A/N Thank you for the reviews, lovely people. Gold star to everyone who reviewed.
Part Two
"Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?" the Queen of Garnier was lazing languidly on her bed, her red hair tumbling elegantly over an embroidered silk nightgown. It had become a habit of hers, to ask this magic mirror purchased from a man who thought himself a warlock who was the most beautiful in the land.
Since the death of her husband, and the usurpation of little Princess Christine Snow-White, she had become more and more vain, taxing her land into starvation and buying horrifically gaudy gowns and large, flash jewels to show off to handsome young men who served at her table.
For the past fourteen years, the mirror mounted on the wall of her pink bedchamber had dutifully replied that she, the queen, was the fairest in the land with her milk-white skin, generous curves and pouting mouth. But today, with the weak winter sunlight playing on the jewels arrayed on her dressing table, the mirror said in an uncertain voice, "The Princess Snow White is the fairest in the land."
Queen Carlotta stared at the mirror in horror. "What did you say?" she demanded, and the mirror began to tremble, reflections rippling across its surface.
"Your Most Royal Majesty, The Princess Christine, who is called Snow White by the people, she is the fairest in the land."
Carlotta let out a screech that sent pigeons fluttering in a panic from the castle roof, picking up a pillow and flinging it at her mirror. "No, it can't be true, it isn't true! I am the fairest in the land, not that little slut!"
It may be pointed out that she did not even know what Snow White looked like, having never set eyes on the girl since she sent her to live with Mistress Sorelli.
The Queen raged for several hours, throwing dresses to the floor and sending jewels tumbling out of the window where they were snatched by greedy magpies and desperate village folk, shouting at her servants to leave her alone.
All too soon, her murderous anger had turned to a cool, calculating calm, and she called for her chief huntsman, a man named Ubaldo Piangi who was famed for having a fine tenor voice as well as a steady aim with a bow.
Her silk robe trailed behind her as he was ushered into the room, bowing flamboyantly and murmuring obsequious phrases. "Shut up," the Queen said rudely. "I have a request to make of you."
"What is it, oh most beautiful Majesty," he knelt at her feet, small blue eyes looking up into her own.
The Queen smiled, and later Piangi would say that he had never seen such a wicked expression cross anyone's face before, and that it chilled his blood to see such a happy expression turned into something so evil upon her crimson lips.
"I want you," she purred, tilting his chin up with one finger. "To kill the girl the stupid village folk call Snow White. Take her out into the woods, and stab her. I want her heart skewered on your knife and brought to me on a silver platter."
Piangi swallowed. For all the fact he was a huntsman, he had a kind heart, and did not relish the task of killing a girl who could be no more than seventeen years of age. But to defy the Queen was to die a horrific death, and truth be told, he was a little bit of a coward as well. So he agreed, and the Queen dismissed him, bidding him to do the deed that night.
He took his sharpest knife and stowed it into his belt, wrapping a thick, fur-lined cloak around his body and pulling up the hood to obscure his face, he made the trek across the icy drawbridge and into the village.
He quickly found the dwelling of Mistress Sorelli and her five children, and knocked on the door. It was opened by a slender woman shivering in homespun, with age lines around her forehead and eyes. "'Ow can I help you, Sirrah?" she made a curtsey, taking in the richness of his cloak.
"I have come for the girl. The little Princess."
"Oh, 'ave you come to bring 'er back to the castle? Christine? Christine, girl, where are ya?"
Piangi didn't have the heart to tell her the truth, so he just nodded, gripping his cloak tighter around himself.
A sweet voice echoed from inside the house. "I'm here, Mama. What do you need of me?"
"A gentleman 'as come to take ya back to the castle, my darlin. Get your ol' cloak and boots, 'ere, let me 'elp ya. Ya'll be a real princess now, darlin, we'll 'ave to bow and scrape to ya…"
The woman moved back inside the house, still chattering away, and Piangi hovered awkwardly by the door, guilt wracking him for the deed he was about to commit.
Finally, a girl swathed in a long, patched chestnut brown cloak appeared, worn brown boots adorning her dainty feet. Piangi could only stare. She truly was the most beautiful girl he'd ever set eyes on – not cruelly beautiful like the Queen who spent all day primping and pampering, this girl was beautiful in a careless way, her dark brown-black hair escaping a braid and large dark eyes seeming too big for the fragile frame of her face.
"Come with me, lady princess," he said gruffly.
"Goodbye, Mama," a tear trickled down the girl's cheek as she embraced the slender woman. "I love you."
"Ah love ya too, my darlin. Remember us won't ya?"
"You raised me, Mama. I won't ever forget you, and when I see the Queen, I'll ask if you can live in the castle with us and never have to worry ever again."
"Ya're a good girl," the woman dabbed at her eyes, embracing the girl who'd been her daughter for so many years. "I'll see ya soon."
She shut the door as Piangi offered an arm to the girl, as though they were out walking in the sunshine, rather than leading her to her death in the snowy winter woods.
"This way, my lady," he said, as they began to walk into the woods. Snow White began to tremble.
"This isn't the way to the castle, Sirrah," she hitched up the hem of her cloak. "Where are we going?"
"I'm taking you the long route," he lied through his teeth. "The Queen wanted extra time to make sure everything is ready for you."
"Oh," the princess said. His reasons made sense, and although his body language told her something else entirely, his words were kind and she was a girl given to trusting.
They walked deeper and deeper into the woods, and more doubts began to form in Snow White's head, but she pushed them aside. I'm being silly, she told herself, as if there was nothing wrong with walking in the woods with a strange man when night was about to fall.
Eventually, a clearing loomed up ahead of them and with sudden, surprising strength, Piangi forced her against a tree and brought out his knife, holding it to her slender neck. She screamed, but his weight was pressing into her and she could hardly breathe.
"You're…you're not taking me to the palace, are you?" her teeth were chattering with cold and fear as she stared up into the suddenly icy blue eyes of the huntsman. "You're going to kill me."
This accusation pierced Piangi's heart, and he stepped back, dropping the knife upon the floor. "I can't," he whispered to himself. Then louder. "I can't."
Her little hands clenched into fists as he turned away, the fingers white. "Can you take me home, now?" she asked, her voice plaintive in the still night air.
He rounded on her. "Don't you understand, little princess?" he demanded bitterly. "You can never go home. Never. The Queen would order your death the minute she saw you, and believe me, if she gets her hands on you, you'll be begging for the mercy of my knife."
Snow White began to cry, dropping her face into her hands. "What am I to do?" she whimpered.
"Run," he told her. "Run and run until you leave the kingdom and don't ever come back."
"What will you do?"
"I'll find a way of convincing the Queen that you're dead," he said grimly. "A deer's heart should suffice."
"A deer's heart…" Snow White stared at him.
"Go now," he snapped. "Go on, run."
With a sob, she gathered up her skirts, and the sodden end of her cloak and began to run, tripping over the laces of her boots as she stumbled away into the never-ending night of the forest, thin branches stinging across her face.
The next morning, Piangi presented the Queen with a deer's heart, and, not knowing what a heart looked like since she did not possess one, Carlotta rejoiced, putting on her gaudiest gown and inviting a handsome young man to her bed to celebrate her victory.