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“You may never see me again, my girl,” Uncle Marcus had said, as he bid the Queen farewell. “I venture south in pursuit of dragons! It’s a risky business, swamp dragons, but not quite as dangerous as cave dragons, I do swear to you! Did I ever recount my encounter with the great sapphire beast? The most beautiful and deadly creature I’ve ever stalked? She nearly burned my beard right off!”
Uncle Marcus was very animated when he spoke of dragons; he would gesticulate wildly, and reenacted the singeing of his beard.
“And what does Lady Aunt Vivian think of your adventures, Uncle?” the Queen asked.
“Oh, she has wild notions indeed!” he said.
“Does she? And what might those be?” the Queen asked.
“She thinks it’s all fancy. Can you imagine? Fancy, indeed! She thinks I’m fearful of becoming idle and bored in her company!”
The Queen laughed again. She had come to love this man and his wild tales of dragons lurking in damp caves and his grand campaigns to steal their treasures.
“Well, I’m nevertheless sorry she was unable to attend the wedding, Uncle. We must have her to visit as soon as she is well enough to travel.”
“Oh, you can be sure your aunt Vivian will swoop down on you in no time. She’ll take over the house, I gather.”
The Queen was sorry to see him leave. But she was happy to have her husband and daughter to herself, even if the castle seemed almost too quiet after so many festivities.
She arranged for a family dinner in one of the smaller dining halls. The Queen preferred the smaller rooms of the castle. They made her feel more at home. She wasn’t a Queen here. She was a wife and mother. She was herself.
The stone walls were covered in lavish tapestries depicting images of knights in battle or lovely maidens gazing at their own beauty in reflective ponds. The fireplace was the grandest focus of the room. It was twice as tall as any man, and decorated with the face of a woman carved from the finest white stone, her eyes, downcast and serene, made the room feel protected. The warm fire made the dining hall feel cozy. The Queen sometimes wondered if the white stone beauty had been modeled after the King’s former wife, Snow White’s mother. She wondered if she were there to watch over the household—watch over the Queen—to ensure she was a worthy mother and spouse. The Queen never asked her husband, for fear of slicing open his old wounds. He had loved Snow’s mother dearly, the Queen knew that, and she did her best to convince herself that it didn’t diminish his love for her.
Before dinner the King gave the Queen a small box filled with his first wife’s writings. The box was ornately carved with a heart and a sword lock. And the King told the Queen that it had once contained his first wife’s meagre dowry. “When she knew she was dying, Rose decided to document her life so Snow might know her a little,” he whispered to the Queen, “I want you to share these with Snow when you think she is ready.”
It warmed her heart that her husband should trust her with this task. But it troubled her as well. Would she be capable of it? Could she take on such a responsibility? And what if Snow fell so deeply in love with her mother through her letters that she began to resent the Queen?
“Of course,” the Queen said.
Tonight the Queen wore a simple and elegant empire-waist gown of deep red, edged with black ribbons. Her long dark hair was pulled high on her head in a circlet of braids intertwined with red ribbons and jewels, and her dark eyes sparkled in the firelight as she smiled at the sight of her daughter walking into the hall hand in hand with the King. Snow was wearing a deep blue dress, which brought out the rosy color in her plump little cheeks. The King was wearing one of his less formal, but still handsome, tunics of black, edged with gold finery.
“Ah. My love,” the King said, smiling as he entered the chamber.
The new family sat down to a fine meal of baked rosemary bread, sweet butter, hearty cheeses, roasted pork, and sweet potatoes smothered in garlic and olive oil.
“I miss Great-uncle Marcus!” Snow said between bites of bread soaked in gravy.
The Queen had cut Snow’s bread into interesting shapes, soaking them in gravy in hopes of inspiring the girl’s appetite. Snow was a finicky eater.
“Come now, little bird, will you have no pork?” urged the Queen.
“I feel bad for the piggy, Momma,” said Snow.
“Very well, my girl,” the Queen sighed.
“What do you miss most about your uncle, Snow?” her father asked.
“I want to hear more about dragons, Papa,” Snow said, her eyes lighting up, as she straightened her back and pretended to be one of the rare breed of ice-breathers Uncle Marcus had spoken about.
The King smiled mischievously. “Oh do you? Well, perhaps we should play a game of dragons and knights then.”
Snow jumped from her seat, knocking it over, and bolted to the farthest end of the hall.
“Try to catch me, dragon!” the King shouted as he stood upon his chair and with a giant roar jumped off and tore after his daughter as she screamed with peals of laughter. He gathered her into his arms and smothered her with kisses.
“Save me, Momma! The dragon is getting me!”
The Queen laughed. She considered the gorgeous stone woman. She was gazing at her, smiling down upon all of them. The Queen felt this shower of approval, and it made her happier than she’d often been.
