Snow

Snow

By Wheeler Scott

Copyright © 2005 by Wheeler Scott

ISBN: 978-1-934166-15-4, 1-934166-15-4

All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

Printed in the United States of America.

Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

Chapter One

Once upon a time she was the most beautiful woman in the world. The King met her while hunting in a snow-capped forest at the edge of his lands, saw her sitting eating a piece of ripe red fruit. The moment their eyes met his heart belonged to her.

Rumors flew when he declared she was to be his consort, whispers that she had created some enchantment, that her beauty could be nothing but result of one. The day she was made Queen there was talk of the forest she'd lived in, stories almost forgotten recalled and passed person to person as the crowd stood waiting. But then she appeared, crowned and glorious, and she was enchantment personified, shimmering as she stepped through the streets with her husband, the King, by her side.

She was so lovely even flowers paled next to her. To look at her was to know you'd seen a glimpse of something extraordinary, and the stories about her faded into silence. The King shone a little brighter every time he looked at her and together they ruled a kingdom made glorious by what they shared, their perfection.

Then things became even more perfect, for there was going to be a baby. The Queen danced the day she found out, a delicate spinning turn that twirled her into the King's arms. The King smiled and the nobles in attendance clapped and cheered. The nation rejoiced.

She grew even more beautiful, ordered baskets of fruit brought from her former home and ate them as she gazed into the mirrors of her room. Her belly rounded and when she walked her feet barely seemed to touch the ground. To look at her face once was to have it burned into your mind's eye forever.

The babe grew but did not come. Nine months passed, then ten, then twelve, and she was still hugely ripe, swollen glorious and glowing. She paid for a witch woman, old and crooked-backed, bent by the wisdom she'd learned, to come to the castle as the thirteenth month started.

"Is my babe dead?" she asked and her lovely voice trembled, tears sparkling in her eyes.

The old woman shook her head and watched the Queen take a bite of fruit as she smoothed her other hand over her stomach. She noted the overflowing basket of it that sat by her side. "He's alive and healthy."

"A son," the Queen said, and her smile lit up the room. "Will I give birth soon?"

The old woman nodded.

"When?"

The old woman reached out and rested her hand on top of the basket, watched the Queen's eyes darken. "When he's more beautiful than you."

The Queen laughed, mouth trembling, and had the old woman sent away. More beautiful than her? It couldn't be. She patted her stomach and looked in the mirrors, took another bite of the fruit she held. Her reflection glowed back at her.

***

The babe did not come. The Queen waited. Day after day, alone with her silent attendants and her own thoughts. She found herself staring into the mirrors more, watching her reflection ripple golden back at her. On the thirteenth day of the thirteenth month she woke up screaming. She looked in her mirrors, saw her face drained white and contorted with pain.

"It's true," she whispered, and then screamed again as her belly rippled and the child inside her made himself ready to be born.

Outside, it began to snow.

That was how the prince was born. He was given a long string of unpronounceable names and titles as soon as he drew his first breath. His nurse, upon hearing them, promptly forgot them all and called him David because that was the name of a saint she'd prayed to as a child. She was a simple creature.

His mother closed her eyes when he was shown to her, shrank back when the royal physicians attempted to place him into her arms. "He's beautiful," they told her soothingly. "Look. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"He's taken everything," she said, and turned her face away. When she was left alone, soft words of reassurance whispered to her and a cup of restoring wine placed where she could reach it, she got up. She walked over to her mirrors. She saw a pale creature, bloodied and hollowed out, her beauty taken from her as if it had never been.

She smashed the mirrors with her hands and their pieces sank into her flesh. She closed her eyes.

Outside, it continued to snow.

***

The King mourned his Queen for six years. His kingdom mourned with him for one year, then two, and then moved on to bitterness, to murmurs of witchcraft and whispers of curses. Winter had descended upon the land, seemingly forever, and starvation drained any remaining sympathy the people felt away.