3. Verena
Verena
The sight in front of me is a grim one.
Three men in helmets and matching light grey livery—royal guards, I take it—are stationed around the edges of the platform. Another guard stands next to a pile of four headless bodies.
A horrible pull from the pit of my stomach tries to draw my attention to the ruby blood pooled around them, but I ignore it.
In the middle of the platform kneels a thin, light-haired teenage boy, his hands tied behind his back. His head is bowed over a thick wooden block dripping with more red. The air here is sharp with citrus, as if someone has been juicing fresh oranges.
Ew, ew, ew. Stop with the juice comparisons, I beg the queen's fucked-up brain.
Beside the kid stands a massive figure dressed all in black except for small cutouts over his hooded eyes. A fifth and final guard is trying to grab the handle of a huge double-edged axe from his gloved hands.
When the executioner sees me, he immediately drops to one knee, inclining his head.
"Your Majesty."
There's a note of wary confusion in his voice, like he's not sure why I'm here.
Everyone else heard how he addressed me. All five guards gawk for a moment at my never-before-seen face before they also drop into deep bows.
From this angle, the murmuring crowd can't see anything but the blanket-hooded back of my head. They still break into gasps of disbelief as they realize the bloody, muddied waif who was besmirching their flawless group aesthetic is actually their bitchy evil queen.
As the thirteenth death knell fades, I catch fragments of their whispers.
"All that blood…was the last time the queen left the castle?"
"…what I've heard, she spends all her time in bed with her Favored."
"…always treated the poor princess so cruelly…ask me, she deserves no better than those northern dogs..."
"Can you see her face? My aunt on the Privy Council says she's the most exquisite beauty, but…"
Ignoring all the whispering and shock, I take a measured step closer to the chopping block, still resisting the urge to look at the blood.
"Hey, bud. You okay? You should get up," I gently suggest to the poor kid who almost lost his head.
He looks up. My heart pinches at the tears on his face. He has blond eyebrows and pale eyelashes framing blue eyes that quickly darken with accusation and pure hatred.
"He…" His whisper breaks, and he swallows. His voice still quivers, but his glare is only getting stronger. "He'll kill you for this. He'll hunt you like any other monster."
"How dare you address Her Majesty, you filthy dog!" booms the guard who was trying to execute the boy himself. He doesn't look up from his deep bow. "I beg your grace, my queen. Since you have blessed us with your presence, we shall set up a seat for you to comfortably watch the final execution—"
"Fuck that. You're not going to harm a single hair on this kid's head."
He flinches under my icy warning, falling silent.
That stirs up a lot more murmuring behind me. I ignore it as I reach toward the boy—but I yank my hand back when I realize it's the injured one.
Carefully, I help him get to his feet with the hand that isn't covered in my dried blood, just in case.
"Don't touch me," he snaps, recoiling so hard he nearly stumbles. "You fucking murderess!"
The guard shouts at him again for being disrespectful, but the boy's tears start anew when his gaze falls to the beheaded remains of…his family.
Oh, god. His family is dead.
Because I didn't stop it in time.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't…" My whisper fizzles out.
I didn't give that order, the Bitch Queen did. I'm not her. I'm not even supposed to be here.
But no amount of explanation on my part will make things up to him. I'm standing in the place and body of the evil, blood-guzzling woman who orchestrated this, so all I can do is turn to the executioner.
"We're done here."
He dips his hooded head lower, which I hope is a confirmation.
"What about this boy? Does he have somewhere to go?" I ask.
The northerner boy is still quietly weeping. I'm pretty sure he'd rather jump off a cliff than interact with the evil queen again.
"His family's home burnt down a fortnight ago when they were arrested," the executioner replies. "After that, they were held in Isenmere Castle's dungeon, awaiting this day."
Damn. This poor kid has been through it, and now he has no home.
There's still a loud murmuring crowd behind me who apparently hasn't gotten the clue that the show's over. Behind the executioner's platform, I notice a large, sleek black carriage waiting beside another horse-drawn wagon like the one I woke up in earlier.
That must be for carrying the bodies away.
Namely, the bodies I'm still trying my hardest not to look at. I wasn't kidding about being squeamish, but the intensifying urge to get closer to that blood is actual torture.
"You're headed back to the castle in that?" I check with the executioner, pointing at the carriage.
"Yes. Ordinarily, I ride back at once to report to you or the council."
"Great. I'll hop in with you, and we'll bring the boy. There has to be a spare room somewhere in the castle where he can stay, right?"
One of the other guards makes a choked sound, his head still bowed deeply. "A northerner, invited into Isenmere Castle? My most beautiful queen, has your sanity deserted you?"
"Wanna ask that again to my face?" I challenge, snippy because I just want to get the hell out of here and away from all these eyes.
Now that this kid's life isn't on the line, Merrick's warning from earlier about it not being safe for me outside the castle is sinking in hard. I've already spent way too much time not feeling safe before waking up in this bizarre place.
Between all the adrenaline of fighting off three murderers, realizing I'm in a different world, stopping an execution, and now all these eyes on me…
I'm tired, cold, and incredibly fucking thirsty. All I want is to get out of this nasty dress and into a hot bath—and then hopefully there's a bed that I can fling myself dramatically onto so I can cry my eyes out.
Even though the guards are miffed about my orders, they get to work dragging the corpses—don't look, don't look—toward the wagon. I follow the executioner across the platform toward the black carriage. He opens the door and helps me into it without a word.
I've never been inside a carriage before. I pull the dirty, thin blanket off my head and bundle it around me, studying the velvet seats and the stained glass window on the ceiling that lets multicolored light into this black box.
At least it's away from all the whispering townsfolk.
One of the guards practically shoves the northerner boy in next. The poor kid looks like he wants to kill me, but he shrinks in on himself when the foreboding, dark-clad executioner sits beside him, across from me.
The executioner knocks loudly on the side of the carriage. I feel us start to move, but I can't see which direction we're going. For a long time, no one says anything.
Normally, I'm all for chatting on road trips to avoid falling into a void of awkward silence. I'm actually really good at casual small talk. But a lot of surreal shit just happened, so I'm kind of just staring numbly at the black wall of the carriage when the executioner finally breaks the quiet.
"Your Majesty."
"Hmm?" I manage. I almost rub the exhaustion from my eyes, but there's still dried blood all over my hands.
"It is odd to see you so…grossly unkempt."
"Take me now, sailor."
"What?"
"Just a bit of sarcasm. I know I look like shit, but you try waking up from an assassination sometime, and we'll see how kempt you still look."
If he's surprised to hear that someone tried to kill the queen, the executioner isn't bothered by it. He just nods like his curiosity is satisfied. Neither he nor the miserable-looking boy says anything else.
Until the carriage rolls to a stop and waits for a long moment.
"We've reached your private entry to Isemere Castle, Your Majesty," the executioner prompts, like he finds it strange that I haven't moved.
He wipes the still-drying blood on his gloves onto his black pants. The blond teenager sees that and tears up all over again, even though he's trying to keep a stiff upper lip.
If I wasn't the blood-covered evil queen who just did this to him, I'd give him the biggest hug ever.
"Will the boy be okay?" I check.
"Don't act so fucking concerned now, after all you've done to me and mine," the kid spits vitriol.
"I will ensure he is kept under close watch in the lower guest quarters until Your Majesty decides what to do with him," the executioner confirms.
"Make sure he gets food, too. And a clean change of clothes. If I find out he's being treated like shit, it won't end well for anyone involved, got it?”
I'm sure I don't sound as scary as the real queen must be, but seriously—I will raise hell if this sixteen-year-old suffers any more. I couldn't save his family in time, but I can look out for him now.
At least, until I figure out a way back to my world.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the executioner intones.
One of the guards opens the door from the outside for me. He offers a hand to help me down. I still have no idea if my dried blood will fuck someone up the way it did the Three Stooges, so I keep my hands to myself as I get out.
The sun has set behind the clouds, the rest of the world growing dim. The carriage is parked by a massive grey stone wall with a single door on the side, embellished with a pane of stained glass depicting an apple tree. It looks like we're at the base of the castle.
When I glance at the guard, he's carefully averting his gaze from my face.
"Do I just…walk through that door?"
"I believe so, my queen." He sounds nervous and strikes me as being a much newer guard than the others I met earlier.
"May I ask…is it truly enchanted, as the rumors say?
I've heard that only you can step through that door into the secret passage.
They say it connects to your private chambers and… other places that no one knows."
Well, then. That's ominous.
Unless the other places are a bathroom with plumbing and hot water, which I would do just about anything for at this point.
"I guess I'll find out," I mutter, once again resisting the urge to rub my tired face.
Thanking the guard, I twist the handle and step through the door. It doesn't feel magical, but what do I know?
Soon, I'm walking through a chilly, vaulted stone passage lit by flickering sconces. It smells strangely sweet in here—almost floral.
After a few minutes, I pass a tall, green-painted wooden door to my right.
Then a blue door.
Then a red one.
I don't open any of them, because I have no desire to do a one-woman reenactment of The Other Side of the Door. As much as I like clichéd horror movies in my world, I'm way too shell-shocked right now to blindly explore a creepy underground tunnel in another dimension.
Call it survival instincts or being a wimp. It's all the same to me.
At the end of the passage, it becomes a spiraling stone staircase. The flickering shadows from more sconces and the utter silence are starting to give me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies as I ascend the stairs.
Finally, I reach another door.
At least, it looks like a door. Once I open it and step through, I realize the other side of it is a massive mirror. When I press on the beautiful rectangular frame surrounding it, the mirror clicks shut to perfectly conceal the entry to the secret passage.
"Aha. You must be the magic mirror to my evil queen," I tell the glass.
Then I scan my new surroundings.
Holy shit.
This opulent gothic bedroom is straight out of a dark medieval fantasy movie—carved mahogany furnishings, a tarnished silver chandelier overhead, plush ornate rugs, and stone walls hung with elaborate tapestries of apple trees and stained glass.
Lit candelabras and sconces surround the room, glowing softly.
Heavy curtains are pulled over three large cathedral-like windows on one wall.
Across from the secret-passage-mirror is the biggest bed I've ever seen.
It's luxurious, with four carved posts canopied and draped in sheer dark blue fabric.
Turning slowly, I take it all in—a grand set of double doors, another door, a wardrobe, a big vanity with a wash basin that's already calling my name—
I come full circle, stopping to stare at my own haggard, dried-blood-covered reflection in the mirror. Lifting a hand, I touch the place where the tattoos on my neck are gone.
Come to think of it…
Quickly, I slide the bolts into place on the double doors to lock any more murderous creeps out. I approach the mirror again, shucking off the blanket and stained dress as I go. The chemise follows, pooling on the ground.
"Whoa," I breathe, skimming my hands over my arms, left hip, and the other places the ink is gone.
Some of them, I'm sad to see gone. I feel almost naked without the tattoos I chose.
But I don't exactly miss the other ones.
Then my gaze zeroes in on my tits, and I heave a sigh.
Damn. It took months for my nipples to heal after getting them pierced. I was finally working up the nerve to show them off somehow this summer, like in a no-bra tank top look.
Not that it matters, I guess. This isn't really my body. I mean, it's my body down to my beauty spot, but it's not mine. This is the evil queen's body, and I need to get back to mine in my own world.
I wonder if I somehow swapped with the real queen and she's hanging out in my body right now.
Enjoy the barbells, bitch.
Unless…maybe she's just dead.
Except as someone who's read the old fairy tales more times than I can count, I know how Snow White's story goes. At the end, the magic mirror tricks the evil queen into going to Snow White's wedding, where she's punished by dancing to death in red-hot iron shoes.
If the real queen somehow died at the hands of the Three Stooges instead…does that mean I'll be forced to dance to death now that I've replaced her?
I shiver. Hell, no. I'm going to get back to my world before that can happen.
But in order to do that, I probably need to figure out how I woke up here in the first place.
As my fingertips continue gliding over all this inkless skin, I address my reflection with determination.
"All right, think hard. How the fuck did you even get here?"
An absolute Adonis appears in the mirror.
"We both know all too well how I came to be trapped in your mirror, Reinhilde."