The Reigning Heir: Part IV
We reached the Denmark Castle in what seemed like forever's time. My mind had been with Delia and with Char. Had Delia cried for me or Char? Had Char run into any trouble on his way back home? Had the Dwarves left Delia alone at any time, so that if she were terrified already she would be even more so terrified? My head spun with questions. Tears escaped soundlessly and stained my white skin. I missed both my true loves. Char and Delia, Delia and Char…
Char and I had fallen asleep (or rather, laid in bed in our nightclothes awake, listening to each other's heartbeats) in each other's arms that night; neither of us had run into anyone or anything; and the mob had since dispersed, and seemingly settled back into their homes. The culprit behind the mob and the letter hadn't been found. Had Delia?
"Char," I said around three in the morning.
"Yes, love?"
"I love you. And no matter what happens, to Delia or us in the process of protecting her…I'll always love you. And Denmark," I added.
"Of course. But I've been thinking. What if…what if, when this was all over and we got our daughter back—which is now my highest priority—I refused the throne? What if we moved somewhere like England, or perhaps Spain or France or Belgium, and we raised our daughter in peace—assuming of course that she was returned to us when she was still an infant or at the very least a toddler—without all this fuss from our kingdom?"
I considered this, as much as I could.
"I…that wouldn't be good for Denmark. What's more, only you would be proper in ruling it."
"But what if you weren't biased and I asked you this, and you were perhaps a commoner or vizier?"
"Then I'd still say the same thing," I said after several moments' time.
"How I miss Delia!" Char sighed.
"I know. I know," I said, kissing his cheek. Tears fell down my cheek once again and into the blankets. I prayed that she would be safe and would come home, to her mama, as soon as possible….
"But it's my turn!" Grumpy growled.
"You'll get it, you will!" said Doc.
Delia had the Dwarves wrapped around her tiny little newborn fingers, long and elegant as a princess's should be. She had inherited Char's hair color: it was in-between dark and milk chocolate. It fell in gentle curls to her ears. Her eyes were Snow White's: medium brown and they had specks of butterscotch. Her skin was a fair cream, with dewy pink patches on her cheeks. Her lips, redder than the rose itself, was Snow White's. Her eyes were round like her mother's; her lips full like Snow White's too. Her nose was prominent, like her father's, but small with soft angles like her mother's. Her eyelashes were long and slightly curled upward, and her eyebrows were ebony black, thin as though someone had drawn them on her delicate face.
"I suppose she misses her mama," Sleepy whispered, yawning.
"Yep; and I suppose the princess misses her too. And I suppose the prince misses her thirdly! But it's our job to keep her safe. No messin' up like we did with 'er mother," said Doc.
"As long as she's happy!" said Happy.
And for now, Delia was. She was very mature for a two-week old infant. She didn't cry except when she was hungry. She loved being held, and though in a new environment slept soundly and long.
"Well?" King Wilmer shouted.
"The—the baby is in unknown whereabouts."
"Char? Snow White?"
"They returned to Denmark Castle ten hours previous."
"Without Delia."
"Obviously."
"YAH!" Wilmer cried, and with that the Messenger was decapitated. "Clean this up. NOW," said Wilmer, snapping his stubby fat fingers at the nearest guard, Mattok.
"We will get my son to marry Princess Elvira. Snow White was my enemy's daughter," Wilmer said, more to himself than to those servants in the room. "And though she is beautiful and has produced a little heir, Elvira is the ticket to a larger kingdom. Snow White and Delia will die. That is the only way."