Verena
At first, my nightmares are the normal kind.
As in, the kind where I'm chained to a bed with my neck, arms, and legs covered in fresh ointment as I stare numbly at the little wood pellet stove that never fully warms this freezing, unfinished, bloodstained basement.
But as I stare at the wood pellet stove, it rearranges before my eyes, warping into darkness framed with wood. A single fragment reflects my face, showing me the desolate tears I remember too well.
All it takes is a blink, and I'm suddenly running barefoot through the woods.
I run a lot in my dreams, but these woods are different from the ones burned into my mind. They're not the frigid, hopeless, godforsaken place where I killed for the first time.
Instead, these woods are warm. The leaves surrounding me are green and luscious. Sunlight glitters through branches overhead.
When I trip, it's not because he's tackling me. It's because of a harmless little branch.
The infectious, hearty laugh of a man tumbles through the forest air as I roll over, and I realize I'm not alone in this dream. Someone big and strong has joined me on the floor of the forest, picking leaves from my hair and murmuring low.
Whatever he's saying, I don't catch it.
I also can't make out my own response—but my subconscious goes from zero to sixty, and I'm suddenly straddling this man's hips. I grind against the bulge in his pants as my teeth plunge into his neck.
His moan is almost familiar, his hands banding around my waist—
And then it hits me.
This is Wulf.
I'm dreaming about feeding on him again, but it's quickly becoming a nightmare. Red heat gushes into my mouth, dripping from my chin. It drips down his neck until my tongue laps it away, my sticky fingers twisting in his hair.
His big, rough hands gently pull my face back to the bite I left so the frenzied feeding can continue.
But the gore smothering my face makes my gut twist with horror and nausea.
No. Stop. I don't want to be a monster. No, no, no—
"Verena."
I startle awake from the real Huntsman gingerly shaking my shoulder.
I'm in the queen's luxurious bed. The sheets are tangled around me and the thin nightgown I'm wearing. It's dim in here except for a bright sliver of morning light peeping through the curtains.
I peer up at Wulf. He sits at the edge of the bed, a frown etched into his handsome face.
One of his hands ghosts toward the tears drying on my cheek before pulling back as he seems to decide against it.
My voice is raspy from waking up. "This wake-up call had better come with a cup of joe."
His eyes narrow. "Who is Joe?"
"No, no. Coffee. Bean juice. Rocket fuel." I yawn, sitting upright. "If you're going to wake me up against my will, at least bring me something good to drink."
Wulf doesn't say a word, but his pale gaze drops to the bandage on his thick arm.
That little feed-and-grind episode from my dream suddenly feels way too fresh, so I subtly scoot further away from the tempting man.
He clocks the movement and immediately stands, striding toward the door.
"I'll bring you a drink."
The doors shut quietly behind him.
"You were crying in your sleep again," Eris grumbles from the big mirror. "I told him to come in and wake you from whatever it is that you don't talk about anymore."
"In the future, could you just ignore whatever sounds I make and let me rest? You don't get a face like this—" I motion vaguely at myself as I yawn again, "—without a lot of good old-fashioned beauty sleep. I'm not a morning person."
The model in my mirror is amused. "Clearly. But aren't you eager to meet the tavern maids you hired? They left Isenhold by carriage earlier and should arrive at the castle soon."
Just like that, I'm awake. I part the sheer dark blue drapes at the end of the bed to grin at Eris.
"Have I mentioned how useful it is that you can bounce around reflections and tell me things? I love being pals with a mirror ghost."
His smile dies. Dozens of pastel colors shimmer in his silvery hair as he looks away.
"You and I are not pals, Verena."
"Right, right. Because you have that oh-so-mysterious ulterior motive, which I'm pretty sure has something to do with you getting out of the mirror realm," I nod sagely before I get up to wash my face.
Several minutes later, just as I've finished changing into another bland dress in what Eris calls the garderobe, Wulf returns with a huge, steaming mug of mulled wine.
I'm about to remind him how tasteless that is for me and suggest he drink it himself when the aroma slams into the back of my throat.
The scent of warm spiced mulled wine is overpowered by mint and blackberries.
Thirst burns its way into my gut so fast that I get lightheaded. I grip one of the four posts of the huge bed, my gaze dropping to Wulf's freshly rebandaged arm.
A slight red stain is already seeping through.
I want to say thanks, but no fucking thanks—but an embarrassing whimper sneaks out instead. My stomach clenches, angry at how empty it is.
The Huntsman places the warm mug in my hands.
"Drink."
As if I could do anything but that, with this smell wrapping around me.
When the mulled wine touches my tongue, I could fucking cry, it tastes so good. It soothes the burn in my throat as I guzzle the drink, and soon I'm left staring into the empty mug.
Damn it.
That helped, but I want more. I want that tart, cold flavor all by itself, like yesterday.
When I look at Wulf's arm again with too much longing, he begins unwrapping it.
"No. I'm not going to feed from you. Just…another mug, please?" I hold it up, sheepish.
He hesitates. Eris doesn't.
"Just drink from him," the mirror insists. "You'll fall ill soon if you keep resisting."
"I drank from him yesterday. I'll be fine."
"Crones, you are so fucking stubborn," he huffs.
"Oh, my sweet summer child, you haven't seen stubborn yet."
Wulf brings another cup of what I've decided to call Kool-Aid. I thank him, down it, and throw on a veil with my crown. Then I try not to look at his arm a single time as we leave the queen's chambers.
Directed by Eris, who tags along through stained glass windows, we make our way to the lower courtyard again.
The timing couldn't be more perfect. I get to the bottom of the steps just in time to see Merrick hugging his niece and chatting happily with Ingrid. Their bags of belongings sit on the ground near them.
Ingrid looks around the castle with wide, awed eyes. Meanwhile, Anika's discerning perusal quickly finds me.
She bows, elbowing Ingrid so she does the same. Others passing through the courtyard stop and bow or greet me in shaky voices as I pass them on my way to the newcomers.
"Welcome to Isenmere Castle," I say brightly. "You two have no idea how glad I am to have more women around. I swear, you can probably smell the testosterone wafting off of this place from a mile away."
Anika straightens, arching an inquisitive brow. Now that I know her background, I can't help but wonder if the rest of her noble family in Aurefeld is as stunningly gorgeous as she and Merrick are.
"Testosterone?" she asks.
"I just mean there are way too many dicks, not nearly enough chicks," I clarify.
Ingrid lets out a surprised snort. Then she claps her hand over her mouth like she's afraid she's just insulted the evil queen.
"I see you're putting in no effort to keep up appearances as Reinhilde," Eris mutters from some unseen reflective surface. "Just beware that no one becomes suspicious of you being someone else altogether, or it could become a problem that—"
"That probably has something to do with women being banned from working here," Anika says meaningfully, unaware that she's interrupting my Adonis. She eyes the veil like she's trying to gauge what I look like under it.
"Right, that bullshit." I glance at Merrick. "How soon do you think we can fix that?"
"I'll send someone straightaway to spread the word that we're hiring. I'm sure we'll have half the women in Isenhold here to speak with me about a position by noon. A good thing, too, since that numbskull was keeping this glorious place understaffed," Merrick sniffs.
"You're the best," I beam at him before turning back to the gals.
Ingrid and Anika are clearly not sure how to respond to the queen being so different from her reputation—but then I see Anika's dark eyes lock onto my hand as I adjust my veil.
Too late, I remember that's the fist I bruised punching one of the assholes in the alley.
Shit.
Eris is right. I'm not doing a great job of convincing anyone I'm the evil queen.
I see it the instant Anika makes the connection. Her head rears back a little, and she opens her mouth like she's about to say something.
Yet she pauses. "Your Majesty. My uncle said that for the time being, we'll act as ladies' maids for the princess. I was going to ask why you chose us…"
But now I know.
Those are the words she doesn't say out loud.
They're still clear from the way she relaxes, giving me the tiniest nod to tell me she gets it: I chose them because I've already met them.
"N-not that we're questioning your judgment!
This is such an honor," Ingrid tacks on quickly, missing what's happening between the lines.
The young woman shuffles anxiously. "My parents said that for years, the only woman in the castle has been Your Majesty—and of course, the princess is here, but they say she's only a bit younger than me and no one's seen her in years since she's kept in her room, so people aren't sure what she even looks like and—"
"Perhaps you would like some tea to calm your nervous chatter," Merrick suggests, amused but stern. "This is the queen of Isenmere, not some gossipmonger in town."
Ingrid bows again. "Right, of course. Sorry, Your Majesty."
"Don't be," I laugh. "Actually, speaking of Princess Snow White, I would love it if you both met her today, after getting settled in. I'm sure Snow will be over the moon to greet you."
After all, I want her to have some solid allies for when I leave.
"I'd be honored to meet the princess," Anika agrees, looking over the courtyard again.
"Me too!" Ingrid chirps.
"Where is Snow White right now, anyway?" I ask Merrick. "I figured she would be out here first thing in the morning."
"She was. It seems she learned of the northerner boy locked in a guest room and has been speaking to him through the door all morning. If you dislike them interacting, I can separate them."
"Please don't," I say quickly. "The more friends for Snow, the better. What's the kid's name?"
"Hagen."
Wulf's low voice startles Ingrid. She steps halfway behind Anika as, for the first time, she seems to really notice the Huntsman towering behind me. Still, I notice her subtly checking out the big, rugged man.
I get it. Like I said, the guy is pure eye candy.
"Hagen," I repeat. "I'm sure he's going through a really hard time. If it seems like he's getting along with the princess and he doesn't pose any kind of danger to her—"
"He would never harm an innocent girl," Wulf cuts in, adamant.
"If he did, even by accident, I suspect Snow White would wind up with a magically pledged companion of her own," Eris says from a shiny button on Merrick's clothes. "Northerners' beliefs are quite strict in that regard."
"It's settled, then." I smile at Merrick. "Could you let Hagen out and have him dine with Snow White, Anika, and Ingrid for lunch? And if you guys could maybe talk to the kid to see how he's coping, that would be great."
I was planning to join them to meet Snow White, but it's better to keep my distance if Hagen will be there. That kid will probably be uncomfortable as hell around me—but I bet he won't mind sharing a meal with three gorgeous ladies.
"Of course," Ingrid nods eagerly. Then she tilts her head. "If I may say so, Your Majesty… you're nothing at all as the rumors describe."
"Rumors!" Merrick scoffs. "Let's not speak to our queen about the spinnings of idle tongues. They'll soon see how lucky they are to have Queen Ver—ah, Reinhilde at the helm of this fair kingdom."
So this is what it feels like to have someone in my corner.
I stick around while Merrick tells Anika and Ingrid where to get settled in and where to go for lunch with Snow White. Once they leave the courtyard, he tells me that all the papers, charcoal, measuring tapes, and other things I requested are about to be delivered to my chambers.
Then he takes a deep breath of fresh, crisp spring air, declares that this castle makes him feel young again, and strolls off while servants frantically run around trying to get this place up to his standards.
I'm still grinning when I turn and catch the way Wulf is watching me. His expression is surprisingly…tender.
"Thank you," he murmurs.
"For what?"
"Treating one of my kin with such kindness when I treated you with such cruelty."
Oh, that.
I ascend the stairs again, already eager to start sketching dresses for Anika, Ingrid, and Snow White. Wulf follows, Eris haunting us through passing reflections as usual.
"It's not a big deal. I just feel bad for Hagen. He has every right to be pissed at the queen forever, but if there's something I can do to make his life easier before I go, I want to do it."
The Huntsman is quiet for a while. We've already reached the queen's chambers and I'm slipping off the crown and veil when he speaks again.
"Hagen wishes to become a knight."
"Really? That's great. He should go for it."
"Northerners are not permitted to train for knighthood in other kingdoms."
I tip my head. "Why are northerners treated so badly, anyway?"
"They are viewed by most as wild, untamed barbarians," Eris explains from the mirror.
"They keep to themselves, living in clans and passing down their own ancient beliefs in Eldrunia.
They have no singular monarch and little interest in trade with other kingdoms. They also have no patron faerie, having rejected theirs long ago.
Many believe all northerners to be cursed because of that, and think their bad luck is contagious. "
"Anyone who thinks that has shit between their ears," Wulf mutters, folding his arms.
So just another case of classic xenophobia. Got it.
"Next time I talk to Merrick, I'll tell him that I'm on board with Hagen becoming a knight. That man has this castle's balls in a vice grip already, so I'm sure he can get things rolling for Hagen, regardless of people being superstitious about northerners," I shrug.
A knock sounds at the door. Before I can move toward it, Wulf answers.
I notice that he keeps the door barely open so they won't see my unveiled face as he accepts an armful of loose papers, charcoal pencils, quills, ink, swatches of fabrics, and more.
Using his boot to shut the door, the Huntsman sets everything down on the empty writing desk in the corner. He studies it before glancing at me.
"You will use these and your particular set of skills to win over the nobles?"
Approaching the desk, I crack my knuckles, flutter my fingers, and grin.
"Yes. Yes, I will."