Verena
I'm about to meet the Snow White.
My excitement is tempered a little by the fact that I'll be meeting the princess as her evil, murderous stepmother.
I'll get it if Snow White hates the queen so much that she wants nothing to do with me—but maybe if we make small talk, she'll feel more comfortable being back in the castle.
I just wish I knew what, if anything, Wulf said to her about me while bringing her back.
Does she think I'm the same bitch? Did he tell her everything would be fine and that she should just trust him? I really wish that man gave me some details before scaring the living hell out of me last night and disappearing this morning.
Not that I mind his Houdini act. A terrifying, hot bodyguard is great in theory—but after the blind terror of getting tackled by someone in my room last night brought back some memories…
Yeah, I'm kind of hoping Wulf stays out of sight for a little while.
Adjusting the crown atop my veil, I glance around at the northern solar. This is where the guards brought me first thing in the morning when I told them I wanted to see the princess in private.
It's something between a family room and a sunroom.
It sits high in its own tower with a big stone fireplace, its tall windows overlooking Isenhold in the distance.
Woven tapestries and ornate mirrors hang on the walls.
Most of the room is taken up by a big wooden table surrounded by surprisingly comfy cushioned chairs.
It seems like the perfect place to lounge during a rainstorm, reading by a crackling fire.
If only I knew how to fucking read in this world.
About to bring up my reading lessons with Eris, I glance at the closest mirror. Then I sigh.
He was here a minute ago, but it seems he's pulling a Wulf on me now.
Someone knocks on the door so quietly that at first I'm not sure if I just imagined it.
When nothing else happens for a long second, I prompt, "Hello? Someone out there? It's unlocked."
Ever so slowly, the door creaks open until a girl peeks into the room.
Holy crap. It's Snow White.
Her face is still half-hidden by the door like she's using it as a shield—but abruptly, I recall the exact description of this princess from the old book of Grimm fairy tales that I read obsessively as a little girl.
White as snow, lips red as blood, hair as black as ebony wood.
That description was spot-on.
This teen is the palest person I've ever seen, her long black hair in a tangled braid over one shoulder.
It looks like she was just eating a bunch of cherries that stained her lips, but I'm guessing they're always this color.
Her face is round, her features soft as she peers into the room with downturned blue eyes.
Her body language screams self-conscious wariness.
"Wanna come in and take a seat? I promise I won't bite," I reassure her.
Snow White looks surprised that I've spoken to her at all. She slips into the room, shutting the door, but she doesn't take a seat yet.
Instead, she stands by the wall and chews her lower lip, keeping her eyes cast down.
Aww, my heart.
As completely gorgeous as this titular princess is, it's so obvious that she's just a girl. Just an awkward teen like any other—only this one is terrified of the jealous, cruel, bloodthirsty stepmother who tried to kill her.
Snow White still hasn't said anything, but something about her pulls fiercely on my heartstrings.
Some maternal streak I've never noticed before.
Maybe it's because I remember being her age, but I want to wrap her up in a cozy blanket and force her to say affirmations to herself in the mirror until she stops looking like she wants the ground to swallow her whole.
I need something significant to break the ice between us and shatter Snow White's obvious fear of the real queen.
You know what?
Fuck it. I'd rather she never associate me with that bitch at all.
Sliding off the crown and veil, I grin across the room at Snow White.
"Welcome home. You've been through a lot. To take your mind off things, want to hear a wild but very true story?"
I can't tell if Snow White is more shell-shocked to see the queen without her veil or confused to see me smiling at her.
Her eyes are wide, but after a moment, she nods again.
"Once upon a time, four days ago, I woke up in the body of your evil stepmother," I begin.
For the next ten minutes, I give her a highly sanitized version of my experiences in this world so far.
Instead of murdering the Favored in the cemetery with my weird-ass blood before going full vampire, I tell her I just slipped away.
I tell her about running to stop the execution and feeling so awful for the boy who survived.
I don't mention Eris, the queen's agonizing need for blood, her magic, Wulf abducting me, the excruciating pain the Faerie of Wrath put me through—none of that. I just say that the Huntsman also knows I'm not the real queen.
By the time I explain firing Schultz, searching for a new chamberlain, and punching some jerk in the face for harassing a dagger-wielding tavern maid and her friend, Snow White is sitting across from me at the table. She's so absorbed in my animated storytelling that I may as well be a TV.
"…and they're supposed to get here this afternoon," I wrap up. "The new chamberlain is, at least. I would love it if Anika and Ingrid accept the invitation to work in the castle, but who knows? After all, they have no idea who I am, and Rhinestone was such a bitch to everyone."
"But they must come!" Snow White blurts. "And surely you must reveal that you were the one who helped them, disguised in that cloak! They should know the truth, that you're not my stepmother and—"
She abruptly goes quiet, like it's really sinking in now. Her blue gaze darts all over my face for a long moment.
"You're…really not my stepmother," she repeats.
"Nope," I say, popping the p. I smile brightly at her, relieved that she no longer looks like the palest puppy that ever waited to be kicked.
"My real name is Verena. I have absolutely no idea why I was dragged out of my world to replace your stepmother in this one, but it's very nice to meet you, Snow White. "
Tears fill her eyes.
"Oh, no," she whispers, distressed enough to cover her face.
Shit. Did I misread things? Is she actually sad that bloodguzzling, maneating bitch is gone?
"Snow? What's wrong?" I check, standing and fussing over her with no clue how to help.
The princess sniffles, wringing her hands as she stands. She's on the petite side, so she has to look up a bit to meet my eye again.
"Verena, I…I am so sorry. You being here—I think it's all my fault," she admits in a tearful whisper. "I did something terribly evil."
As someone who has now killed in self-defense on multiple occasions, I seriously doubt that this fairytale princess and I have the same ballpark for what terribly evil means.
"What did you do?" I ask anyway.
"I was angry at my stepmother for keeping me locked in my rooms for so long, so I prayed to the Thirteen Faeries.
I pleaded for them to send me a real mother or a kind, beautiful magic godmother who would make my life better.
" She sniffles again, wiping away tears.
"It is clear they sent you to me, but they stole you from your world to do it, which means it's all my fault and—"
"Whoa, hey. Shh, it's okay," I assure Snow White, wrapping her in a hug.
She tenses at first, like she's not at all used to being embraced. Then she hugs me back tightly.
After a second, I release her and use the sleeve of my plain dress to dab away her tears.
"Listen, kiddo. I really don't think this is your fault."
"But I prayed to the Thirteen, and now you're here. They must have listened."
Do magical, powerful faerie beings actually exist in this world? Obviously, the answer is yes, because I met one.
But it's exactly because I've met one that I have serious doubts that this girl's prayer is the reason I woke up here, with a shattered soul and no idea how to escape the evil queen's bleak fairytale fate.
"The thing is, I left out a tiny detail in my story. I've already met one of the faeries."
The princess blinks away the last of her tears, awestruck. "You did? Which one?"
"Um…it sounded kind of like the name of the hot dragon lady in Sleeping Beauty. Moriarty? No, Methuselah. I don't know—something with an M."
Snow White lowers her voice to a whisper.
"You mean Wrath? No one says his true name aloud. They say the Thirteenth Faerie is always listening for it far more closely than the other faeries do with their names."
"Yeah, that turd. Whatever his name is, he had no idea who I was at first. Wouldn't he know about me if I was the faeries' answer to your prayer?" I point out.
She doesn't seem entirely convinced, but I'm distracted when Eris appears in the nearest mirror.
His opalescent gaze takes in the way I'm standing here, comforting the princess without my veil on, and he quickly draws the right conclusion.
"The girl is harmless enough, but what if she tells someone else the truth of your identity?" he worries aloud. "Reinhilde has any number of enemies far less noble than the Huntsman who won't care whether you're truly her or not, so long as the queen of Isenmere dies by their hand."
I look back at Snow White. "It's not your fault I'm here, but in the interest of me surviving long enough to find a way back to my world, can we keep all of this between us?"
"Of course," the princess says with resolve. Then she rubs her arm sheepishly. "Truthfully, I cannot think of anyone to tell, even if I wished to—which I don't. I so rarely am allowed out of my room, I could only tell all of this to my books."
As a fellow shut-in who has talked to books before, I get that feeling more than she'll ever know.
"You might have to act scared of me around others to sell it," I caution.
The princess nods, fidgeting again. "I can do that. But until you find a way home, will you act like…my stepmother?"