Poison (15 page)

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. She chewed her rose bud bottom lip slightly, with her perfect white teeth. ‘We could just pretend we never got married. I’d understand. I wouldn’t say anything. I could go back to the dwarves. Or somewhere else. You can go back to your kingdom. No one would ever have to know. I should have said…’

He reached a hand out and stroked her face and then leaned forward and kissed her. ‘It’s okay.’

‘But you…?’

‘I said it’s okay.’ He moved closer, pulling her ripe body next to his. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispered, as he felt himself react to the feel of her. ‘So perfect. I could never let you go.’

He rolled her under him, taking control, and when she tried to speak he silenced her words with his mouth on hers. She was his princess. She was
his
. And she would stay that way.

‘Wine never solved anyone’s problems’

T
he raven had flown all night, and although it was morning the castle was still shrouded in darkness from the heavy black rain clouds that hung thick across the land. Candles flickered here and there in the gloom, and as the wind and rain from the open windows gusted in, their flames went out one by one.

Lilith was cold but she didn’t care. A hot fire burned inside as she sat on her lone throne, her knees pulled up under her chin, and stared at the small mirrors which relayed all the bird had seen. She watched it over and over. Snow White and the handsome prince in bed. Alive and breathing. The wine glass was tight in her hands. If her great-grandmother had still been there she would have tutted and taken it from her. Wine in the morning was no good for kings or paupers, she’d have said. Wine never solved anyone’s problems. Have some milk instead. She took another gulp and her head swam.

The wind howled outside, lashing rain across the tower’s marble floor as thunder growled in the sky, and on the windowsill the raven shivered. She snapped her fingers and the images stopped. The raven flew away, released from her charm for now. She’d seen enough. She’d seen far too much.

She got to her feet, her legs stiff and aching, and headed to the small room at the back. Her head was a jumble of drunken thoughts and as she thought once more of Snow White and the handsome prince being so base together in that cheap country inn, lightning flashed bright. The tower was in the eye of the storm. The queen
was
the eye of the storm.

As she touched and caressed her magical items, hoping to find some calm in them, she raged against her own stupidity. She’d been to that dwarf cottage. She recognised the little man the raven had shown her, standing at the back of the church as Snow White had wed her weak chinned prince. He’d lied to her face and she’d believed him. She’d thought their fear of her would overwhelm their love of Snow White, but once again she’d been wrong. The diamond shoes glittered on a red velvet cushion. Where was the huntsman now, she wondered? Dead in the forest? Eaten by an owl? Had Snow White’s beauty been worth the price he’d paid?

In the corner the cabinet creaked open and, hearing it, Lilith’s shoulders slumped. She didn’t need this. Not right now. She didn’t turn to look at the face she knew would be staring back at her, but drank more wine. She was getting drunk, she knew it. But drunk was good.

‘
Snow White is truly the fairest in the land
.’

She ignored it, listening instead to the anger of the storm and the heavy beat of the rain. So Snow White had been woken by true love’s kiss. She almost laughed. Good luck to them. If she couldn’t see the prince for what he was then she was as foolish as she was beautiful. He was spoiled and vain; that much had been clear from what the raven had shown her. Maybe he was exactly what Snow White deserved.

The girl was finally gone, that was all that mattered.

That was all that should matter.

She drank some more wine.

All she’d wanted was her heart.

‘If it will make you happy’

I
t wasn’t as hot as the previous day had been and there was a hint of rain in the muggy air, but it was still warm in the village and the prince had left Snow White to bathe while he fetched them some breakfast. He smiled, unable to suppress his happiness. Today, he’d get to go home. It felt as if he’d been away forever and there had been dark moments when he’d thought perhaps his life before had simply been a dream. It was supposed to have been an adventure. Something to prove to his father he was a man once and for all, but the adventure had turned into a nightmare and he’d been lucky to get away alive.

He wondered what had happened to his companion, his guide, but there was no small measure of relief that he would not be returning home with him. Alone, the prince could rewrite the tales he had to tell with no shame at someone else knowing the truth. Not that his companion would ever have said – he was a man of few words – but there was an
honour
about him that would have made the prince feel ashamed of his necessary lies. The story would have to change. He was the prince, after all. And the prince was always the hero.

He wandered through the lively market and bought bread and fruit and some cold meats and then went to the inn kitchen and paid the cook, a warty but warm lady called Maddy, well to finish what he needed and then prepare them a tray. He left her with instructions to send it up to their room shortly. There was no rush. He wanted his princess to enjoy her morning.

Snow White was still in the bath when he returned; he could hear her singing as he passed the washroom. She sounded happy and he was glad about that. He wanted her to be happy. She made him happy. She was
going
to make him happy.

There were roses in the vase on the window ledge and he pulled the petals from the stems and scattered them across the floor and bed. There weren’t as many as there would have been for a bride at home – the floor in the palace would have been a sea of them, soft and scented and filling the room with perfume – but it was better than nothing. He took the pink and white dress the dwarves had bought her from its hook in the wardrobe and laid it out on the bed. It was the dress they had met in, after all, and he wanted her to wear it when she arrived in his city.

His heart tightened with love for her and he smiled. He couldn’t help it. He waited impatiently.

At last the door opened and she came in wrapped in a thin robe which clung to her hot, damp skin. The dusky patches on her cheeks were shining from the hot water, and her hair was piled up untidily on her head. She paused, noticing the petals under her feet.

‘That’s very sweet,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

He could see the wariness still in her eyes after his coolness of the previous night, but that would pass soon enough.

‘I looked for more flowers at the market, but there were none fine enough for you.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘Yes it is.’

She blushed slightly and then saw the dress on the bed. ‘You want me to wear this one? I thought you’d want something finer. You know, for meeting your father. It’s pretty enough but not, I imagine, the kind of thing the ladies of your castle wear.’ She held it up against her. ‘And I didn’t want to tell Dreamy, but I really hate pink. Maybe we should go back to the dressmaker? See if there’s something else?’ She chewed her bottom lip again. ‘I just want to make a good impression.’

She was nervous of him, he knew. After the awkwardness of the previous night, he’d expected it.

‘But this is what you were wearing when we met. When I first kissed you.’ He smiled. ‘And that is what I will tell my father, when I tell him all that has happened to you.’ He stepped towards her and kissed her on her smooth, pale forehead. ‘For me? Please?’

‘Okay.’ She smiled and shrugged. ‘If it will make you happy.’

‘Yes.’ His heart was racing. ‘Yes, it will.’

He turned his back and let her dress with her modesty intact, although she seemed to have no qualms about taking her robe off in front of him, even laughing a little at his good manners after everything they had already done together. She didn’t understand, of course. He didn’t want to see her like that; earthy and cheap. He wanted his princess back.

‘Breakfast, sir?’ The voice came from the other side of the door and he pulled it open. The kitchen help stood there, a young boy of maybe fourteen or so. He stared at Snow White, a mixture of lust and awe, but the prince’s bride didn’t notice how inappropriate it was and simply sent a sweet smile his way.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Just put it on the bed.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The tray held one glass of juice and one plate with warm bread and jam and some sliced meat and cheese. As the boy closed the door behind him, casting one longing look back at the princess, Snow White frowned.

‘Aren’t you having any?’

‘I ate in the market. I wanted to test it all and make sure it was good enough.’

She laughed again. ‘You’ll learn that I don’t have very fine tastes. I like ordinary things. I always have. They’re more real, aren’t they?’

She pulled the laces tight on her bodice and then sat on the edge of the bed. ‘This looks delicious.’ She smiled at him again, her eyes merry and twinkling at last. ‘Thank you for everything. For being so kind. And understanding. You didn’t have to. I’ll be a good wife to you. I promise.’

‘It’ll be perfect,’ he said, and watched as she raised the glass to her lips. There must have been something in his expression; a sudden hunger or urgency, because just before the liquid slipped down her throat, her eyes widened in sudden panic and darted sideways. He knew what she was looking at. His money pouch. It sat on the bed, thin and empty. The apple was gone. Crushed up into her glass. She looked back at him, the sparkle in her violet eyes replaced with a terrible sadness, and then the cup tumbled from her hand and spilled its cursed contents onto the floorboards which sucked it up greedily. She fell backwards onto the bed.

He kicked the cup under the bed and then lowered his face close to hers. No breath came from those perfect rosebud lips. Her eyes stared upwards, at nothing and everything. He stroked her cooling face. The apple was gone. And this time there was no chunk stuck in her throat that could be dislodged. He’d made sure of that by getting the cook to make a juice of it.

‘Hello again, my darling,’ he whispered, tucking a stray strand of hair carefully behind her ear. ‘I’ve missed you.’

* * *

The crowds cheered as their prince returned. Many had presumed him dead and his sudden arrival brought cheer to the kingdom and the streets were filled with music and laughter and banners flying high. The prince had waited at the city walls while a message was sent to the castle in order to give the king’s men time to organise his parade. He had no intention of coming back barely noticed. Not after all he’d been through. He was a returning hero. He had the scar to prove it.

He waved at the people as he came through the streets, sitting high and proud on his new steed. Behind him, a few feet back and safely away from prying eyes, a servant followed with the old mule and cart and strict instructions not to look under the blanket. The prince would know if he had. He would see it in his eyes. He’d take care of him as he needed if that was the case. His travels had made him less squeamish. He thought of the dwarves and the reward he’d promised them. He had trusted them too easily. He swallowed the sudden anger that surged through him and leaned down to kiss a milkmaid who’d pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She nearly swooned as he pressed his lips into hers and then pulled away, and her face glowed with excitement. He looked up at the larger houses which lined the streets closer to the castle. On the balconies, finely dressed young women waved handkerchiefs that matched their dresses at him, their eyes flirtatious above the fans that half covered their faces.

It was good to be home. He
would
send something back to the dwarves. They had earned it. But it wouldn’t be money or jewellery; it would be an assassin’s blade. They had deceived him. They had given him faulty goods. All may have turned out well in the end but that was not down to any action on their part. He did not like to be made a fool of.