Ch. 62: Snow White’s Evil Stepmother


    Sir Finn’s pace is hurried as he weaves through the backstreets he knew like the back of his hand. A discreet carriage that was out of ce among the fancy carriages riding around East Bend is hidden in one of these backstreets behind the illustrious stores and salons.


    “Slow down!” I whine, my little legs unable to keep up with his long gait. He’s changed too over the past two years, losing the yful cunningness in lieu of a sharp presence that promised retribution. Sir Finn looks older, tanner, and wiser, something anyone could benefit from.


    “Why do you keep running out of the pce? You’ll get killed by those foolish actions, your highness,” Finn bit out angrily.


    “How’d you find me?” I ask in response, nearly stumbling off the step into the carriage. Finn catches me gently before running a hand through his tinum hair in frustration.


    “That doesn’t matter. You’re needed at the Sunset Pce and if you’re not there is half an hour, the empress will be suspicious.”


    The mention of my ‘mother’ sobers me up quickly and a serious expression overtakes my face. For a while, all that could be heard was the creak of the carriage and clopping hooves. A bead of sweat runs down my forehead but it’s not from the cold. I worry if Sir Finn knows about how I’ve invested in Arabe’s


    “Why do you keep sneaking out of the pce to see your friend?” Sir Finn asks.


    My face unknowingly softens as I think of Elias.


    .....


    “He’s lonely and just wants someone to talk to,” I reply, my heart feeling pity for the disabled child.


    I don’t tell him how we had first met at my darkest hour and he saved me from ending it all. Like a radiant shaft of light and innocence, I just want to see Elias enjoy the childlike happiness I will never enjoy. He’s expressed that his father hates him for being disabled and causing his mother’s death, forming a strange kinship with my circumstances.


    More money, more problems. He dresses sharply, looking like a little gentleman every time we meet, but underneath who knows how badly his father has beaten him? I’ve seen him wince when his butler carries him onto his chair and the ck and blue bruises encircling his wrist when he reaches for a cup of tea. He’s suffering just like me, but he doesn’t have the benefit of being an adult’s resilience like I do. Yet somehow, he finds the strength to be optimistic and smile through his troubles. I would never say it to his face, but Elias inspires me to fight more for my life.


    Finn harrumphs but I can tell he gets it. “Perhaps one day simply invite him to the pce instead of running around outside without protection.”


    I stifle augh, looking out the window as we take a secret street that leads to the servant’s entrance of the pce where fresh produce is brought in every morning.


    “Without protection? Protection from who? Everyone who hates me lives inside the pce, not outside,” I retort bitterly. Sir Finn says nothing in response because he knows I’m right.


    Both of my cheeks are showered in kisses from Marie when Emma and I return to the Rose Pce in secret, still d in the cheap, brown flower selling dress. In actuality, I did not have to purchase this gown, as I actually found it in my closet. If it isn’t apparent already, the veneer of generous treatment that I had received when I arrived is no more.


    Marie babbles happily to me as she helps me wipe my face and apply the solution to my eyes to make the bedonna fade away. Ordinarily, there should’ve been maids to aid me in dressing and undressing, but aside from Marie and Emma, only a handful of maids help take care of my pce. Meals are frequently cold upon arrival and my clothes are poorly made and less vibrant.


    “My nephew, your highness. He seems to be doing well for himself. I’m quite excited as ording to my friend in theundry department, he is due to arrive in the Capital any day now by boat. Isn’t that wonderful?” Marie exims cheerfully, her crow’s feet curling on either side of her eyes.


    She rubs dirt on my face, making me whine like an actual child. “Softer!” I squeak in my high-pitched voice. Even 8 years after waking up in this body, I still miss my former voice which was a pleasantly husky tone with a slight hint of a Hispanic ent.


    “Yes, your highness,” she chuckles, bemused by what I would assume to be my undeniably charming face that doesn’t seem to work on anyone except her.


    “I’m happy for you, Marie,” I say sincerely, stepping into the petticoats for my dress before Marie ties it around my waist. I mean every word. Emma doesn’t have any family and in that way, we both support each other as sisters. But Marie does have one and I am d that hers seems to be doing well.


    “I’m happy as well. Now, don’t forget to be a good little girl over at Her Majesty’s pce, alright?” Marie says in a grandmotherly tone, tapping my nose with a smile although I can see her nervousness in her eyes.


    “I will,” I reply obediently, tucking in onest item in the slitted pocket on my dress.


    Her words are sweet and well-intentioned, but deep down both of us know that my behavior will make no difference. I always return in the same state from Sunrise Pce. I’m a little older now, old enough not to need a nursemaid ording to Empress Katya. Nowadays when I walk through the pce, I must walk alone.


    Summer is just around the corner and the gorgeous creamy buildings within the pce and their golden decorations show off their full glory under the sun. I feel out of ce walking through the marble hallways supported by stone pirs and loosen the cor of my in dress as I feel like it’s choking me. My heart beats faster and faster, although my pace remains the same. I feel fortunate as I spy Sunrise Pce in the distance without having encountered any errant nobles temporarily residing in the pce, or worst of all the Duchess of Mulworth, Duchess Taylor.


    The familiar incense, the same darkened hallways, my throat gets dry with fear as I’m led towards my ‘mother’ by a silent maid who didn’t even greet me properly. An exquisite woman stands with her back turned in the sitting room I enter cautiously, creating a beautiful image without even showing her face. The simple brocade dress cinches on her small waist before falling into a pale skirt that shimmers in the sun,plimenting her golden locks.


    “Good afternoon, Royal Mother,” I express in a respectful voice, dropping into my best curtsey. Even with Mrs. Laroche’s valuable lessons taken away from me, countless punishments from Empress Katya have forced me to perfect it.


    Empress Katya turns slowly, a dizzying vision as she looks down at me with eyes that are neither warm nor cold. Just a nk, terrifying gaze that makes my hairs stand up straight.


    “Winter.” She sounds as lovely as she looks. Katya fits the mour and grandeur of the imperial pce, looking like she’s stepped out of a Rococo painting I would have admired in a museum in my past life.


    I want to hate her. In a way, I do hate her. But I also admire the empress, the way she uses her beauty, knowledge, and noble lineage to get what she wants. It makes me sick to my stomach to realize that I admire the person who does me the most harm in the entire imperial pce. Howughably stupid of me. This is why I want to leave so badly, get away from this terrible ce.


    “You’rete,” she says tly. I swallow back a sigh. It seemed I would not be leaving Sunrise Pce unscathed again.


    “I’m sorry, Mother,” I answer. Empress Katya’s face breaks its cool mask, appearing as if she swallowed a fly as I call her mother. It’s rather amusing, considering it was her who told me to address her this way.


    A mother. I haven’t had a real one of those since I died.


    “You know what the punishment is,” she simply replies, settling down in a cushioned armchair embellished with gold leaf. Her nails shine blood-red the way my calves soon will as Katya takes a sip of tea from the piping hot set a maid brings in. Another maid brings in a short box, one that I climb onto expectantly and lift my skirts. I praise my luck that at least this time around, she gave me enough time to heal from thest round before going at it again.


    “What are the four ts of womanhood?” she asks, starting the game both of us know well.


    I y along willingly. “Demure. Quiet. Pious. Gentle.”


    “How is your embroiderying along?”


    “I have made some progress,” I answer, reaching into my pocket to pull out thest minute item I had tucked in.


    It’s a small handkerchief decorated with a rose, the emblem of the House Duvernay. I have found that when I embroider things that rte to her, it puts Empress Katya in a better mood.


    “Not a Percheron horse?” Empress Katya asks lightly, inspecting my work in the sunlight.


    The Percheron horse is the emblem of House Taylor. I smile gently as if I don’t realize the empress is mocking my former rtionship with Duchess Taylor that has burned down to ash due to her machinations.


    “Roses are lovelier. People tend to prefer a simple rose to a warhorse,” I simply say.


    Although House Duvernay has never attained a dukedom, they are more influential within the Erudian Empire than House Taylor and through strategic marriages have a hand in almost every noble household throughout the empire including here within the pce. Duchess Taylor being awarded the right to manage the pce has always rankled Empress Katya although I’m sure she still has a secret hand in its affairs.


    “That is true. But Percheron horses are known to be fond of eating roses,” Empress Katya replies. Her voice is still light but her eyes are gloomy, perhaps reflecting on her loss of power in her own home, a subtle humiliation. I know that I am on thin ice and choose carefully with my next words.


    “Yes... until they choke on the thorns,” I stare at my feet as I respond quietly, but I can feel Katya’s icy green gaze on me. It hangs on me like an oppressive nket for several breaths until she chuckles lightly and the temperature of the room seems to return to normal.


    “Indeed,” she says betweenughs that show off straight, white teeth, “Until they choke on their own mistake. Alright, I’ll lessen your punishment a little.”


    I let out a breath, realizing I had passed a test I hadn’t even known I was taking. I step up on the familiar wood box, lifting my skirt and rolling down the thin garters so I wouldn’t sweat to death in the heat. My eyes fall to the outside garden, just beyond the ornate window as she takes the hard, slender stick and begins thrashing the back of my legs. I don’t even wince, as I’m used to it by now.


    Interestingly enough, this pce doesn’t seem to have any roses. In fact, I’ve only ever seen them at my Rose Pce. For a man who hates House Duvernay, it’s curious that my father would give his beloved first wife a pce decorated in them.


    Warmth runs down the back of my calves as the stinging blowse to a stop.


    “You did well today, Winter,” Empress Katya says warmly. She always speaks nicely after she’s done hitting me as if it’s supposed to serve as some type of balm for inflicting pain. I turn to look at her and her eyes are shining and her face looks more animating. I don’t have to be a psychologist to recognize the sadist before me, but I say nothing, allowing a small smile to grace my face.


    I try to think of happy things as I ignore the pain throbbing on the back of my legs like a heartbeat. My mind recalls the optimistic days when I had just arrived at the pce and thought that my modern intellect would carry me to a path of victory. I’d told Emma stories of Snow White, who she had cutely called Snow E and her evil stepmother. But my life has been no fairytale.


    Unlike the beloved Snow White, my existence is reviled in the pce. My ‘mother’ is ced on a pedestal as a saintly mother of the empire instead of hated. Elias told me to fight for my ce instead of run away. Do I even have the ability though?


    “Thank you, Mother,” I reply in a voice that doesn’t show my innter turmoil, my legs shaky as I step down from the box. A maid quickly enters to take away the box and stick and its as if nothing happened, if it weren’t for the faint coppery scent in the air. Each step sends shooting pain in my legs, but the empress maintained her sick promise as it doesn’t ache as badly as thest time. I feel a touch grateful, before I brutally stomp out the feeling.


    Katya indeed has a talent for mental maniption, even for an adult like me.