ONE:

Alexander, king of the small kingdom that many thought of as peaceful and perfect, held tight to the hand of the woman lying on the bed beside him—Clare, the girl he loved with all his heart, though she was not his queen, who had died long ago. Clare was a beautiful young girl, twenty-three years old, with dark brown hair and eyes so green they reminded Alexander of a meadow's grass. Tears sprang to his eyes when the physician spoke.

"She's not going to make it, Your Majesty," he said softly, and Alexander bowed his head, resting it on Clare's shoulder. Clare let out one last cry of pain before the wailing of a newborn infant filled the room. Tears dripping down her sweaty cheeks, Clare breathed shallowly as she touched Alexander's shoulder.

"Remember her name," she whispered, her breath beginning to fail her. "I love you." As the physician placed a small baby girl, wrapped in a pink blanket, in Alexander's arms, Clare breathed her last. He looked down at the child, kissing her forehead lightly. Her hair was as black as the night outside, he noted. Skin so pale she looked to be made of snow. Already, her lips were red as a ripe strawberry.

He trailed a finger from her eyes to the bottom of her chin. "Snow White," he whispered, and clutched the infant to his chest, tears streaming down his face.

***SEVENTEEN YEARS AND THREE-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FOUR DAYS LATER***

She heard the announcement from her place in the small storage room above the dining hall of the palace.

"Introducing, King Alfred Winslow of Vienn and his son, Prince Ethan," the man announced, and she crept over to the square door in the ground of the room, pulling it open and lying on her stomach, resting her head on her fist as she looked down at the party below them. She saw her two twin stepsisters, Kelly and Kathy, dressed lavishly in their gowns: Kelly in a dark gold trimmed with silver, and Kathy in a violet trimmed in gold. Both looked lovely, and she sighed as she looked down at her own off-white gown, the only color the dark blue ribbon she'd tied around her bodice. It wasn't fair. But she understood. A little.

A young man dressed in a royal blue leather vest with off-white sleeves and black pants tucked into his brown boots bowed to Kelly and Kathy.

He must be the prince, she thought to herself. With his short-yet-shaggy woody-brown hair and light olive skin, high cheekbones and a defined nose, he was handsome. One of the most handsome she'd ever seen, though she didn't see many people. Mostly the queen and Kelly and Kathy. But they only came to scold her, to yell at her. Punish her.

She must have sighed, and loud, too, because the prince looked up and made direct eye-contact with her. She felt her blood freeze, a look of horror on her face, and she shut the door and scrambled away. The ceiling in the room was low enough to access the room if standing on a chair. The prince was tall, however, and he probably wouldn't need one to reach the door and pull himself in. And doing so in front of all the guests…her punishment from the queen would be worse than ever before, and it would be painful and humiliating, in front of her stepsisters.

She retreated to the small circular window, looking out at the courtyard below her, as people laughed and talked to others. She felt envy boil inside her. Why couldn't she go out and make friends? Why did she have to stay up here, lonely except for a couple visitors from the kitchen now and again? Just because of who her mother was? Who her father was? It wasn't her fault! It wasn't fair!

She picked up the nearest thing to her—a large, thick book, labeled The Fairy Godmother—and threw it across the room, and it hit the other wooden wall with a loud thunk! She heard the queen laugh and say simply, "Must be the cat." There was a pause. "Come, let us return to the feast! After all, in a weeks time, our kingdom shall be joined with Vienn, after one of my lovely daughters—Kelly or Kathy—marries this charming Prince Ethan."

The entire hall erupted in cheer, and she sighed again, and pulled the hand-mirror from beside her, brushing the dust off of the glass. She looked at herself. In the four years since she'd been locked away up here, since her father had died, she'd had too much time to think, and had become overly judgmental about her appearance.

"Perhaps the queen locks me up here because I am ugly," she'd said once, when she was fourteen, about three weeks after her imprisonment began. Now she even thought it was true as she looked at herself.

Straight black hair that could blend in with the night sky, and hung to her waist with bangs straight across her forehead. Eyes so green they resembled grass, with long black eyelashes. Her skin was incredibly white—she'd rarely ever seen the sun as a child, even before she was trapped up here—and looked like the snow that fell to the ground every winter. Her lips—oh, how she hated her lips!—were red as blood. She had a small button nose and her cheekbones were high and defined. Her face itself was shaped like an oval, and she had a small chin with a strong jaw. Father had always said she looked so much like her mother it was impossible.

She put the mirror down as she heard her name, spoken by a deep voice she'd never heard before. "I see the two princesses are here," he said, and she crawled over to the little hatch, opening it a crack to see the prince speaking. "But I've heard there are three. Where is Snow White?"

Snow White's heart skipped a beat and she held her breath, waiting for the queen to respond. Queen Miranda only laughed. "Snow White? Oh, the girl is just a simple rumor around here. She does not actually exist."

Kelly and Kathy glanced up at Snow White and both laughed. Snow felt tears burning her eyes and she shut the door, resting her head on it until she heard the gruff old man speak, and she assumed it was King Alfred.

"Nonsense! I've met the girl myself. She was young, of course, only about five. But she was a cute girl. A bit shy, though," he said. "She'd be, what, seventeen now? Eighteen?"

"Yes, Father often told stories about the funny girl," Ethan argued. "He would say she had wit. Some travelers that came here when she was older always said she was beautiful. Fairest girl in the land."

"Well, you're all mistaken. The king was my husband, after all. I would know if he had another daughter. Anyways, his first queen died in childbirth, as did the baby. He never had any children until my two daughters came with me when he chose me as his queen," the queen answered through her teeth, and Snow heard the squeal as she pushed her chair back. "If you'll excuse me, I shall return in a moment."

QUEEN MIRANDA:

The queen huffed as she entered the secret branch of her bedroom, which contained nothing but a full-length mirror. She strolled up to it and crossed her arms, taking a deep breath. This isn't needed, she thought, but I'll feel better once I do it.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall," she said, and a foggy gray shape began to appear as she spoke. "Who is the fairest of them all?" The gray fog developed into merely the shape of a man, and his voice was too deep to be human, and sounded demonic.

"You are the fairest of all, my queen," the mirror responded, but when it spoke next, there was a sort of glee and humor in his words, though he was serious. "But not for long. Someone in this very palace threatens to become the fairest."

"Who?" Miranda screeched. "Kelly? Kathy? I'll kill either of them, if that's what it takes! Who?"

"Neither Kelly nor Kathy, my queen," he responded. "It is the girl whose existence you fail to recognize. The very girl you fear most."

"Impossible!" she screamed.

"Snow White."

SNOW WHITE:

She was resting her head against the cool glass of the window that night when she heard it.

Someone was opening the hatch.

Snow scrambled up and moved behind the bookcase she had placed near the center of the room, for that purpose exactly. The footsteps she heard enter, along with the grunt as they pulled themselves into the room, were loud, and sounded masculine.

Who was there?

"Hello?" the slightly familiar voice called gently. "Who's up here? I saw you earlier, so don't try to hide. I just want to talk to you."

The prince! Snow's breath caught in her throat, and she peeked around the edge of the bookcase. He spotted her and took a step forward. She flinched away. "You shouldn't be up here," she said softly. "She will be upset."

"Who will be upset? Why shouldn't I be up here?" he questioned her, taking another step forward. "What's your name?"

"The queen. She'll punish me. Please go," Snow White whimpered, tears stinging her eyes again. "Please go."

"What's your name?" was his only response. Snow's mind raced to remember the name Queen Miranda had told her to tell anyone who ever asked. Her pause was too long, and she knew Ethan would know she was lying when she spoke.

"Sarah Wright," she responded softly. She hadn't realized he'd come closer to her until he grabbed her elbow to make her face him. He held up the candle she hadn't realized he'd brought to her face to see her better, and she glued her eyes to the floor.

"Well, Sarah Wright," he murmured, tilting her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eyes, and she trembled at his touch. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Her already permanently rosy cheeks flushed with heat and color and she turned her head away. "Please," she whispered. "Go."

She heard him paused before responding. "Goodnight, Sarah."

She didn't respond as she heard him lower himself to the ground.