The Fabled

One

"It answered: You, my queen, are fair; it is true. But Snow-White is a thousand times fairer than you." -Brothers Grimm, 1812.

I fidget in my dress, peering into the ballroom where our guests have lined up before my mother's throne. The foreigners are much more tan, dressed in ludicrous amounts of either fur or faux capes dyed in all types of colors. They plant a kiss on each of her four pretentious rings before she grazes their foreheads with her sharp, cool lips. Immediately after, the guest strips off their sweaters and scarves to join the other diplomats.

The Ice Queen: a heart as cold as our kingdom's frozen landscape. Her first kiss is known to take away the cold. Temporarily, of course. The second makes you forget, and the third is like frostbitten poison. I've seen my mother use her gifts for multiple occasions, but not always as kindly as tonight.

Finally, she finishes. The queen takes her leave, disappearing with her handmaid into the drapes behind an icy throne. Mother isn't known to be a hospitable host, and she almost always disappears up until the dinner.

I take this as my chance to slip through the grand doors, weaving between the crowd with an occasional apology when I push by. My dress, though plain, has a bloated skirt that seems to enjoy shoving the visitors this way and that.

I indulge myself with the puff pastries and citrus drinks quickly but quietly. It deems difficult to stay unnoticed, since the ballroom has only allowed itself to speak in a loud murmur. The tension is suffocating, but I'm not here to see if my mother's guests are feeling welcomed.

" . . . why does she still have a standing army?" I hear one of the ambassadors huff.

"And all those unnecessary executions," another tsks. I continue to stuff my mouth, listening. "I don't know why she's still on that throne with a shard in her-"

"Enchantress?"

I gag at the sound, but reluctantly turn to face the foreigners with a polite but stiff smile. A pair of diplomats, one a man and the other a tall, slim woman, gasp at the sight of me. With their bright and extravagant attire, they stick out like the rest of the ambassadors in contrast to our own court's blue fabrics.

How ridiculous they look.

"My, you've grown," the woman says, beaming. "When was the last time we saw you? A decade ago during the Alliance?"

I gulp down a bite of cake, feeling the room's attention shift towards me and my despicable dress. "I'm afraid I don't recall meeting you, miss."

"Enchantress!" Another ambassador joins us, short and stubby. His skin is lighter than the others, but still sunkissed like the majority of the Flora Court. He bows, but I don't return the courtesy. "I hear you are known by your subjects as Snow White. What a lovely title for a lovely young lady."

I start backing towards the exit, where I had done the mistake of joining this gathering in the first place. Maybe if I'm lucky, my encounters will be insignificant enough to be brushed off by the guests. Maybe, Mother would not hear of my presence at all-

"You're almost eighteen, aren't you?" the woman asks. She sips her bubbly champagne before smiling, teeth achingly white. "How many suitors do you have lining up for your hand? Do tell me it'll be a summer wedding."

I flinch at her words, but my eyes are no longer on her powdered, homely face. Instead, I watch in horror as one of my mother's maids runs toward the embroidered curtains.

"It is snowy, dark and cold year-round here at the Glass Crest," I tell the woman through gritted teeth. "Seasons don't matter."

I take my leave before she can reply, crashing through the ballroom until I reach the corridor. The party has erupted in a sophisticated purr of amusement, but I don't care to stop and calm them down.