VOLUME ONE
Emma was well-accustomed to the grandiosity of her mother's chambers. The two sat at a massive dining table of dark polished wood, a masterful piece of craftwork built by none other than Master Geppetto, the royal carpenter and a decades-old friend to the royal family. The air was heavy with the scent of freshly baked bread as mother and daughter broke their fast. High on the wall above were banners bearing the sigil of the combined kingdoms—Richilde and Elsinor—woven into a tapestry of unity, depicting a blue lion rampant and a proud peacock on white. Emma's mother, Queen Snow, sat across from her, her regal presence undiminished by the streaks of silver throughout her otherwise raven-black hair. The Queen's beauty, etched with both wisdom and the weight of responsibility, filled the chamber with a commanding grace.
The meal spread before them was a spectacle of abundance that mirrored the opulence of the combined kingdoms. Plates adorned with succulent meats, fragrant fruits, and golden pastries covered the table.
A meal meant for more than just two, Emma thought dully as she ate. Servants moved about silently, attending to their duties with practiced precision.
As dawn filtered through the ornate windows, casting a warm glow upon the room, Snow observed her daughter with a mixture of affection and contemplation.
"Your eighteenth birthday is fast approaching. Have you given any thought to how you wish to celebrate?"
Emma finished her mouthful before giving her answer.
"I was thinking of a simple celebration, a small feast with you, and Father and Leo."
Snow nodded. "Leopold would be pleased to see you and celebrate such a special occasion, I'm certain."
"And Father?"
"Perhaps, though you must remember that he has a kingdom of his own to govern. He has a lot on his plate, as do I. It is not an easy thing to leave a kingdom behind, even for a moment, if you are all that stands between order and chaos. Remember that, Emma."
The young princess hesitated for a moment before voicing a question that lingered in her thoughts for years.
"Why don't we all live together in the same castle? Like a real family?"
Snow's brow furrowed slightly, a subtle frustration flickering in her hazel eyes.
"You know that my kingdom of Richilde and King James's kingdom of Elsinor were originally two regions. The territories are vast, and it's just not practical to govern from a single castle. Besides, both kingdoms have their own histories, traditions, and people. Combining them into one united realm has and will continue to require careful balance."
Emma's gaze remained steady as she pressed further.
"Couldn't we find a way to make it work?"
The Queen let out a sigh.
"My love, it's not that simple," she said, her voice weary but not unkind. "The responsibilities of a ruler extend far beyond the desires of the heart. Each kingdom looks to its sovereign for guidance and protection. Dividing our efforts allows us to better serve our people."
Undeterred, Emma leaned forward.
"And what about our family? Doesn't that matter?"
A brief silence hung in the air before Snow spoke, her tone growing firm. "My duty as Queen is to ensure the prosperity and stability of Richilde. One day, you will inherit this duty. It's a responsibility that is not to be taken lightly. The decisions we make are not always easy, but they are made for the greater good."
Emma nodded, and knew from her mother's face that it was time to drop the matter.
For now, she silently told herself.
Emma crossed the threshold of her chambers, a room bathed in soft hues of lavender and gold. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes from ancient tales, and the furniture, crafted from rich mahogany, reflected the elegance befitting a princess. Emma's thoughts, however, were far from the ornate surroundings.
As she glanced at herself in the mirror, her thoughts turned to her younger brother, Leopold. It had been over a year since she last saw him, and the weight of that separation lingered in her heart. Leopold, who had just celebrated his fourteenth birthday during a cruel winter that made traveling to Crowncastle impossible, remained a distant figure in Emma's memory. She wondered how much he had grown, how his features had changed, and whether he still retained the mischievous glint in his eyes.
With a sense of determination, Emma decided to free herself from the constraints of courtly attire. She called for her handmaiden, Charlotte, to assist her. Together, they let loose the cascade of golden locks that framed Emma's face, and she changed into clothing more suited for outdoor activities. Dressed in a practical riding outfit, Emma's attire mirrored her desire to break free from the structured life of a princess.
"I want to feel the wind in my hair today," Emma declared with a mischievous smile, earning an approving nod from Charlotte. Another handmaiden, Jill, joined them, her presence ensuring that the princess's spontaneous escapade would not go unnoticed.
With a few quick adjustments to Emma's outfit, the trio made their way out of the palace of Ironthorn. The towering structure, surrounded by imposing iron spikes, resembled a massive grey thistle, an impenetrable fortress guarding the heart of the kingdom.
Mounted on their horses, Emma, Charlotte, and Jill rode through the vast expanse of the royal gardens. The day stretched before them, a canvas of possibilities waiting to be explored. As they neared the entrance of the royal maze, Emma's eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Let's play hide and seek," she suggested, her gaze fixed on the labyrinthine hedges that awaited them.
Jill agreed with a smile, while Charlotte, ever attentive, voiced a gentle reminder.
"Not too far into the maze, princess. We wouldn't want you to get lost."
Emma grinned at the handmaiden. "Isn't that half the fun?"
As Jill began counting to two hundred, Emma and Charlotte darted into the hedge maze, its exterior framed by bushes of white roses. Their delicate, pale blooms contrasted against the vibrant greenery. Laughter echoed through the passages as the princess and her handmaiden embraced the thrill of the chase.
Emma and Charlotte split up as they headed deeper into the maze, her familiarity with its twists and turns guiding their path. The hedges rose tall and imposing, creating a sense of isolation within the labyrinth. The air was filled with the sweet scent of roses, and the distant murmur of the palace and the royal gardens faded away.
Eventually, Emma slowed her pace as she reached a clearing, one she had never ventured into before. In the heart of the maze stood a gazebo. In the sheltering shade under it stood a gold statue of a young woman dressed in regal garb, adorned with a crown.
Curiosity overcame caution as Emma approached the golden statue. The woman's face, though metallic, seemed almost lifelike in its frozen depiction of fear. Emma extended a hand and lightly touched the golden face, a gesture both curious and reverent.
As her fingers made contact, a voice echoed in Emma's mind.
"Save me."
Startled, Emma stumbled back, her eyes widening. The voice seemed to emanate from the statue itself. She glanced around, half-expecting to find the source of the mysterious plea.
"Princess Emma?" Charlotte's voice cut through the air suddenly as she entered the clearing, concern etched on her face. "Is everything all right?"
Emma, still unnerved by the unexpected encounter, hesitated before responding. "I... I'm fine. Just caught off guard. Did you say 'save me' just now?"
Charlotte frowned. "No, princess."
"Oh. Weird. Well, let's go find Jill. She must be done counting by now."
They returned to the passages of the maze, their laughter masking the lingering unease in Emma's heart. The palace maze, once a familiar and comforting playground, now held a mysterious secret that tugged at the edges of her mind.
Jill was found near the maze entrance, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she glimpsed Emma's troubled expression.
"You two do realize you're supposed to hide, yes? Have you grown tired of the game already, princess?"
The trio returned to the palace, the golden afternoon sun casting long shadows across the royal gardens. As they re-entered Ironthorn, Emma's mind remained tethered to the gazebo in the maze, and the pleading, haunting voice that had whispered for salvation.
The royal chamber buzzed with activity as Princess Emma, flanked by her handmaidens Charlotte and Jill, returned from their games in the garden. The air held the lingering scent of roses, a reminder of the royal maze they had explored. As they entered Emma's chamber, the sunlight streaming through the windows cast a warm glow.
With practiced efficiency, Charlotte and Jill set about redressing Emma in the regal attire befitting the princess of Richilde-Elsinor. The practical riding outfit was replaced with a gown of rich blue silk, adorned with intricate silver embroidery. A golden tiara embedded with rose-shaped opals adorned her equally golden locks, its delicate design accentuating Emma's regal bearing.
Once the transformation was complete, Emma stood before the mirror, her reflection a blend of elegance and youth. Her handmaidens exchanged approving glances, a silent acknowledgment of their shared understanding of the delicate balance between duty and desire.
As they left the chambers, Emma was joined by a contingent of armed guards, their presence a solemn reminder of the responsibilities that awaited her in the court. The palace corridors echoed with the soft rhythm of their footsteps as they made their way toward the throne room.
The throne room itself was a cavernous expanse, its towering vaulted ceiling adorned with massive arches and columns. To the left stood a raised gallery where lords and ladies of the court could observe the proceedings below. The atmosphere was filled with hushed conversations and the rustle of silk as courtiers prepared for the audience with Queen Snow White.
As Emma, Charlotte, and Jill ascended the gallery steps, they were met with the panoramic view of the throne room below. Queen Snow sat on her golden throne, a majestic seat that commanded the attention of all who beheld it. The back of the throne, circular and shaped like a peacock's tail feathers, sparkled with embedded sapphires. Just above the Queen's head, a small sapphire peacock perched upon the throne, beautiful and vigilant.
The nobles gathered below, adorned in vibrant hues and intricate finery, turned their attention to the gallery as the trio took their places. The royal herald's voice echoed through the chamber, announcing the arrival of Lord Hamelin, who had traveled to seek an audience with Queen Snow.
As Lord Hamelin approached, his countenance heavy with concern, he recounted a tragic tale.
"Your Majesty," he began, "all of the children in Hamelin vanished overnight. We have searched tirelessly, but they are nowhere to be found. The townsfolk only vaguely recall the distant sound of pipes playing in the night."
A murmur of shock and sympathy swept through the courtiers. Queen Snow's expression mirrored the gravity of the situation, and her gaze turned toward the royal Huntsman, a man who had served the royal family faithfully for years. He was a rugged man who never smiled, yet Emma had come to find him rather handsome in recent years.
"Journey to Hamelin," she commanded. "Find out what has happened to the children. Bring them home safely."
The Huntsman nodded, a silent pledge of loyalty, before leaving the throne room to prepare for his solemn mission.
The atmosphere in the throne room shifted, the weight of the unfolding tragedy lingering in the air. The royal herald's voice cut through the somber silence once more, announcing a messenger sent on behalf of King Thomas and Queen Rapunzel. The herald's proclamation resonated through the chamber as the courtiers stood in unison, their eyes fixed on the emissary who stepped forward.
The messenger, bearing the emblem of the distant kingdom, conveyed the message with practiced eloquence. "Their Majesties, the King and Queen of Corona, extend a gracious offer. They propose a union between the realms through the marriage of Princess Emma to their son, Prince Alexander."
The gallery fell into a stunned silence as all eyes turned toward Emma. Shock rippled through her, and her gaze sought her mother's reassuring presence on the golden throne.
Snow, the embodiment of grace under pressure, beckoned for Emma to step forward. As she descended the gallery steps and approached the throne, the eyes of the court followed her every move. The Queen's expression was that of regal composure, yet now that she was closer, Emma could see the maternal concern in her eyes.
"Princess Emma," the herald announced, "stands before the court."
"What say you to this proposal, my daughter?"
Emma, her heart pounding in her chest, took a deep breath. She knew that her response carried weight, not just for herself but for the unity of realms. With a touch of shyness, she addressed the messenger, her voice carrying through the hall.
"I appreciate the gracious offer from your King and Queen. However, before I can give an answer, I wish to meet Prince Alexander in person. I want to know the man who might become my husband."
A ripple of anticipation swept through the court as the messenger conveyed Emma's response to the distant kingdom. Snow, a smile playing on her lips, extended her hand to Emma.
"Your response is wise, princess. The court will await your decision after you have met Prince Alexander."
The night air hung heavy with a sense of restlessness as Emma lay in her bed, her mind swirling with thoughts of marriage, mysterious whispers, and the enigma of the maze. The grandeur of her bedchamber, with its lavishly adorned furnishings, seemed to close in on her as she tossed and turned, the weight of courtly expectations pressing upon her. Unable to quell the relentless dance of thoughts, Emma made a decision. The maze, with its secrets and the haunting memory of the gazebo, called to her. Determined, she retrieved a chest from under her bed, its contents revealing the attire of a handmaiden—roughspun cap, simple gown, and a basket for laundry.
Silently dressing in the handmaiden's garb, Emma concealed her golden locks beneath the cap and veiled her regal identity. With the basket of laundry in hand, she sneaked out of her bedchamber, each step calculated to avoid the vigilant gaze of the guards. A princess in disguise, she moved through the palace like a phantom, careful not to meet the eyes of those sworn to protect her.
Once out of sight, Emma discarded the basket of laundry, hurrying through the grand corridors of Ironthorn. She ventured into the royal gardens, where moonlight cast a silver glow upon the landscape. The night held an ethereal beauty, but Emma's focus remained on the maze that beckoned her.
Navigating the labyrinthine passages proved challenging under the sparse light of the moon. Emma strained to recall the path that had led her to the clearing at the maze's center. The familiar twists and turns seemed transformed in the moonlit night, a maze within a maze.
The leaves of the hedges whispered secrets to the night wind, and Emma pressed on, the urgency of her quest lending speed to her steps. As she rounded a corner, the clearing emerged before her.
To her shock, a figure in a white hooded cloak stood beneath the gazebo; a spectral presence against the moonlit backdrop. Stunned, Emma hid behind the hedge wall, peering around the corner as the figure waved a hand, causing the gold statue to slide back, revealing a hidden trapdoor in the gazebo's floor.
The hooded figure descended a staircase that materialized beneath, disappearing into the darkness below. The trapdoor swung shut, and the gold statue slid back into place, concealing the entrance once more.
An unsettling silence lingered in the maze, broken only by the rustling of leaves. Fearing discovery, Emma retreated from the maze, her breaths quickening. The moonlit gardens blurred as she sprinted back towards the palace, her heart racing with a blend of awe and trepidation. The night air felt charged with an otherworldly energy, and the walls of Ironthorn became a welcome sight.
Emma had reached the end of the royal gardens when she collided with the Huntsman. Recognition dawned in his eyes as he glimpsed her disguised form.
"Princess?" he queried, in a mingled tone of concern and surprise.
Caught off guard, Emma stammered, "I just needed some fresh air."
The Huntsman, his gaze steady, replied with a hint of skepticism,
"You have large windows and an even larger balcony for air."
As he escorted her back to her chambers, Emma turned to the Huntsman, curiosity etched on her face.
"I thought you were going to Hamelin?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Do you know about the gold statue in the center of the royal maze?"
The Huntsman nodded, a shadow of knowledge in his eyes. "I'm aware of it."
"Who is it? Some former Queen of Richilde?"
"It's the Queen's former stepmother."
"The Evil Queen?" Emma whispered, the name heavy with the weight of legends. "Why would Mother ever keep a statue of her likeness? Let alone one made of gold."
"That is a question best reserved for your mother, princess."
Outside Emma's bedchambers, the Huntsman cast a stern glance at the guards.
"Do a better job of guarding the heir to the throne," he admonished before taking his leave.
Emma, once again in her bedclothes, climbed back into bed. The handmaiden's costume lay discarded on the marble floor, a silent witness to her nocturnal escapade.