Snow White Ch. 02

Nine months later, Morwen gives birth to a little girl whose skin is as white as snow, lips the deep burgundy red of blood and with hair the black of a raven's wing. But it is her eyes that are different than human eyes. Her eyes are violet in color, a violet so rich like the flower it is named after. The king and queen decide to name their daughter Rhoswen, but her mother nicknames her Snow White because of that snowy evening when Rhoswen was conceived. Behind the king and queen's backs, many of the nobles call the newborn child not of this world; some even say she is the spawn of the Devil. This is a land that believes in one God that her mother has married into and is not like her homeland where they still believe in magic and the supernatural. But the king is very pleased to finally have a child that he can call his own. And if he ever did hear the things the nobles say about his daughter, he would have them beheaded for treason. But all is not well with this picture perfect family. Morwen steadily declines into a depression that no one can bring her out of. It is as if she is pining for something that no human man or woman can give her. It is a complete mystery even to the royal court doctors who the king employs.

In the summer of Rhoswen's second year Morwen's condition worsens. Morwen sits on the balcony which overlooks the courtyard with Rhoswen playing at her feet. Morwen rises to her feet and walks with skirts swirling about her ankles to the balustrade. Rhoswen totters after her, with a giggle as she looks up at her mother. With a half-hearted smile Morwen pets the top of Rhoswen's head. Without a second thought Morwen steps up onto the wide stone railing, lifting her face to the sun one last time. She walks off the edge, her skirts and fiery hair flowing out behind her. None are in the courtyard when she lands upon the cobblestones below, her head turning at an unnatural angle, her skull cracking open like an egg.

The servants see nothing wrong when Rhoswen goes running past, thinking it is merely a game she is playing. Her bare feet take her out into the courtyard, and towards her mother's prone body. She sits down beside her mother upon the warm stones. "Mama?" Her pudgy little hands touch the gaping wound where blood and brain matter still seep out. "Mama? Mama!" Tears pour down her round cheeks, not comprehending as to why her mother won't respond. Booted footsteps can be heard as her father comes out, disturbed by her cries. She totters towards him, pudgy hands soaked in her mother's blood reaching up to him/ "Papa, papa! Mama!" He lifts her into his arms trying to soothe her. She sobs until no more tears will come and all that will come out is hiccups.

One of the castle's guards comes to stand beside the king and princess, making the sign of the cross. He coughs softly, "Your Majesty?"

Dresden looks to the young guard. "Get the priest. We will say she was pushed. She will be buried the proper way, the Dravincian way. Do we have an understanding?"

He bows towards Dresden and Rhoswen. "Yes Your Majesty." He straightens before turning and running to get the priest. By this time, Rhoswen has fallen asleep in her father's embrace. With a sigh, he too makes his way into the castle to prepare for the days ahead.

The rest of the week passes by quickly, as if Dresden is in a fog. Who would have known that he would feel this way upon Morwen's death? Was there anything he could have done to prevent it? He stares at the flickering flames in the hearth as these thoughts go through his mind. He lifts his goblet from the table beside him, swirling the wine inside. With a snarl, he hurls the goblet across the room. Perhaps, just perhaps, if he had been here more often this wouldn't have happened. He braces his elbows upon his knees, lowering his head into his hands. And to think, he lied to a priest. A priest! Of all the people to lie to, he chose a priest! His throat tightens trying to fight back a sob. He must be strong, at least for Rhoswen. What did Morwen call her? Ah yes, Snow White. Silent tears course down his cheeks. What will he tell Rhoswen when she's older? Will she even ask? What if she decides to not speak at all? He runs his fingers through his hair. Too many 'what ifs'. If only he could go back in time to change the way he treated Morwen. A hoarse laugh escapes realizing where his thoughts are going. What foolishness is this that he thinks he can go and change the past? He grabs the half empty bottle of wine and drinks deeply from it to chase away the ghosts in his mind. It is only when the bottle is empty; does Dresden finds solace in an alcohol induced sleep.

The years pass, each year the same as the last, with Rhoswen growing bigger each year from a pudgy toddler to a cute young girl. Dresden makes sure she has everything she needs. He never hired a nanny to take care of her. However, there were a few of the servants who also took care of her, surrogate mothers of sorts.

Both Dresden and Rhoswen are seated at a table in his study, him teaching her how to write. He smiles fondly seeing how much she has grown in the six years since her mother's death. She sets the quill down, her gaze turning from the parchment in front of her to the wispy white clouds in the sky outside the window. Dresden brushes soft tendrils out of her face. "What is it Snow White?"

She blinks a few times coming out of her daydream. "Papa, I see a lot of children with both a mother and father. Where is my mother?"

He runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair, wondering how to put this gently. "Remember when the priest was talking about heaven?" Silently she nods. "Your mother went to heaven when you were very little."

She frowns, staying silent for a moment, as if trying to remember that day. "Do you think she is happy?"

Just to do something with his hands, he screws the lid back on the jar of ink. "I think she misses you. But the priest always says heaven is a happy place." He smiles. "I also think she watches you from heaven and is very proud of you."

"Do you miss her papa?"

"Yes. Sometimes when I watch you, you remind me of her. Now, I think our lesson is done for today. Why don't you go and play? It is a beautiful day." He does not realize that soon things will change.

It is All Hallows Eve, and for once, her father is allowing her to attend the masquerade! She sits upon the dais next to her father, watching the courtiers dancing. A commotion at the entrance of the hall makes everyone stop and stare; including the musicians. There is a nervous giggle which is quickly silenced. For standing there is a woman with sun-kissed skin, chestnut curls that are piled on top of her head, and a deep red velvet gown with gold embroidery and a matching mask. She seems to glide across the floor to the dais. She curtsies low to Dresden and Rhoswen, so low her forehead almost touches the floor, the sleeves of her gown trailing on the floor. Her voice is smooth and sweet like honey with the hint of an exotic accent when she speaks. "I bring greetings from a far away land, Your Majesty and Your Highness."

Dresden raises a bushy eyebrow. "Rise, my Lady. Pray tell which far away land do you hail from?"

She rises from her curtsy with cat-like grace. "I come from a land across the southern desert that your men have yet to traverse Your Majesty."

He stays quiet for a moment, thinking. After what seems an eternity of silence, he speaks. "May I presume you have a retinue?"

"Yes Your Majesty."

"I will have the chamberlain give you and your retinue the north tower. We will talk more on the morrow." He waves a hand to the musicians. "Let the masquerade resume."

She curtsies once more. "Thank you, Your Majesty." She backs away a few steps from the dais. She pivots with her skirts swirling around her, before she walks out of the hall. Once out of the hall she smiles to herself thinking of how easy this just may be. After stopping a few servants for directions, she eventually finds her way to the north tower. She lifts her skirts walking up the stairs. She chuckles softly to herself as she spins in place inside the top room of the tower. Yes, here she will be able to do her spells. And soon this kingdom will be hers to control. And the princess? She will be dealt with in due time...if she can't control her that is.

Back in the hall, Rhoswen laughs as her father spins her around, her black hair in curls fanning out behind her. Dresden sets her down on the dais, leaning forward to kiss her on the top of her head. He taps her on the tip of her nose. "Someday my little Snow White, you will be dancing with a Prince at the balls and masquerades, but not tonight. It is late off to bed with you."

Rhoswen stifles a yawn. She looks up to her father with a sleepy smile. "Yes papa." She stands up on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Good night papa." She beckons to her personal servant as she goes to her chambers. It is only a matter of moments after she takes off her gown that she falls into a deep sleep with dreams of brightly coloured clad dancing lords and ladies, definitely pleasant dreams for a young princess.

The next day dawns with a late autumn chill. Rhoswen awakens Jocelynne, her personal servant, wanting to get an early start. "Just think Jocelynne! Someone from across the southern desert! Do you think papa will let her stay? Maybe the kingdoms will trade."

Jocelynne chuckles as she brushes out Rhoswen's hair. "It is exciting, I must admit. Trade? Perhaps, it all depends upon your father." She smiles once the tangles are all out. "There we go Your Highness. All ready for the day."

Rhoswen smiles brightly. "Thank you Jocelynne!" She gets to her feet and hurries to the kitchen to get a quick breakfast from Craiden.

Upon hearing her enter, he looks towards her, turning his attention from the mince meat pie he is making. "What would you like this morning Your Highness?"

"Can you make me sweet cakes? With fresh butter and berries on top?"

"Of course princess. Head out to the dining hall. I will bring them to you myself."

"Thank you Craiden!" She skips out into the dining hall to have her breakfast. Once the sweet cakes are done, Rhoswen walks back to her room. She moves to her vanity table to open a mahogany box. Inside lies a silver tiara with roses engraved in the metal. Jocelynne comes over from making Rhoswen's bed. Rhoswen sits upon the padded stool as Jocelynne, once again, brushes Rhoswen's hair. "I need to wear my tiara today. Can you do something?"

Jocelynne smiles. "How about braids?"

"Sounds good." With deft fingers Jocelynne braids Rhoswen's hair. Once the four braids, two on each side, are done they are tied at the nape of her neck with a blue silk ribbon that matches the blue of her dress. Carefully Jocelynne picks up the tiara and places it on top of Rhoswen's head.

"There we go princess. All ready for the audience with the foreign emissary."

Rhoswen hugs Jocelynne quickly before heading to the hall. She looks up at the two guards who are beside the double oak doors. They bow at the waist to her. "Good morning Princess Rhoswen," they both say in unison. They open the double oak doors for her. Her slippers whisper across the stones as she makes her way to the dais. She takes her seat on the left side of her father's throne. She fixes her skirts around her then looks up at her father.

"Will we trade with her kingdom papa?"

He turns his attention from the doors to Rhoswen. "Perhaps. It depends on what they have to offer." He looks to the doors catching movement from the corner of his eye. "Ah, there's our guest."

Lilith makes her way to the dais looking more beautiful than the prior night. Her chestnut brown curls cascade down her back to her waist. She wears a gown of deep forest green silk that leaves her shoulders partially bare and a gold chain that hangs low on her hips and trails down the outside of her right leg ending in an emerald teardrop. What makes Dresden raise his eyebrows is the diaphanous veil that covers her from below her eyes down to her collarbone. She curtsies to the royal family. "Greetings Your Majesty and Your Highness. I am the Lady Lilith vil Zatar, niece and emissary of Tajah Jakare of Azkabaal."

Dresden nods. "Welcome Lady Lilith vil Zatar of Azkabaal. What brings you so far north?"

"I come representing Azkabaal in hopes of trade Your Majesty."

Dresden rubs his chin thoughtfully. "And what is it that you bring for trade?"

"Perfumes, spices, minerals and gems that can only be found in the south. As well as the teachings from our philosophers."

"And what would you ask for in trade that would benefit Azkabaal?"

"Coal, furs, silver and wood that can only be found in the north."

"I will think about it. Until then you may walk around the castle at your leisure. I will summon you when I have made my decision."

"Thank you Your Majesty." She curtsies and makes her way out of the hall. She walks up to the top room of the tower and looks to her faithful mute eunuch. He removes her gold chain belt and then her veil. She pats him on the cheek as she lounges on the couch. "I think tonight I will start with the spells." She can't help but purr in anticipation. Idly she runs her fingers through his hair as she thinks. Slowly she falls into a sleep lulled by petting her eunuch's hair.

To be continued...