so loved. "I'm hoping you can help me out."
"Anything, my Queen."
"We had a scout by the Summer Palace and it scanned your chip. How could that be?"
She didn't mention the fire or the destruction. Not even who she suspected was behind the blaze. It was an innocuous question the way she phrased it, but that made the hairs on Hunter's arms stand up straighter. There was always something sinister lurking beneath the surface with the Queen. He knew to tread carefully.
"I was in pursuit of my assignment, Your Highness," he said, nearly choking on the last syllable. His throat tightened at the thought of turning Snow in.
"Oh? How is that coming along?" she asked, venom laced in that permanent smile.
"I've acquired the target," he said, keeping his voice level, pushing aside his misgivings long enough for the performance.
He thought he spotted the Queen's eyes widen a fraction, but it was hard to tell. Though the woman had to be pushing fifty or more, she looked no older than Snow — twenty-five at best. Whatever she'd done to keep herself looking youthful had left her face frozen, making emoting difficult for her.
Her skin didn't sit on her face quite right, either. It looked waxy and artificial. Not like Snow's. Under all that dirt and debris, he was willing to bet Snow's skin was smooth and soft, speckled with the cinnamon freckles he'd only seen a hint of.
"That's wonderful news!" the Queen enthused. "You'll be bringing her to me right away, then?"
Hunter swallowed. Keep your head. Buy some time.
"Yes, of course, Your Majesty," he said with all the conviction he could muster. Then, as an afterthought, as if it had only just occurred to him, he said, "Although..."
The Queen somehow managed to arch a finely-sculpted brow at him. "What is it?"
Hunter shook his head. "It's nothing My Queen."
A beat of silence passed between them and the Queen narrowed her eyes, her silvery gaze prodding him to continue without words.
"It's just that... I think she may have already been in contact with the resistance," he lied. "I think she might know of their plans." Maybe it wasn't a lie. Snow was definitely keeping things from him. Not trusting him fully. "If I could spend some time with her, perhaps I could learn them too. She isn't yet aware of my connection to you," he finished.
The Queen stared at him, regarding him coolly, her expression impossible to read — if she was even managing one at all. Those sharp eyes bored into him, like probes burrowing under his skin, searching for his deepest secrets.
Finally, she gave a stiff nod. "Very well. See what you can learn from her. Perhaps we can eliminate her and the rebels all at once. Wouldn't that be lovely?"
"A boon on the Empire, Your Majesty," Hunter said automatically, feeling queasy.
"And to you as well. I know you’ve been angling for Captain. Bring me what I need to crush them and the promotion is yours," she said. "You won't let me down, will you?"
Hunter's free hand instinctively went to his heart again, digging his knuckles into the muscle there. "Of course not, Your Highness. I live only to serve you."
The Queen's high-pitched laughter trilled through the communicator, hollow and cold. "Quite right you are. You'll do well to remember that. I'll be in touch."
The Queen’s image disappeared and he was faced with his own reflection again. The only thing keeping him company now was the aching, gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. How could he ever forget that he served her? Not with the constant reminder; not with the sword hanging over his head. Would any number of promotions rid him of that?
He closed the communicator and struggled with the urge to crush it in his bare hands or throw it against the nearest tree. He steadied himself with deep breaths and took off deeper into the woods, remembering his task. The one for Snow, anyway. He still needed to find dinner.
Knowing that he had a little more time to figure this all out, Hunter felt slightly more confident as he navigated the dense foliage with the silence and practiced ease of his namesake.
What he'd told Snow about his hunting had been true, but what he'd failed to mention was that he'd never stopped hunting. He'd only moved onto a different prey. A harder-to-track, harder-to-outsmart prey. Catching and killing dinner would be an easy feat for him. If only he could get his mind in the right place and stop thinking about the Queen's haunting sneer or that tiny confused smile Snow had given him before he left.
Those two women, at odds for the Empire. It was almost impossible to believe. But that's where they all were now. The inhuman Queen with the all-too-human Snow White. Fighting. Determined to destroy one another.
He was going to have to choose a side. That much Hunter knew. But how?
On the one end, his life was on the line. On the other, the entire Empire. But who was to say that Snow would be a better ruler anyway? She was just an entitled Princess, trying to get back what she felt was rightfully hers. She had no experience leading, nothing to suggest she could be capable at all beyond her lineage.
Still, there was something about her that made Hunter hesitant to commit her to death.
A bird sang high in a tree and he c
raned his neck until he spotted the fat thing between the branches. He drew his weapon, took aim, leveling his sight at its head, careful not to destroy any of the precious meat, and shot.
The bird barely had a chance to let out a startled squawk before it tumbled toward the ground, its feathers fluttering in the air.
Hunter choked on his own breath, stooping to pick up the bird's lifeless body, broken from the fall. He stroked its feathers — the ones that were the same color as Snow's hair — and whispered a thanks as he felt the bird's warmth dissipating, its life draining.
It was so easy for him. To take a life without hesitation. But if he did this thing the Queen asked of him, would he ever be able to forgive himself?
He couldn't think about it. Not at that moment. He needed to give his brain time to process things. He needed to take dinner back to the cottage. Maybe Snow had found something valuable for him to report back to the Queen.
Even if she hadn't, the Queen would be expecting information and he'd have to make something up. It would be much easier to offer her the truth.
He found his way back to the cabin without any difficulty, and when he opened the front door, he nearly staggered.
Chapter Seven
Snow
The sharp intake of breath from behind her made Snow snap closed the book she was reading. She turned toward the door, the fire crackling merrily behind her.
"Any luck?" she asked.
Hunter held up a freshly-killed bird. "You?"
She shrugged. "There's a lot to go through."
He nodded once. "Looks like you found the shower," he noted.
Snow was suddenly acutely aware of Hunter's eyes lingering on her. The shower had been a much needed one. After months of hiding in the woods, she'd looked like she was becoming one with the trees. Once she'd caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she understood why people in Zomer City had looked at her so strangely. Not like the way Hunter was looking at her now. With unabashed appreciation sparkling in his eyes.