Free Fairest of All by Serena Valentino Page B

cloak of frayed linen.
    It smiled an evil, cunning grin.
    The Queen screamed and recoiled from the mirror.
    “You have been lonely,” the Slave said.
    “What is it to you, demon?” the Queen responded.
    “You have been thinking of your husband, wanting his company. But I am all you need, my Queen,” the Slave said.
    “What could you offer me, evil one?” the Queen snapped.
    “As I told you, I see all in the kingdom. I could tell you what your daughter’s favorite memories are, or your sister, Verona—I could reveal her deepest secrets to you. But it is your husband you have been thinking of mainly these days, is it not? I could tell you where he is, what he is doing. Let me do so.…Ah, yes, the most recently I can see him is a few days prior to this. Hmm…I wonder why that is so? He is aboard his steed. His sword is raised high in the air. Oh! An arrow has nearly hit his cheek. He looks to be grazed. Yes, there is blood, a great deal of it, dripping from his jawbone. And a great deal of noise. But he is proud and brave. A true warrior. He is bleeding, but he will continue to fight. He will be safe. They make quite a ruckus out there on the battlefield, do they not? Oh, now, what is this? A man with a lance, coming up right behind him. I say, I do not think your husband sees his attacker. If only we could warn him. If only we could somehow prevent the spear from entering his back and impaling him straight through so the weapon emerges from his chest…to prevent him from…”
    “Fiend!” the Queen screamed. “Stop this at once! You speak these lies as if they are the immortal truth!”
    The Slave smiled slightly and knowingly, then fixed his stare upon the Queen.
    “No!” she cried, grabbing a nearby glass jar for oils and ointments and shattering it against the mirror. “Lies!” the Queen cried.
    Verona rushed into her room. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was streaked with tears. “My Queen,” Verona said through a quavering voice. Then she flung her arms around the Queen and rocked on the floor with her. “You’ve heard the news then? The terrible, awful news?”
    The Queen looked up into Verona’s tearful eyes.
    Verona continued, “His body is in transport now.”
    The Queen covered her mouth with her shaking hand, her eyes wide, staring at Verona in disbelief.
    He couldn’t possibly be dead; she had just seen him a few short months ago. He was just injured; yes, injured and on his way back to mend his wounds. The Slave in the mirror was a liar! And the messages from the field were never reliable. Someone always got something wrong. He was hurt, but it was nothing serious. And he was returning to her. Here. Home. Now.
    “No, he’s coming home! He’s coming home,” was all the Queen could say.
    Verona shook her head. The Queen’s face, hair, and clothes were soaked with tears that belonged to both her and Verona. The pain in her chest tightened its grip as she slowly absorbed the reality of her husband’s death.
    Gone!
    She would never see him again, never hear his bright laugh, never again sit by the fire and watch him play dragons with Snow or tell her stories of the witches who lived in the forest.
    “You may leave,” the Queen said to Verona with as much composure as she could gather.
    Verona put her hands on the Queen’s shoulders.
    “Please let me stay with you.”
    “No, Verona, I need some time to myself.”
    T he moment Verona left the room the Queen felt the great weight of grief and anger. She could not breathe. Surely she wouldn’t survive this pain. One cannot hurt so profoundly and live on, she thought; it was unfathomable to spend the rest of her days in such agony, without her dearest love by her side.
    It was better to die.
    But then what of Snow White?
    And how could she even face the child? Tell her such horrible news? It would crush her—clearly break her heart. The Queen stood up on weak knees, and, clutching the walls and railings, she made her way slowly