Sneaky Snow White (Dark Fairy Tale Queen Series Book 2)

  Sneaky Snow White

  Copyright © 2016 by Anita Valle

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, e-mail the author at anitavalleart@yahoo.com

  Anita Valle Art

  Cover art by Anita Valle

  First Edition: May 2016

  Prologue

  Cinderella killed my father.

  I don’t know how she did it. But he’s gone. Not even a body to bury. When I ask her, she simply laughs and says he got what he deserved. She thinks she can do anything because she is queen.

  And my stepmother.

  I can’t bring back my father. But I can avenge his death. Although my skin is white as snow, my soul is far from pure. I will make Cinderella suffer for her sins.

  Sure as my name is Snow White.

  ~*~ 1 ~*~

  Cinderella summons me to the throne room.

  She’s sitting on a throne made of solid crystal. I’m not even kidding - a cold, hard rock, the most uncomfortable chair your rump will ever meet. I can’t imagine where she got it.

  “Hello, Snowy,” she says. Her voice billows out in the empty room, soars up to the cavernous ceiling. There’s nothing here except her throne and the bare, black marble floor, threaded with veins of white.

  “What do you want?” I whine. Most of the time Old Cinders leaves me alone. She only calls for me when she wants something stupid.

  Cinderella looks at me with her beautiful ice-blue eyes. “I need you to find me a fairy.”

  See what I mean?

  “A fairy!” I cry, spreading my arms. “Are you crazy? They don’t exist!”

  She smiles. “Oh, but they do. I had one once.”

  “You had a fairy....”

  “Yes, she was my godmother.”

  Oh man, she’s really lost it. “Well, assuming I could find one, what do you want with a fairy?”

  Cinderella lays a hand on her belly. It bulges like she’s got a melon stuffed inside her black dress. “I want one for the baby. To watch over it.”

  The baby. Unbelievable. Seven years of marriage without any children and now one decides to show up. The kingdom rejoiced when Cinderella made her announcement. My father looked pleased and proud. For a month, the two of them stopped fighting, they even seemed happy together. I thought we were finally becoming a family.

  And then Cinderella killed my father.

  I sigh. “How am I supposed to find a fairy?”

  “Go into The Wood,” she says. “And place yourself in some kind of peril. Walk along a precipice or hunt an animal larger than you. Fairies enjoy saving people in danger.”

  I stare at her. “You want me to risk my life?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  Witch! I wish the kingdom could see her for what she is, selfish and evil and crazy. But somehow she’s bewitched them all. They adore their blooming twenty-four-year-old queen, with her luxurious gold hair and seductive smile. Shouldn’t the creepy black dresses tip them off just a little?

  I fold my arms. “Well, maybe I don’t feel like dying today. Find your own fairy if it’s so important to you.”

  Cinderella lifts a single eyebrow. “You will do as I say, Snow White.”

  “Really? Or what?”

  “Or I will take you to The Mirror.”

  My stomach goes cold. No, she wouldn’t do that to me. Not again….

  “Fine,” I say, my voice weaker. “I’ll go.”

  ~*~ 2 ~*~

  A friggin’ fairy.

  How am I supposed to find one? And what do I do if I do? Take it home in a basket?

  I leave the palace by the front door and walk down the white marble stairs. They are round, like a series of half-moons that grow wider as you go down. It was these stupid steps that made Cinderella the queen. She was leaving a ball one night and she lost her shoe right here. My father used it to find her.

  I never knew what he saw in her.

  The Wood surrounds the palace and spreads out, dense and flat, for miles. It is said to be enchanted but I always found it pretty ordinary. I wouldn’t believe in magic at all if it wasn’t for Cinderella and her demon mirror.

  The hem of my dress crackles over the fallen leaves of early autumn. I like to wear white dresses with big skirts. My hair I do absolutely nothing with, it’s raven-black and just spills right down to my waist. I might be pretty but I don’t really care.

  After ten minutes of walking, I reach the well. It’s old – the roof and pulley are gone – and the stones have crumbled down on one side. It sits in a sunny grove surrounded by apple trees. Hunter is waiting for me on the good side of the well. Another reason I was so annoyed with Cinderella, she made me late. Hunter and I meet here every day at noon.

  “You look pouty,” he says, grinning. The grin shoots golden joy right through me. I rush into his arms and squeeze him hard. Then I tilt back my face so he can kiss me. The touch of his lips is pure magic, a spell that melts through my body. He has kissed no other girl but me.

  “You won’t believe this,” I say, hopping up to sit on the well. Hunter sits beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I tell him about the crazy quest Cinderella gave me, but all the while I’m gazing at his wonderful face, his dark hair and eyes, the gentle cut of his profile. Hunter is nineteen, a woodsman, and the sweetest boy I’ve ever known. I adore him, I can’t help it.

  “A fairy,” he says quietly.

  “I know, it’s ridiculous.”

  “No…. I’ve seen a few.”

  “You’ve seen fairies?”

  “Just flickers and shadows, they don’t like to be seen. But when you walk around The Wood as much as I do... you see things.”

  “But how do we catch one? Old Cinders says I have to put myself in peril and a fairy will come to save me.”

  Hunter smiles. “I could push you into the well, if you like.” He grabs my arm suddenly, like he’s going to do it, and I squeal and laugh out loud. He’s so adorable!

  “I think,” Hunter says, “that the real question is, why does the queen want a fairy?”

  “Oh, she told me that. She wants it to protect the baby.”

  “Really? Why does the baby need protection?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. She’s crazy.”

  Hunter shakes his head. “No…. She has her reasons. She’s just not telling them to you. Does she seem happy about the baby?”

  I scowl and cross my ankles beneath my billowy white skirt. “She does, actually. My father did too. They were talking nicely about it. And then….” I clamp my teeth together.

  Hunter pulls me in and kisses the top of my cheek. “We don’t know for certain.”

  I shake my head. “It was her. She hated my father. Cinderella loves nothing but… herself.” Ugh, I almost said “The Mirror.” Hunter doesn’t know about The Mirror. And I try not to think about it.

  ”Have you ever thought about sitting down and having a nice long talk with her? She might open up to you.”

  “Oh Hunter, please. It’s too late for that! She’s been nothing but poison ever since she entered my life. She called me ‘Stepchild’ and nothing else our whole first year together. She moved my bedroom to the smallest tower and made me take my meals alone there. And she put all the candles on the floor.”

  Hunter looks at me. “What?”

  “The candles. They’re on the floor now, lining the rooms and the halls. At night, everyone is lit from below, which looks really creepy.
And she keeps having my dresses made with bigger and bigger skirts.”

  Hunter’s face fills with horror. “You think….”

  I nod. “She was too afraid of my father to do something directly. But she loves to talk about how accidents can happen to children. Instead of wishing me goodnight, she says, ‘Be careful, Snowy’ – always with a smile. And then I climb the narrow stairs up to my little tower room. There’s a candle sitting on every step and they are always burning.”

  Hunter slouches a little, exhaling. “ I - I didn’t know that.”

  I shrug. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle. But then she took away my father…. You know, he wasn’t the best of fathers, but he was mine. I won’t let her go unpunished for this.”

  “But what can we do?” Hunter asks.

  Smiling, I lift my hand and slide my fingers through his dense, dark hair. “When the time is right, we’re going to steal her baby.”

  ~*~ 3 ~*~

  We couldn’t find a fairy. We did try – sort of. Hunter tied me to a tree and held his hunting knife against my throat while saying menacing things. But we were both struggling not to laugh. I guess fairies aren’t so easily fooled.

  The sun is setting as I return home and the castle glows warm and rosy as a peach. I sigh as I climb the rounded stairs, not wanting to go in. There is an unwholesome air about the castle these days, like a poisonous fog you can’t see. But you feel it weighing down your heart.

  Six months since I lost my father, King Edgar. The worst part is that I saw him just before he was murdered. I was watching from my tiny tower window.

  He was far below, walking on the terrace with a beautiful lady. The lady was not Cinderella. As a child, I thought my father just had lots of friends that were ladies. As I grew older, I understood what it meant. He always took them to a tall, lonely tower that stood at the end of the terrace and they would go up alone. I have never been inside that tower. The door is always locked.

  I watched my father enter with the beautiful lady. I saw the lights glowing behind the stained glass window of the room upstairs. A few minutes later, the window went dark. I waited for a long time but my father never came out. And neither did the beautiful lady.

  In the morning, Cinderella sent the guards to search the tower. The door was still locked and they had to smash it in. They found nothing and no one at all. Then Cinderella went up and searched the tower herself. When she came out, she was smiling.

  “Do you know where he is?” I asked.

  “Gone,” she said, the word a sigh.

  “Gone where?” I asked.

  Cinderella stroked my hair and spoke in her sweetest voice. “Most likely – to Hell.”

  My hands went cold, I felt sick all over. My poor father was dead. The beautiful lady – she must have been an assassin hired by Cinderella. I don’t know what Cinderella found when she went up there, but the glee in her eyes was unmistakable. She looked triumphant.

  That night, I cried myself to sleep. The next morning, I kicked every candle as I went down my staircase, watching them roll and crack into waxy chunks. Old Cinders had gone too far this time. I wouldn’t kill her – that would be too kind.

  And it’s so much more satisfying to punish the living.

  ~*~ 4 ~*~

  I stand outside the double doors to Cinderella’s chamber, my heart going high and fast. Even from here I can feel The Mirror. It’s strong, which means Cinderella is standing before it. I know she will be there for hours.

  I turn the handles and push through the doors. Cinderella’s chamber was once luxurious, but now it’s all become a shrine to The Mirror. Seriously. She banished all the furniture except for two iron candelabras that stick up like forks on either side of it. The rest of the room is bare as poverty. Cold as loneliness.

  The Mirror is huge – floor to ceiling – and cut like an oval. The scrolling framework looks ancient, darkened by lack of care. No one ever cleans it and sticky cobwebs have stretched across the glass. It looks unbelievably heavy. And scary as death.

  If Cinderella heard me enter, she doesn’t turn. She stands before The Mirror in a lacy black dress that spills down and spreads out around her. Her golden hair is swooped up and swirled into a fancy coil. Her crown looks like some kind of silver claw that sticks up out of her head. She’s a good Evil Queen, I’ll give her that.

  Cinderella’s hands are pressed to The Mirror. Her head is tipped downward, the point of her crown touching the glass, and through the reflection I see her eyes, tightly shut. “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall….” She’s panting, her voice growing hoarse. “Mirror….”

  Something’s wrong. She never looks like that. Usually, she stands proud and beautiful, mesmerized with her own reflection. Usually, she looks intoxicated with happiness.

  “What’s the matter?” I can’t help asking. I’m still in the doorway and I won’t come closer. Cinderella pushes off The Mirror’s surface, face haggard, posture stooped.

  “I don’t know what I did,” she says weakly. “It won’t… I can’t feel it.”

  “You can’t feel The Mirror’s presence?” That’s odd, because I can feel it, thick as gravy. Lately, the feeling has grown stronger. I thought maybe The Mirror was gaining power, sucking life out of Cinderella. Or something like that.

  Cinderella shakes her head, hugging herself. “It won’t comfort me. It’s like it doesn’t know I’m here.”

  My eyes unintentionally rise to the glass and suddenly I feel it: the pull. Like a fishhook cast and sunk in my heart, it tugs me forward. The Mirror wants me to stand before it. And I find myself curious to hear what it has to say.

  No! I take a hard step back and turn out to the hall where I can’t see it. “Cinderella! Get OUT of there, it’s making you sick!”

  To my surprise, she slowly comes out. She looks like a sad little girl, all droopy. “I wonder why it doesn’t want me,” she murmurs.

  “Forget that thing,” I snap. “I want to talk to you, but not here. Can we go downstairs?”

  She nods and we descend the long, curling staircase. Shortly after becoming queen, Cinderella had all the floors resurfaced in black marble and it was a massive project. But the sitting room she wanted completely white, everything from the curtains to the carpet. She said it was how her stepmother’s sitting room had been. Considering she stabbed her own stepmother to death, I really don’t know why she’d want that.

  I ring for a servant to bring us tea. Cinderella stretches out on a chaise lounge, her belly a dark mound, the black dress shocking against the white velvet. After a few sips of tea, some redness returns to her cheeks.

  “Ready to talk?” I don’t actually feel sorry for her. There’s no need to take pity on a cold-hearted killer.

  Cinderella nods. Her eyes flick over me, up to my face. “You’re looking very pretty today,” she mutters.

  I shrug. “So what?” Why does she always have to talk about that? Cinderella is gorgeous, she’s got nothing to worry about. I wish she would try to think of something else.

  “Anyway,” I say, “tomorrow is my sixteenth birthday. Unfortunately, my father won’t be here to celebrate it. But he always let me request a gift, one gift, whatever I wanted. And he always gave it.”

  “You’re not a child anymore, Snowy,” Cinderella says. “More importantly, you’re not my child. Don’t expect a gift from me.”

  Now I’m angry. That was really insensitive. “Look, all I want from you is an apple.”

  Cinderella looks at me. “An apple?”

  “Yes. The Wood is thick with them now.”

  “Then go and pick one.”

  “I will. But I want you to do something to it.”

  “Do you fancy a pie for your birthday?”

  “No. I want a Love Apple.”

  Cinderella draws back, surprised. “How do you know about that?”

  “I looked through your book of spells. I know you’ve tried a few, down in the dungeon.”

  Cinderella shrugs. “A few.
Some worked, some didn’t. Magic is harder than I thought. And I cannot make you a Love Apple.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a light spell. Light Magic comes from love. Dark Magic comes from hate. That much I have learned. To make a Love Apple, I would need to feel love in my heart for someone. But I don’t.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You love the baby.”

  Cinderella smiles and slides a hand over her bump. “I look forward to the baby. But that’s not enough. Oh… did you find me a fairy?”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh yes, she’s waiting just outside the door.”

  Cinderella crooks an eyebrow at me. “Are you telling me that you failed?”

  “Well no, I didn’t fail because I didn’t really try. Sorry, but life endangerment just isn’t my thing.”

  Cinderella springs off the lounge and her hand swings high. I cringe, raising an arm to block the blow. But it doesn’t come. After a moment, she drops her hand and folds back onto the lounge like a ribbon of silk. “All right. I’ll do this the nice way.” She clasps her hands together. “If you find me a fairy, I will make you a Love Apple. Is that fair?”

  “You just said you can’t make one.”

  “I can try. The memories of my father might stir a little love. Why is it you want this apple?” She smirks. “Is it because of that boy?”

  I stiffen. “You know about him?”

  “I have watched you with him through The Mirror. He seems sweet.” Her smile is smeared with contempt.

  She’s been watching me and Hunter? Our enchanted moments together, when he holds my face and stares silently into my eyes…. When we have whispered conversations, our lips an inch apart, kissing lightly between the words…. Those moments belong to me, and to Hunter, and not to anyone else. I could kill her – kill her! – for violating that.

  Now I have two ways to punish Cinderella. First I’m going to steal her baby. Then I’m going to smash The Mirror.