A Fair Account of the Traitors Snow White and Rose Red

The Price of Fairest

There's only one reason the elves would waste time tunneling directly under the dais; obviously Snow asked them to rescue me. The tiny elf girl approaches the pole to which I am bound fast by morning glory vines.

"Thank you, Tria," I say with all the dignity I can muster. My mistake.

"Save yourself, Princess," she says with a scowl that barely fits her face. "I'm busy."

The veins near their eyes glow with a fresh burst of green verdai as the three elves link hands and stride past me. The invading nightshade vines writhe over their bodies into knotted wooden suits of armor. Of course; they're not here to free me at all, they're here for Jack. My cheeks burn as my tiara tilts several inches down the left side of my head. Now I just feel foolish.

Neither Jack nor his handler seem the least bit perturbed by the trio's advance.

"Happy hunting," Faylen says as he tosses Jack a small leather pouch. "You may find these sicklethorn relics of your clan useful as long as you remember to leave your playmates alive. But take your friends elsewhere—I don't want your tussle spoiling my sport with the bear."

Blast that smug Sarevali wretch! He's using Jack to toy with dark verdai on Albemarian soil.

"As you wish." Jack nods once before jumping off the side of the dais. I lose him as he vaults over a hedge into the garden mazes of High Court.

The three elves spring after him in a rustling, snapping mass of nightshade and abandon me on the broken dais between two living gold statues. Snow's ice orb casts prisms across the Orune's aurous fur and the gleaming armor of my foul prince as Faylen and Micah appraise each other with a silent intensity born of bloodlust. I squint through the harsh glitter of competing lights as Micah charges towards me, but Faylen bars his way with the curve of his blade.

"Hello, magnificent!" he murmurs with a sickening reverence. "I can't wait to hang your pelt over my throne."

Micah doesn't seem impressed by Faylen's taunt. He snorts and slams his paw onto the fractured planks of the oak dais. The floor collapses inwards, the center pole cracking in half and shredding my morning glory bindings to pieces. My wayward tiara flies free as I tumble down the stairs in a heap of torn skirts and scattering pearls, half smothered by my own weight in petticoats. Faylen lets me fall right past him. He laughs as if delirious from a draught of strong wine, his blade dancing faster than a hummingbird's wing as he slashes at the Orune. The two blur together in a deadly haze of gold almost too fast to follow.

I've barely yanked the last morning glory vine from my legs when the revolving orb explodes overhead. Shards of ice rain down in a tinkling hail as Snow and Astra drop to the center of the square barely thirteen feet away.

"Do you know why I wore your face when I killed your father?" Astra asks my sister as she calmly dusts the frost crystals off the diamond disc still gleaming at her neck. "It was because he loved you most."

"Witch," Snow whispers. "I'll freeze the blood in your veins for a hundred years!"

"You mustn't kill her!" I shout, but my warning is cut off as the ground rumbles as a shockwave of frost spreads outwards from my sister's palms.

Astra counters this wintry assault with a violet burst of gloriphagy. The combined gale of their Grand Banes slams me backwards into the embrace of a hydrangea bush. My turn.

Sitting up groggily, I tear at the myriad phantom moth ribbons lacing my ruined bridal gown. Maybe if I can reignite my gloriphagy, even its feeble spark might tip the scales in their duel. But my head spins as frost laces every leaf and climbs over my skin. I watch my nails tinge a lovely shade of blue that almost matches the petals of the bush. Snow and Astra are out of control; both of them have forgotten that I even exist . . . .