Bride to the Cursed: a Snow White retelling

Chapter 4: Madness Contained

Dane did not know what a 'phone' was, but he could guess it was as made-up as all the 'orcs' and 'hobbits' she'd told his men about. He dipped a quill into the inkpot and composed a summons to the Viscount of Melina, resisting the urge to press the nib too deeply into the parchment.

Cassandra's parents had a lot to answer for. He was sure, in her present state, she would not have been able to travel to the palace on her own, get past his guards, and climb into his bed without their assistance.

Alternatively, if she was faking it all—which appeared less and less likely as she spoke with that bright clarity in her eyes and conviction in her voice—it was most probably a scheme of theirs and therefore, again, with their aiding and abetting.

Or... Was it possible what she said was true? That she was no Cassandra Rivera, but Cassie... Nay. Impossible. It was her beauty he fell in love with ten years ago. A beauty he continued to admire even after he'd fallen out of love with her. He knew her every line, every freckle, and there was not one speck of difference in her physical appearance, from what he could see.

The more interesting question he wanted answers to was how a sick or fake Cassandra had become more appealing and more intelligent in her speech (despite the vulgarity of her language) than the woman he'd known for so many years.

In truth, he was rather sick of the 'majesty' this and 'sire' that. Before now, it'd been 'highness' all his life. As frustrating as she was, it was surprisingly refreshing to speak with someone who treated him no differently to everyone else. For a moment there, he felt himself no longer identified, or confined, by his role as prince or king. He did, however, want to see how Cassandra would respond. The Cassandra he knew would've trembled at his harsh command and apologised. But this Cassandra...

When she shuttered her eyes and reopened them next, they glowed with fire. A calm and beautiful fire that made his breath hitch—

No. Devils. That was Cassandra. His divorced wife. The woman that represented his foolishness and failure to heed his rational mind, his ability to see the truth beneath a façade of skin-deep charms. The one woman he would never, ever, ever fall for again.

"Your Majesty."

Dane looked up from the grain in the wood that his eyes had been boring into. He gave himself moments to collect his thoughts before acknowledging the steward waiting patiently on the other side of his desk.

"You're right, she's gone mad," he said, sliding the sealed missive he'd addressed to the Rivera's across the desk. "Before they respond or present themselves in court, she is to stay in her chambers at all times. Let no one speak to her unless absolutely necessary."

Rumours were bad enough. He couldn't have a mind-sick Cassandra running wild, letting more see and hear just how terribly mad she'd become. No doubt all the creative minds and busy tongues would spin tales of the brutal divorce that caused her great humiliation and bloody trauma.

What a pain in his 'pompous ass'. Now was not the time for yet another strike to his reputation, especially with the upcoming ball and his agenda of forging new and stronger alliances.

"Have Owyn check on her every day," Dane added. Get her back in full health before kicking her out of the palace, and he may yet avoid another round of rumours that would tank his reputation to the very depths of hell.

"Of course, sire. Is that all?"

"I want a daily—" No. What was he thinking? A daily report on what she was doing and saying was a bad idea. Very bad idea. He didn't need Cassandra plaguing his mind on a daily basis.

"Sire?" the steward prompted again.

Dane cleared his throat, willing his curiosity to jump off a cliff. "Bring me news as soon as Rivera responds. I don't otherwise want to see her or hear anything about her." Aye, let the healer tend to her sickness. That was all. Out of sight, out of mind.