Once Upon a Time: The Villains (18 page)

I stepped in front of my husband, effectively cutting off his view of his daughter. I wrapped my arms about his neck and smiled, finally managing to draw his attention from that little beast of a brat. “I will be the best of mothers. She will adore me.” I had no doubt she would when she grew older. Everyone did.

His lips touched my forehead in the gentlest of kisses. His affection was pure heaven. As we slowly made our way from the nursery, I paused and looked back, addressing the nanny. “Come to my room tomorrow. I shall be settled in by then. I wish to get to know my daughter better.”

My husband threw me a joyous smile. My heart lurched, for the man I married was nearly as blessed with good looks and charm as I. He swept me into his arms and twirled about. “I knew you’d be the perfect mother,” he said with a laugh. I giggled at his playfulness, and then he pulled me close and kissed me passionately, right there, in front of his daughter and the nanny. I slanted a quick glance at the toddler, who was squirming to get down and rejoin her father. As I tugged him out the door and to our bedchamber, I knew I had won this small battle.

I suppose it would be nice to say that my love for my husband had, over time, grown to encompass his daughter. But it didn’t. Everywhere I went, that drooling, giggling, smile inducing brat followed. I had played my role of enchanted, new mother too well. Clearly boundaries needed to be reestablished. I met with the nanny again and gave her strict orders to keep the child in the nursery. I claimed a deep-rooted fear that my new daughter would catch a terrible disease. The sudden outbreak of plague was a constant worry. Wealthy or poor, we were all vulnerable, and I used that fear to my advantage. I was praised for my devotion. Especially after the king and queen died of some mysterious complaint one year later. And then my husband’s two brothers and their heirs so close after that. It was a terrible family tragedy. Truly. Even a few servants died from the disease. And as the whole country sank into a deep mourning, I immediately set the servants to cleaning the infected castle. “Throw out the wine, and slaughter the milk cows. Scour the ovens and boil the linens. No disease shall dare linger near my precious daughter.”

But it did. In a small bottle I kept hidden within my wardrobe. Thanks to me and my brave spirit, we recovered quickly. My handsome husband was crowned king, and I his queen. I’ll have you know I was correct. The queen’s golden circlet completed my looks. It fit perfectly. I only had to add a few gems to make it wearable.

You would think during this time of tragedy it would have been easy to dispose of the child as readily as I had the rest of the royal family. But I am not completely heartless. Being king naturally kept my husband busy, giving him only minutes a day to actually see his daughter. I could almost pretend she didn’t exist, after all, what I saw was a skinny, pale creature who nary said a word to anyone. She reminded me a great deal of my mother. But when my husband approached me with the idea of Snow White learning the family business, I realized I had made a terrible mistake.

“She is twelve. Almost a lady. Soon she will be expected to take up her duties. I say why wait? She is very mature for her age.”

Twelve? I looked up from feeding the two black-coated hounds — a matching pair — my husband had given me the puppies when it was clear I was barren. The truth was, I chose not to bear a child. I needed no more people vying for my husband’s attention. I vowed to be the light of his life. But there he stood, reminding me that another still claimed that title for herself.

Snow White. And she was twelve. I had to do something.

So much can happen while a child grows. Accidents and disease cause a great deal of childhood fatalities, leaving one child in three dead before the age of ten, but I had missed that window of opportunity by keeping her insulated in the nursery.

I had to reevaluate the situation. I must make sure something took Snow White from us — permanently. As I returned from vespers one evening, I came upon a brilliant idea. I convinced my husband that the priest had told me that keeping Snow White cloistered in the castle was a terrible idea. After all, she had barely escaped death, as did we all.

While we lay abed that evening, I whispered my plan in sweet seductive tones. “The good Father suggested that before she take up her duties, she must grow stronger.”

“What do you mean?” He looked honestly bewildered. “My Snow is perfect in every way.”

I stopped myself from gagging at his praise, and smiled knowingly. “Give her chores that will take her outside into the fresh air. We need to build up her muscles. Strengthen her lungs.”

“Rusticate her?” Doubt colored his words.

“Only outdoorsy children can fight off disease.” A progressive thought, I know, and one the priest would no doubt argue, but I was desperate to get the child away and out of sight.

Amazingly, my husband fell for the idea. He gave me complete control, and I used it gladly. Her early mornings were spent in the milking sheds where at least one maiden a month got a good kick in the head. Her late mornings found her in the kitchens where the foul-tempered chef kept children in line with little nicks given to the ears and nose for disobedience. Her afternoons had her wading barefoot in the disease infested muck of the barn as she cleaned out the stalls, and her evenings had her sweating in the laundry house where fires were known to break out from time to time.

I may have been a little over-zealous in my care of her health, but I was confident that in due course, the girl would be either horribly disfigured or meet with an untimely death. And then…I would have my husband completely to myself.

How wrong I was. For only nine years after he took the throne, my husband died. My heart froze in my chest; it refused to beat, yet I continued to live. How dare he die! Who would admire me while I brushed my hair? Who would kiss my nape, or surprise me with little gifts beneath my pillow? It was all too horrible to contemplate. I took to my bed and didn’t leave, not even to attend his funeral. Nothing would heal my broken heart.

Did I say nothing? I should have said almost nothing, because the most unexpected thing happened. The king’s council crowded into my bedchambers where I lay incapacitated, the perfect picture of a grieving widow, for I knew the part I must play and I played it well. They announced they had come to a decision. I hadn’t known they were deciding anything. I didn’t care, but apparently they thought I should since they had unanimously agreed I should rule the kingdom until my step-daughter came of age — a mere four more years. As the last living royal, she would then inherit the throne.

Since I hadn’t seen the girl in years, and only gave out the most basic of instructions concerning her care, I was slightly shocked to realize she was alive and nearly an adult. That she still lived highlighted a slight glitch in my tactics, but I was patient. After all, I’d just been given four more years to work out the kinks. So with little thought to Snow White, I immediately sat up. “Me? Rule the kingdom?” It was a tempting offer.

“Until the princess comes of age. We recognize how well you’ve cared for her this long — helping her grow healthy and strong — and we wish for you to continue such care.”

That would be easy enough. “Gentlemen, you flatter me. I have done only what any mother would do.” I gracefully positioned myself back onto the pillows and sighed. “If I manage to overcome my heartache, I will do whatever you think best.”

A murmur of consolation rose from the group. My husband’s steward stepped forward, his face wreathed in compassion. “We wish you godspeed in your health, Your Majesty.” Bowing, he backed toward the door. The others followed, bowing and throwing me pitying glances as they went.

When the last nobleman stepped from my room, I popped up and rang for my maid. She took her sweet time getting there. I was in a panic when she finally arrived. “Get the royal seamstress. Now!”

I had a serious problem. No queen worthy of her position would be caught dead in last year’s fashion. I must order a new wardrobe immediately. And since the coffers were now mine, I could unleash my greatest desire.

I recovered from my strength-sapping grief — for the good of the country — in a week. As I stood before my magic mirror, I felt confident. “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

The mirror came to life and replied,

“Thou art fairest, oh wondrous Queen,

The fairest woman I have seen.”

I thanked the mirror. It had given me the affirmation I needed to hear. As I slid onto the opulent cushions I had ordered for the throne, I made sure the shutters to the throne room were open and the sun graced my form, for I wore my favorite new gown — ice-blue satin with diamonds sewn around the deep décolletage and tight-fitted cuffs. No one would ever mistake me for a common girl now.

I made clear that only men were allowed in my presence. I couldn’t risk being taken by surprise. Though I believed no woman existed who could surpass my beauty — and I checked the mirror every day, three times a day to make sure — I couldn’t underestimate the power of the curse. The only women allowed in my presence were my maids, handpicked for their less attractive visages, the poor dears. For a full year, I happily held court and gave my country my all. But I soon grew bored. People are so difficult. They only think of themselves. Though I charmed all, they still demanded a measure of appeasement. Better drinking water. Lower taxes. Higher wages. Free bread on Fridays.

On the day a nobleman came to plead the orphans’ cause, my patience fled. I watched him stand before me in his tight hose and gold chains announcing his status in the community. He was a buffoon. A greedy, grumbling buffoon. “… so, your majesty, we propose a home, large enough to house the wretched creatures until—”

I stood, cutting him off. “Until when? Until they grow old and demand free soup to go along with their free bread? You wear your wealth for all to see. I suggest you share it with the poor wretches. I have enough mouths gaping open at me as is.”

If that didn’t shut him up, nothing would. I slanted my gaze toward the steward. “I have a headache. Dismiss the other petitioners.” Before my foot moved from the dais where my throne sat on high, the masses bowed, and I gratefully escaped.

The mirror had been placed in a room off my bedchamber, a space normally kept for the queen’s personal maid, but it mattered not to me where the girl slept. I entered and stood before the old, and crackled glass. Drawing close, I touched my skin. Smooth and clear. I searched for age spots and wrinkles. None. A rosy hue colored my cheeks and pink blossomed on my lips. I had aged very little since reaching adulthood. I was the queen most fair. I was perfection.

I drew back. “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

It had become my favorite saying, especially on days like this when I was tired of the demands placed upon me. I knew I would find pleasure with my loyal mirror’s answer.

The mirror did its spooky swirl of color, and the eyes appeared. Its voice sprang from deep within the glass.

“Thou wert fairest, Queen of mine,

Now Snow White has beauty fine.”

“What?” I gasped, my mouth falling agape. “What is this you speak? I am fairest. Me. I am whom you seek!”

My outburst didn’t sway the mirror. In fact, it seemed to take pleasure from inflicting pain on me.

“I speak the truth when you doth call,

Snow White is fairest of them all.”

An image of Snow White appeared in the looking glass. My hand flew to my mouth. I could not believe what I saw. Blood red lips on pale white skin with hair as black as a raven’s wing. Snow White’s beauty was breathtaking. Yet, I feared something much worse. “What of her heart, I must know. Tell me true before you go.”

“Her heart is moral, noble and pure,

She is the fairest, of that I’m sure.”

I let out a horrific scream. “Nay! You lie! This cannot be true.” I stomped about the little room, the mirror’s eyes following my every move.

But it was no use. I knew the truth. Snow White was indeed fairest in the land and she would be the one to bring about my demise. I needed a plan. I needed help. I turned to the mirror. “Mirror, Mirror, please listen well, I need Snow White damned to hell.

The light within the mirror shifted and the image of the woodsman appeared. He drew his bow and let his arrow fly. I let out a startled gasp when it hit the solidness of flesh. The woodsman’s prey fell, eyes open, yet unseeing. Death allowed the poacher’s fingers to relax, and a brace of hares to slide loose. The woodsman kicked the poacher into the brambles, then stooped and collected the hares. He walked away without a backward glance at the man he had just killed.

“He is sure to hear your Queenly protest,

And may help you secure an evil request.”

Relief shuddered through me. There was still hope. “Thank you, Mirror. Thank you,” I sobbed.

The woodsman. A man whose job it was to protect the Queen’s Forest at all cost. His livelihood was drenched in blood. He dared not say no. I rang for my maid and demanded she find the woodsman immediately, and to be quiet about it.

Evening fell upon the castle when the woodsman was brought to me. My bedchambers consisted of an inner chamber, which housed my bed, and an outer chamber, which I used to see people in a more private setting. Within the outer chamber I waited, sitting on an ornate chair that bespoke of my importance, for I never let an opportunity go by that I did not herald my title even in the most casual setting.

The woodsman stood awkwardly by the door. I ordered my maid out and told her to stall the arrival of my steward; two faithful advisors and a diplomat from a neighboring country who each vied for my hand. When she left, I motioned the woodsman near. His eyes darted here and there, assessing his surroundings with a cautiousness born of hunting, I suppose. When he drew close, he knelt on one knee. I extended my bejeweled fingers. He grabbed hold with a hand calloused and dark with dirt and sun, and pressed his cold, rough lips against my knuckles.