more lovely, my figure more pleasing. People began commenting on this so much that I took pains to make myself more plain, and answered again and again that I only appeared to look more beautiful because the girl who was the fairest in the land had vanished.
Which was, of course, true.
In the privacy of my chambers, however, I took much pleasure in my increased beauty, the vitality I felt running through my body. I told myself that when I gave birth to the kingdom’s heir, it would all be worth it, all this suffering.
One afternoon, when I could no longer stand being apart from him and had relaxed enough to feel safe, I went to the mews to see Gilles. I covered my hair and dressed in a long cloak, so no guards would recognize me and follow.
I found him outside with one of the hooded hawks, which stood on his wrist, not moving.
“Your Highness,” he said.
“Gilles,” I said, letting his name linger on my tongue. He looked so beautiful and ferocious, standing there. My body reacted immediately, and I was sure it was her blood and youth in my veins.
“You look especially well,” he said. “Much healthier than when I saw you last.”
“I feel well,” I said. “Like I’ve been reborn.”
“You’ll see I found a gyrfalcon,” he said, gesturing to the bird.
“Yes.”
I stared at him. He stared back at me, his expression unreadable.
“Perhaps we might go inside?” I asked, quickly glancing around. The grounds were empty. The court was too tense for revelry.
Still, to be safe, I took a moment to cast a protection spell around us, to blur the sight of anyone who might see.
He nodded. We stepped into the mews, where he replaced the falcon onto its perch. He turned to me then, led me into his room.
Once we were alone, I practically fell into his arms. As we moved onto the bed, I felt a surge of energy in my body that I’d not felt in ages, since we’d been together in the forest. I could not get out of my dress quickly enough, could not take him deeply enough into my body.
He moved on top of me, his hands clasping mine, his mouth devouring my own.
When we broke apart, it occurred to me suddenly that I could not feel Gilles’ mind or heart at all, though my hair was loose and our bodies tangled together.
I sat up in alarm. He looked up drowsily.
“Where did you take her?” I asked.
“To the woods.”
“That is where you did it?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you leave her body?”
“I buried her,” he said, so low I could barely hear the words.
My hair lay flat and dead along his chest and arms. It unnerved me, this absence I had never felt from him before.
“Was she . . . Did it happen quickly? Was she afraid?”
“She did not know what was coming,” he said. “Let us not speak of this again, my queen. It is too dangerous, even here.”
I nodded, but could not rid myself of this new sense of dread.
That evening, when I went to the great hall to dine, the king was shut in his chambers with his most trusted advisors. To my shock, Father Martin was sitting in Josef’s place at the high table, the ladies and lords of the court gathered around him.
I wanted to turn back and run to my chambers, but forced myself to walk regally to the table, nod and cross myself, and sit next to him.
“It is the sins of this court that have led us here,” he was saying, waving his hands in the air. “God is punishing all of us for the excesses. The feasts and balls, the extravagant clothing, the indulgences of the flesh.” He paused, ever so subtly. “Witchery.”
I froze for a moment, as I reached for my wine, and looked at the faces of the court. Some had the decency to drop their eyes, others stared back at me without shame, not bothering to disguise the suspicion on their faces. Slowly, I took hold of the goblet and brought it to my mouth, determined not to let anyone see how shaken I was.
I set my wine back on the table.
“Thank you, Father Martin,” I said, in a loud, clear voice. “We must remember our worldly enemies in the East, too, who are always trying to defeat us.”
“Amen,” they all said.
It was a tremendous relief, arriving back at my chambers. I spread out on the bed, hoping for some relief. A moment later, there was a pounding on my door.
“Enter!” I said, bolting up and rising to my feet. Had they come for me now?
It was Clareta. “My queen,” she said, curtsying.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I am . . . ” She took a breath. “Do you think that Madame Gothel has taken Snow White?”
“What?”
She looked down and then up again, obviously nervous.
“I love the princess,” she said. “Which is why I speak this way. I do not mean any offense to you, Your Highness, and I do not speak . . . I’ve never spoken about what happened.”
“Here, come sit down,” I said. I led her to my couch, the way I’d led her to another couch years before, when she’d been similarly shaken and upset.
I took her hands in mine and realized she was trembling. “Did you hear something?” I asked, watching her carefully.
She shook her head. “No. It’s the old stories that make me afraid.”
“What stories?”
“From when Madame Gothel was at court.”
She had my attention now. I tilted my head, watching her.
I made my voice calm, soothing. “Tell me.”
She was unable to meet my eyes. She held her hands together in her lap and laced her fingers together and apart, and then together again. I resisted the urge to smack them.
“They say she turned a man into a stag. People do not like us speaking of this time, when magic was practiced so openly. Father Martin does not allow it.”
I waved my hand dismissively. “I know this rumor,” I said. “The man’s name was Marcus.” Inexplicably, the grief felt as fresh as a new wound, as if I’d pierced him with the arrow only moments before. “He was condemned to die. Do you know why?”
She took a deep breath and continued. “Madame Gothel was with the queen all the time, they say, and advised her and performed spells for her. But then things changed. Madame Gothel and Lord Marcus both fell out of favor. Lord Marcus was sentenced to death. They said he was a . . . wizard. They said he’d defied the king too many times, that he was to be hung outside, in front of the castle, and they say that Madame Gothel turned him into a stag right then in front of everyone and he ran away to the forest.”
I imagined it: Mathena watching him as he was led to his execution, her stepping forward and changing him into a stag. Was that when she left the castle and went to the forest with me? How had she managed to get me, before she left? Was I already with her then?
“I love Snow White, Your Highness, and I am afraid for her, afraid that she might have gone to the forest the way I did once.”
I shook my head. “You know you are speaking foolishness, Clareta. An enemy from the East has taken Snow
