Part Two
Once upon a time, there was a cottage, and on its doorstep grew lavender. Ivy fronded the windows.
Rabbits lived in a small hutch in the garden that wrapped around the cottage like a moat.
The rabbits were fawn-colored, enormous and utterly spoiled.
Predators had the good sense not to hunt them.
There was a witch in the house, after all.
A kind but steely man, who knew the magic of blood, and could look at you and know your every secret.
(It wasn’t actually the witch they feared. But we need not discuss the other gentleman in the house.)
One moonlit night, a stranger approached the house. This was not unusual. Often hooded figures arrived at night, bartering secrets and knowledge for magic or coin. And sometimes, for favors of a bloodier kind.
But this time the stranger carried a gift.
A cat sat on the rabbit hutch, watching narrowly as the stranger approached and rapped on the door, three hard strikes of the knocker. The door opened. The man who met the figure at the door was tall, broad, and pale as winter—hair like ice, and eyes like a storm.
Coin changed hands, and then the gift, wrapped in a blanket against the cold, was placed in his arms. The stranger hurried from the garden as the cat lazily watched them go.
The cat, pleased nothing was amiss, went back to sleep.
In the pale man’s arms, the blanket began to struggle fretfully. A little cry escaped the infant within it.
There was a noise from in the house. The witch emerged—sleep-rumpled, hope in his eyes.
“Is it her?” he asked. “Have we finally found her?”
“It’s not her,” said the pale-eyed man, his eyes luminous under the light of a vast silver moon. “It’s the knight.”
And yet his hands on her were tender. He touched her forehead, and her button nose. He gently tucked the blanket closer around her to ward off the cold.
“Hello, Vina,” whispered the brown-skinned man leaning down to look at her. There were tears in his eyes. “Welcome back.”