“It’s not your fault, Papa,” Snow had said, and this only made him cry harder. He knelt down, grasping her shoulders and looking her in the eye.
“Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Snow,” he said. “Don’t be fooled by love. It only comes once. Trust your instincts. Trust your people. Trust what you’ve learned from your mother, most of all. Let her spirit guide you when you rule.” He cupped her face in his hands. “You will make a remarkable queen someday. Don’t let anyone make you lose your way.”
“I won’t, Papa,” she remembered saying, but his words had frightened her. They felt like goodbye.
The next morning, he was gone.
She hadn’t realized it at first. It wasn’t until she got dressed and headed to her father’s chambers to have breakfast with him as they always did that she heard people talking about the king’s sudden disappearance. Queen Ingrid—recently coronated—had been pulled into “urgent business” and hadn’t found Snow to tell her herself. Instead, Snow had heard the news from two gossiping guards.
“Queen says he’s a madman. That we’re better off without him. Hasn’t been the same since Queen Katherine died,” one said. “What king runs off and abandons his daughter?”
“What king abandons his own people?” the other replied.
Snow didn’t know the answer to that. All she knew was that she’d never felt more alone. After Father had gone, Aunt Ingrid seemed to disappear, too. The new queen didn’t have time to have breakfast with Snow, let alone study birds in the aviary. She was too busy meeting with her newly appointed court, a group of people Snow had never seen before. Everyone her father had worked with had been dismissed, and the smaller staff of advisors had been handpicked by Ingrid. Even so, Snow heard the whispers about her aunt’s new nickname: the “Evil Queen,” they called her, when she wasn’t within earshot. Other than meeting with them, the queen rarely took appointments or met with visiting royals. After a couple of years, her aunt stopped letting anyone new into the castle. The rumor was that she was fearful of traitors, which seemed to prove true when most of the staff were dismissed except for a select few.
A vain woman, Queen Ingrid couldn’t do without her personal tailor, Margaret; the ever-present guards; or a small group of cooks; but she certainly didn’t hire anyone to care for Snow. Instead, Snow had raised herself, growing up mostly alone in her big, empty room that reminded her of a tomb. Being alone with her thoughts could have driven her mad. But she kept her mind busy by making mental lists of things to do to get her through each day.
Today was no exception. Turning away from the window, Snow removed her dressing gown, then washed up at her water basin, which she had filled at the wishing well the day before. She put on her gown with the patched-up tan skirt and smoothed out the creases on her white-and-brown blouse that almost matched. She slipped into her clogs, which she had recently cleaned. Looking in her freshly shined mirror—she’d tidied up her room yesterday, as she did every week—she put on the blue headband she’d made from scraps her aunt’s tailor had left for garbage. Satisfied, Snow went to her wardrobe.
It was almost bare. The few dresses hanging on the rack she had outgrown years before, but she kept them both for sentimental reasons and in case she ever needed to use the fabric for patches or material. She hated the thought of cutting up her history—there was her seventh birthday dress, and the gown she’d worn to a meeting with her father and the visiting king of Prunham—though sometimes it was necessary. For now, the dresses served as reminders of a different life, as well as a wonderful hiding spot. Snow pulled back her birthday dress and glanced at the portrait hidden behind it.
Her mother’s and father’s faces stared back at her. So did a younger version of her own. The portrait had been commissioned right before her mother had taken ill. It had been the family’s first time sitting for an official painting since Snow was a baby. It had hung in the castle barely more than a few weeks before the king had ordered it taken down. Her aunt claimed he’d done so because it was too painful for him to see the former queen’s face every day, but Snow felt differently. Any chance she had to see her parents she took.
Morning, Mother. Morning, Father.
Snow had her mother’s face, but her father’s eyes, while bluish gray, were the same shape as her own. They looked kind, which was how she tried to be, even when it was difficult. She lightly touched one finger against the coarse painting. Father, why did you leave me? she wondered, trying not to let bitter feelings well up inside her. Knowing she wouldn’t get an answer, she tucked the portrait away again.
Snow went to her room’s double doors and opened them quietly. As there was every morning, a tray of breads and fruit awaited her. Snow suspected this was the work of the remaining servants, and she appreciated the gesture more than she could say. Breakfast was always left in front of her room, but dinner was more unpredictable, everyone busy with the queen’s most lavish meal. Snow didn’t mind going down to the kitchen to get something for herself. Tucked back in the kitchen, away from prying eyes, the main cook, Mrs. Kindred, didn’t ignore Snow the way others in the castle did. For just a few moments a day, it meant she had someone to converse with.
“Please, sir, I haven’t eaten in two days.”
Snow was picking up the tray when she heard the plea. Startled, she ducked into the shadows of her doorway to eavesdrop.
“If they didn’t leave you food, then you get no food.”
She knew that voice. It was Brutus, one of her aunt’s faithful guards. Snow didn’t recognize the other voice.
“But they promised with this post I would be fed two meals a day. It’s not for me, sir. I bring most of it home to my wife and child. We can’t go a third day without food.”
“Your job is to guard these halls, not grumble about grub.”
“But—” the guard started to say just as Brutus interrupted him.
“Are you questioning the queen’s judgment? You know what happened to the boy in your position before you, do you not?” Snow peered through the shadows as Brutus got in the young man’s face. “He was never seen again. Some say he was turned into one of the snakes slithering through the grass on the grounds. I wonder what would become of your family if you weren’t here.”
“No!” The man’s voice was urgent. “Don’t bother the queen. I’ll wait for food to be delivered . . . whenever that might be.”
Snow audibly inhaled. She’d heard the chef and other servants talk about how her aunt practiced witchcraft. “It’s how she stays looking so young,” some said. “It’s why no one questions her decisions—they’re afraid she’ll turn them into a toad or an insect or worse,” said others. They talked about a chamber where the queen spent most of her time talking to someone—even though no one else was ever seen coming or going from the room. Snow wasn’t sure what to think, but she knew people who crossed the queen disappeared. And she knew the queen’s very presence struck fear through everyone in the castle. Brutus’s role as her henchman could be equally frightful.
“Smart boy,” Brutus said, and headed down the hallway toward Snow, a playful grin on his lips.