Hello, readers!

Snow White is aged-up in this one. Fourteen years old? I mean, I get that girls were married off at, like, twelve in medieval times. I don't want to go there, though. I think this story will be the greatest departure, so far, from the Disney film. But, yes, it obviously takes inspiration from more current depictions of the Snow White fairy tale.

As I write these, instead of clearing my head and being able to focus on my other stories, I find myself reimagining more Disney movies and wondering how else they could have ended. I thought this little faux-anthology would be about five or six chapters. Maybe it will be longer.

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE DEATH OF AN ANIMAL, WRITTEN NOT REFERENCED (AS IN PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)** I did try to be as tactful as possible with my description and my reasoning.

Thanks for the views, and happy reading!

Jenn


I think most of the kingdom fancies that our queen married the king through dastardly means. The king's first bride was taken too soon, only ten or so years after they had their only child. It is definitely suspicious that his second wife, a noblewoman of prominent rank, became one of the ladies-in-waiting shortly before the first queen's death.

Some say it was poison; some believe that the woman concocted some magic because she is, in fact, a powerful sorceress. I don't believe in magic, myself; I spend my days in the forests surrounding the castle, as the royal family's master huntsman. The same people who believe our queen to be a witch also insist that the forests are haunted. That's absurd. And that's why I don't believe their claims about our queen.

After his first wife's death, our king became desolate and then resolute to find a suitable mother for his child. As a man is apt to do, His Majesty began his search within his own circle. The ladies-in-waiting would be obvious choices, as they were well-acquainted with the royal family and their needs. One would stand out from the rest, because she was the fairest in the land.

Her skin was pale and flawless, her full lips were redder than blood, and her verdant eyes set men's hearts aflame with lust. Her hair was long, thick, and the most unusual shade of blonde. It was as if copper and gold had been liquified and poured onto her head. Usually, though, she kept it hidden underneath a black wimple that fit snugly against her skin. The look was severe, but it added to her untouchable beauty.

The only person immune to feeling intimidated in her presence was our king. He barely needed to court her, and the wedding was held only months after our beloved queen's death. The daughter of the king, our little princess, was a shy thing. She meekly accepted her father's choice and spent her time with her servants, tutors, and hand-maidens. Her mother named her Snow White, although the name hardly suited her.

She, too, even at such a young age, had loveliness beyond her years. Her hair was blacker than coal, but it glistened with a healthy shine in any light. Her skin, like the stepmother's, was pale and creamy. It wasn't, however, as white as snow. Her lips, too, were like rubies. Her eyes were not as alarmingly commanding as our new queen's. They were a rich brown, filled with kindness and innocence. And it was the pairing of both her effortless beauty and sweet nature that soon made her the target of the queen.

The new queen cleverly worked to bend and break the bond between father and daughter. It was small, subtle aggressions directed to the princess, never in front of the king, that caused Snow White to avoid her stepmother's presence. The king, being a busy monarch, had no time to dissect the relationships in his court. He merely accepted that the two ladies did not get along and he left it at that.

When Snow White was only fourteen, she was sent on her first tour of Europe. She did not wish to go, but, as her stepmother and father both insisted, she had little choice in the matter. Again, she humbly cowed and sought to see a silver lining within the dark cloud: at least she would be away from her unloving stepmother and her dismissive father.

It was while she was away that her father fell deathly ill and subsequently perished. Snow White was not able to make it to her father's deathbed. By the time she was home in her castle, his body was already mourned and entombed. So she grieved and took her meals within the confines of her rooms. She didn't emerge for months. And it was not the same castle, when she did finally acquiesce into coming out.

Her stepmother, once catty and condescending, doubled her cruel efforts to be sure that the princess would know her place. Being too young to rule, Snow White would have to wait another two years to ascend to the throne. Her guardian, the queen, would take stewardship over the kingdom, until that time came.

And, in her wicked heart, the queen plotted to keep her crown.

One year later, the princess was barely recognizable. Her fine garments were all stripped from her, as were most of her possessions. She was moved to the tallest tower in the castle and given peasant clothing to wear during her chores. Again, she was too docile to raise her voice. Sometimes, I would hear her singing in the courtyard with the doves. She had a lovely voice.

I arrived one such afternoon, my kill already delivered to the royal butcher, to see Snow White in my path. Although we had been ordered by Her Majesty to ignore the princess, I could never bring myself to do so. When we crossed paths, I would bow my head in deference to her. She never spoke to me, knowing that it would only bring me trouble, but she smiled in appreciation of the gesture.

Watching her in the courtyard, singing over the well, I was too uncomfortable to interrupt her. I leaned in the dark archway and listened…waiting for her to be done and leave.

I saw the young man approach her. I didn't know who he was, but, judging from his wealthy attire and manner, I supposed he was a prince. He wore a crisp white shirt, with a royal blue sleeveless tunic lined in gold. His rich red cape matched the princess' lips, and it was held in place with two leather straps that crossed over his chest. His lighter blue hose were tucked into brown leather boots. Everything was clean and polished. Even his short brown hair was styled.

I looked down to my own vestments. My forest green tunic, with its long sleeves dotted with blood and other stains. My worn leather belt that I'd had to add notches to for prolonged use. My black breeches, faded, and my brown leather boots… not gleaming. My own hair, the color of straw, thick with dirt and probably a twig or two, hangs limply around my face, brushing my shoulders. When I left my dwelling, it was tied with a thin strip of leather, but a morning of hunting undid all my work.

We are dressed for what we do. He woos maidens in palaces and I hunt game in the forests.

It's a fruitless exercise, comparing us both. He's probably younger than I am, judging by the lack of facial hair. I cannot remember the last time I was clean-shaven. I do puff up my chest, a bit, confident in my stature. I both tower over and outweigh the fragile prince. I haul deer from the forests, set traps, run after my prey. I am stronger than he.

And, yet, because I am of no significance, I am relegated to the shadows, as he sings over her shoulder. He does have a grand voice, I'll grant him that.

As soon as Snow White realizes he's there, she flees to the safety of the castle. He remains in the courtyard, singing to and staring up at the balcony window, where I can see a sliver of the girl's form.

This is where I begin to wonder at the young man's intentions.

Our princess looks like a milkmaid, in her tattered, simple clothing. Patches are sewn into the garment, and not one of them matches the original fabric. No regal colors or embroidery or fine accessories. She looks poorer than I.

She is beautiful, though. The queen orders her hair to be regularly cut, but the little princess styles it in a becoming way. The rags she wears cannot hide her pleasing figure. And her youth and tenderness pour from her soulful eyes.

I doubt the prince knows who or what she is. He sees a stunning creature and he is transfixed. And she, in her naivety, is open to his adoration. She mostly feels unseen, unloved.

Eventually, she is coaxed from her pitiful hiding place, onto the edge of the balcony. The prince makes a vow to win her heart, and he is rewarded with her blowing a kiss to signify her acceptance of his affections. She retreats slowly, back into the shadows.

I step out of mine.

The prince barely notices me pass behind him, as he holds a hand at his heart and stares upward.

I am not unattractive, but I am not a prince. I've bedded a few of the local women. A few of the castle staff. But I do not bring any of them to my home. I am a solitary man, and I value my privacy. If I wanted a wife, I would have one. There have certainly been those who wished to cling to me. If they could see how I live, I doubt one would stay. And that's why I live alone.

I trek back through the castle, out the gate, through the forest, and to the glen and little cabin that I call home. I arrive at nightfall, and I cast off my belt and boots at the door. The fire that I light in my fireplace illuminates my humble abode, and I relax in my most comfortable chair. Eventually, I fall asleep by the fire and am haunted by her voice.

I wake before dawn, as I always do, and my first objective is to collect whatever game I've ensnared in my traps. Yesterday I delivered a large buck, so the cook will be expecting smaller meat, today. If I can bring a strap's worth of rabbits, they'll be pleased. An easy day.

Sunlight is only peaking over the horizon, as I set out for the edge of my glen. It's enough light to see by, and that's all I require. I greatly enjoy these midsummer days, when the morning air is crisp and a bit balmy. It takes me hours to explore the acres of wilderness, but I am rewarded with almost a dozen rabbits, a possum, and a raccoon. I kill the rabbits with a single blow to their heads, as well as the possum, which will be my cut. I let the raccoon go, as I don't have a taste for it and it is too young to be valuable.

The butcher will make short work of my haul, and I'm fairly certain the cooks will make the queen a rabbit stew tonight. I absent-mindedly think back to the princess and wonder if she, too, will eat what I've hunted. Most likely.

The second anniversary of the king's passing is approaching. She'll be sixteen, soon. If the queen meant to kill her, she would have done so by now. Perhaps Her Majesty has another plan to keep Snow White from the throne.

It's fitting, that I should ponder the fate of the princess on the day I am ordered to kill her.

I drop off the dead rabbits to the butcher, who informs me that I have been called to the queen's chambers. When I stand there, dumbly, he tilts his head in the direction of the guard that is posted at the doorway to the kitchen. I hadn't noticed him, coming in from the courtyard.

As if I have a choice, I follow the palace guard; he leads me through the castle, through rooms I've never been in. I spend little time inside, obviously. I know my place. We wind through hallways, until we reach a secluded wing. The amount of guards outside is excessive, if our queen truly is a witch.

I am escorted inside, and she orders the two guards in the room to leave. I cannot fathom why I've been called upon.

Is she displeased with me? Did I do something to fall out of favor? I cannot think of anything that she could say to me that couldn't easily be conveyed by one of her staff.

I bow low, then drop to one knee, my head hung low and resting on my chest.

"Your Majesty," I address her, with utmost respect.

"You are my master huntsman, are you not?"

"I am, Your Grace," I reply. There would be no cause for us to meet, under normal circumstances.

"And do you serve your queen with unwavering loyalty and devotion?"

"I do, Your Grace."

Her voice is polished, refined, elegant, and cool. It sends shivers down my spine.

"Then I have a task for you, huntsman," she speaks, closer to me, now. "Rise, so that I may look into your eyes."

I obey and stand tall. "Anything you ask shall be done, my queen," I promise.

"You shall take the princess far into the forest with you. Find some secluded glade, where she can pick wildflowers. Then, out of sight of anyone, you shall kill her!"

I do not speak, but there was a reason she had me face her. She sees something in me, a weakness in my eyes, and she pounces.

"Are you not my faithful servant, huntsman?"

"I – I serve you most faithfully, Your Majesty," I shakingly respond.

"And do you know what your fate will be, should you displease me in any way?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," I nod once and look away, toward an enormous mirror that is mounted on the wall at the end of the room.

"Good," she says, and, out of the corner of my eye, I can see her twirl and walk away from me, toward her window. "Go, now, and do the deed. To prove your obedience, cut out her heart and return it to me."

I have killed every type of animal that lives in the forest. Lynxes, bears, bison, foxes, frogs, snakes…anything and everything you can think of. But I have never before killed a human.

My stomach folds in on itself, and my breath hitches in my chest. I can only nod and leave the room. I cannot refuse my queen. I would be thrown in a dungeon cell immediately. I cannot kill the princess. I need a plan. And the only way to figure one out is to stall for time, as I pretend to do the evil queen's bidding.

"Take me to the tower where the princess stays," I order one of the guards outside the room.

The poor soldier looks a little surprised, but I can tell he is also prepared to cater to my requests. Her Majesty did not include them in this task, trying to hold her secrets as closely to her chest as possible, but they are still helping to eliminate the princess they watched grow in this drafty castle.

I am led to the tower, and the guards leave me outside the stairwell and resume their original posts. I ascend slowly, still desperately trying to think of how to handle this dilemma. How do I convince her to come with me? She doesn't know me. What do I do, once we're in the forest? How do I save her from the queen? How do I save myself from the queen's wrath?

The wooden door at the top of the stairwell makes me halt and finish my contemplations. I knock politely and wait for a response.

"Who is it?" I hear her hesitant voice chime from the other side.

"My name is Bertrand Humbert, Your Highness. I'm the head huntsman for the royal family."

A pause.

"What is it that you want?"

If the princess won't even open the door, what am I to do? Break it down and drag her from the castle? I'm unsure of how to proceed, so I tell her a truth.

"Her Majesty suggested that you might like to leave the confines of the castle and explore the wilderness for a spell. Perhaps gather some flowers for the castle? There is no one who knows the woods better than I."

Another pause, but I hear footsteps approaching and brace myself. The door opens a crack, and she looks at me skeptically. She is dressed in her rags, but I'm still struck by her proximity. I've never been this close to her before. She truly is breathtaking, although woefully young.

"My stepmother sent you to me?" she asks.

"Yes, Your Highness," I lightly bow.

She opens the door and gives me one of her radiant smiles.

"Very well," she replies. "Show me your woods, Huntsman."

I offer her my arm and she takes it. Carefully and slowly, I escort her to the base of the tower.

"The woods are on your land, Your Highness," I respectfully correct her. "They're hardly mine."

"Can something truly be yours, if you don't care for it?"

"Are you saying that you care little for the outdoors, Your Highness?"

"No, not at all." There's a warmth in her voice that hurts my heart. "I only meant that, although you don't own them in title, as you said, you know them better than anyone in the kingdom. They are, therefore, more yours de facto than they are mine."

I have no idea what the foreign term she used means. I'm ill-educated, in that way. I let the silence build.

At the base of the stairwell, we part and I lead her to a side exit. One used by the servants. There are a few odd looks, because I am with her, but everyone is used to seeing the princess wander.

Outside, we take the shortest path into the woods. This area, closest to the castle, is a poor place to find game. Too close to the bustle of activity in the stone fortress. My home is far, as well, but it is where we are headed. I couldn't use my normal route.

We walk and she gathers flowers that she sees on the way. Our pace is unhurried, and there is plenty of daylight left. Luckily, she neither questions nor objects to where I am leading her.

Midday, the sun streaks through the trees and warms our bodies. It is a pleasant day for murder, I grimly remind myself. We stop by a creek to rest for a moment. I notice that the princess looks back toward where we came from.

"Should we return, soon, for a meal?" she innocently questions, while sitting on a boulder.

"We can forage out here, if you don't mind. I'll show you some of the edible plants that are nearby."

She bites her lower lip in a nervous fashion, then she sadly nods and seems to resign herself to my wishes.

There are blueberries and lingonberries to be found near our position, and I show her where they are and how to pick them. She enjoys herself, especially when I hand her a small sack. When it is full, I encourage her to eat them as we walk.

Another hour later, the sun is starting its descent, and I stop when I see that I'm no longer being followed. Snow White is standing, melancholy, and her arms are at her sides. I have no idea when she dropped the flowers that she was holding.

"Your Highness?"

"Have you brought me out here to kill me?"

I am stunned by the blunt question. Clever girl.

"Why would you ask such a thing?"

She holds her head up high, and my heart swells, to see the courage she's showing. She's finally acting like royalty, in the best of ways.

"You told me this was the queen's doing. I am leagues from the castle, now, and you've given no indication of our return." Her weight shifts from one foot to the other, as she becomes more nervous. "I know my stepmother has no desire to pass me the crown, and I think she'd be very happy to hear of my death. What better way to dispose of me, than to ask her master huntsman to kill me in the woods? There are so many different stories she can choose to tell her subjects. Bear, wildcat, boar…these forests must be full of them. Or, perhaps, she'll just blame you."

Very shrewd. But… "Then, why would you agree to accompany me, Your Highness?"

She sighs, seemingly tired or older in spirit than her actual age. "I hoped I could take you at your word, I suppose."

"And what would you have me do?" I already have a plan, but I'm curious to see what she'll say.

Her bottom lip is forced out in a pretty frown. She looks timid, like one of the rabbits in my traps this morning.

"I am tired of her cruel games," she pitifully whispers. Tears begin to form and then fall down her ivory cheeks. "If you must kill me to ensure your own survival, I am ready to pay that price. I am sorry that she placed this responsibility in your hands."

She's sorry. She's not pleading for her life. She's willing to sacrifice herself, for me to avoid the queen's wrath. She is both keen and na?ve. Strange girl.

"Follow me, Your Highness," I order. I walk toward my home, and I hear her fall in step behind me.

We do not talk for the rest of our journey. I pause, periodically, to allow her to rest, but we only stare at each other for the few minutes it takes to catch our breath. When we arrive at my cabin, it is twilight. I still have much to do, until I can sleep tonight.

"Where are we?" she suddenly breaks the silence.

"My home," I answer her simply. I can see that she is confused, and it is time that we discuss what the days ahead will entail.

"I won't harm you, Your Highness," I promise. I give a small bow in her direction, reminding her of the man I have always presented myself to be. A ghost of a smile appears on her ruby lips. "I will conceal you here, for the time being. My home is well-hidden. I have never brought another soul here."

"How long am I to stay?" she questions, and rightly so.

I don't have an answer for her. Nothing satisfying, anyway. "For as long as you wish to remain alive," I tell her. There's a hard edge to my voice, that my ear registers too late. I don't want her to fear me, but I do need her to respect me.

I open the front door and gesture her to enter before me. It's rather dark, so I make a fire to light the main living area. The routine is familiar, but I am aware of the change in the atmosphere. The princess is walking around the room, viewing my cooking area, my furniture, my hearth, my living arrangements. I have two sleeping rooms, one off this one, and a loft upstairs. I will put her upstairs. But, as she examines everything, I'm seeing my home through different eyes.

There's a thin layer of dust that covers most of my unused things. I am not a tidy person, so my belongings are strewn about. Items are placed where I last used them. The skillet on my stove has three-day-old pork fat. My clothes, ones that I have washed in the creek next to my house, are draped across chairs, even though they've been dry for days.

I will make the lodgings more hospitable in the morning. But there are more important things to attend to.

"Stay here, Your Highness," I warm my hands by the fire, and the princess comes to stand by my side and warm her own. "I need to return to the queen, tell her you are dead. I will return."

"She will kill you," the princess warns me. I am baffled by her care.

"Not tonight, she won't," I disagree. "She needs to hear, from me, that you're dead. Otherwise, she'll send someone else to hunt you down."

To be honest, I hadn't thought about the fact that, if the queen truly wants to absolve herself of any wrongdoing, especially when it comes to the fate of the kingdom's beloved princess, she will need to execute the only other person involved in her schemes…in this case, me.

Thank you for that, Princess.

I leave her and my cabin, heading back into the forest. The sun has set, leaving only moonlight to guide my way. I need to make a kill and be back at the castle tonight. My quiver and arrows lay against my back, my knife is sheathed at my belt, and I carry my sturdy bow. This hunt will not be gratifying. It's not a hunt. This is a sacrifice that must be made.

It takes me another few hours to retrace the steps we took from the castle. It's not the quickest way to my destination, but I need to cover our tracks. Lucky for me, there's not much that we left behind. I see some seeds, a footprint here and there, the flowers Snow White gathered and dropped. Everything is easy enough to scatter or hide from view. Without a companion, I move quickly.

Once I am within the walls of the castle, I head straight for the royal kennels. I have helped train many of these dogs. I've taken an active interest in breeding the best hunters and meting out the ones unsuitable for use to local farmers and herders. They whine and wag their tails, when they see me, anxious for both attention and to fulfill their purpose. I select a mature male, one that has already seen many seasons and is now mostly blind.

It's not fair. I've taken this particular hound into the woods on many occasions and bred him several times. He's been a loyal animal. For a dog, though, he's lived a long and pampered life. I need him to serve me one last time.

I lead him outside the kennel, not wanting the dogs to witness the murder and distrust me. I make it quick, as merciful of a killing as I can manage, holding his head to my chest and slashing his neck. When he makes a single pained sound, I cover his muzzle and apologize into his ear.

It's done, and I must hurry. I use my knife to cut out the beast's heart, then place it in a sack fastened to my belt. I remove the carcass and toss it behind the closest tree.

It's not fair, but life is so rarely fair.

I steel myself and prepare to face the queen.

The meeting is mostly uneventful. I was sure that she would be asleep, being the middle of the night, but she is dressed and fully awake. She is suspicious of my being gone as long as I was, and the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle and stand on end. I explain it away as the reluctance of the princess to venture deep into the forest.

I hand the sack, with the dog's heart inside, for the queen to inspect. She takes it from my hand and stares inside. As she examines it, I find myself wondering if she can tell the difference. I anticipate that she'll be satisfied and hand it back to me, but she takes it and places it upon her writing desk. The blood has already saturated the burlap bag, and I am surprised that she's not concerned about it seeping through to the wood.

She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. I bow and leave, taking note of her watching me from the corner of her eye.

I think I know her plan. If I need to take the blame, someone else must come forward to accuse me. The queen can have no part in it. The kingdom already whispers about her poisoning the king to ascend to the throne.

It may be the morning, or a week, but I am not long for this world. Part of me contemplates staying at my position, waiting until the last possible moment to leave and hide. But, if I cannot control when I will be seized, it is foolish of me to gamble with my life. Especially when another's welfare depends upon me.

I leave the castle, and I've abandoned my royal post as master huntsman. I am a rogue agent; however, as far as I'm concerned, I still serve the crown. The true, just ruler of our kingdom.

I take a different route, longer, more winding. I am careful not to leave any trace. Not a broken branch, no torn fabric, no footprints. Not even a blond hair from my head. I use waterways as much as possible, sloshing through the cold and muddy surfaces, in case the queen sends the hounds I trained so well after me.

It's dawn, when I arrive back to my glen. Although I rise with the sun, seeing its light break over the trees makes me more tired, somehow. I long to sleep. I open the door, and I see the princess sitting in my chair. My favorite one. The one I slept in two nights ago. Her eyes flutter open, as I approach her and she hears my loud footfalls. She sits up, startled, but she calms down, when I stop.

"It's just me, Your Highness," I say with a gentle voice.

"I think," she replies with sporadic yawns between words, "that, here in the woods, whether mine, yours, or ours, I am not so much a princess as I am a debtor. Please, call me Snow."

I give her one slight nod to acknowledge the favor, and then I trudge to my bedroom and fall to my own slumber.

When I awake, it is late afternoon. I can tell, from the window in my room, that the sun will be setting before long.

Leaving my bedroom, I am frozen in place, staring at what Snow accomplished while I slept. The clothing is picked up and neatly cleaned and folded. Piles of my clothes are stacked on my chair, awaiting to be placed in a smarter location. The floor appears to have been swept. The furniture is arranged…nicely. Not anything I would know how to do. The kitchen area is immaculate, and it looks as though it's always been that way. There is a bouquet of wildflowers in one of my beer steins, sitting on the sill of the kitchen window and drinking in the remaining sunlight.

My house has never looked so warm and inviting.

Snow is by the sink, cutting up carrots and then bringing them to boil over the fire.

I cannot fall in love with her. I cannot love her. I cannot. She's heir to the throne. I'm a lowly peasant. She's destined to marry a prince. Probably the one that sang to her in the courtyard. He would certainly do the job justice. And who could not love such a woman as she?

But, as time passes, I fear that I am much better-suited for domestic bliss than I had originally assumed. Thankfully, there are distractions to keep my heart at bay.

The first one is sloppy. A poor replacement for myself. Clearly, the queen chose hastily. I hear him sneeze from behind the trees bordering my glen. I steal outside through a back window, then silently stalk the would-be assassin. His sneezing continues, and he has enough sense to leave the area, as to not alert his targets. Unfortunately for him, I am the better hunter. I catch up to him quickly, and I shoot an arrow through his neck.

The wound doesn't allow him so much as a dying gasp. He falls to the ground, and I catch up to him. Snow doesn't need to see the dead body, and I want to spare her the grotesque sight. I drag the body, thankful that the man is smaller and lighter than myself. There is another clearing, nearby, and I take him there. I leave him in the glade, needing a shovel to continue my work.

Snow sees me, from the window, but she wisely chooses not to call out. I take my shovel from the side of my house and return to the glade without a word to the princess. The dead, short man has only a dagger and a bag with ten pieces of silver. I claim both and shake my head at how ill-prepared this man was. Perhaps the reason we were left alone as long as we were was simply because this assassin was terrible at tracking us to my home.

The grave is dug, the body is covered, and I leave the site to return to Snow.

The first was sloppy, but also betrayed by his body. He couldn't help that he sneezed.

We have months of calm. The season changes, and we are now in the heat of summer. I go out often to hunt, stealthily laying my traps and stalking my prey. On one such hunt, I hear snoring. I alter course and soon find the perpetrator. There is a sack laden with coins at his belt. I can see the flat disks and the similar bag. Another assassin. This one was worse than sloppy. He allowed himself to nap out in the open, probably enjoying the warmth of the sun. He sleeps so deeply, he doesn't stir as I approach and place my steel to his neck.

His eyes open, but I slice through the skin before he can make a sound. I let him bleed out. There was an opportunity, there, to question the man about his orders, but I'm fairly certain I already know what the queen is up to. Two assassins, time apart, working individually, paid with coins. I promise myself to interrogate the next, knowing that the queen will not give up.

I retrieve the pouch, checking the contents. Twenty pieces of silver. And I'd bet that he was promised more, upon providing proof of the deaths of both the princess and the huntsman. I'd also bet that the reward was death, instead of money. The evil queen will have learned her lesson, letting me slip through her fingers.

Another body dragged to the glade. Retracing my steps to my home. Grabbing hold of my trusty shovel and returning to deal with the second body. Another grave, smaller than the one I would have occupied, had this inept agent succeeded.

When I'm done, I contemplate leaving the shovel behind. This will be a graveyard, if this keeps up. In the end, though, I return to my home with the tool in hand. I may need it for purposes other than burying the dead.

The third comes only a month later. The leaves haven't started to change color. I am in my room, and I hear Snow singing and bathing above. I hear a rustling in the bushes along the back of my cabin, which isn't odd, but then there's a series of noises that pique my interest. I go out the front door, then circle back, keeping hidden behind various objects and fauna that will somewhat conceal my hulking form.

A small, spindly man climbs one of the tallest trees in the glen. I watch him, utterly perplexed at what he seeks to do, atop a tree. He is a young man. No hair on his face. When he stops, he is level to the single window that peers into the loft. He blushes and looks to the forest floor, then he peeks up again. My jaw clenches, when I realize why he is choosing to behold the princess instead of attacking her. I shoot an arrow that hits him in the upper thigh. He screams and lets go of the tree.

He'll survive the fall, but not the wound. But I have time to fulfill my promise. It's time to discuss the queen's strategy. And, as Snow will have heard the man, perhaps she will finish her bathing and quickly dress. I hate the young man for spying on her nakedness. I hate myself for wishing to see what he saw.

I run up to him and he is writhing on the ground. The arrow has successfully pierced the large vein in his thigh, and he is already paling from the blood loss. He only has minutes.

"What did the queen tell you?" I hiss, grabbing him by the collar.

"The-the-the qu-qu-queen?" he sputters out.

"WHAT WERE YOUR ORDERS?" I roar. I have no time for him to fall over his words.

"I-I-I-I-I…she-she-she-she…" he feints, both from his terror and blood loss. He'll be dead soon, sooner than I'm able to revive him, I wager.

This was all for naught. I heave him up and onto my shoulder. At least, this time, I am near my shovel. I take it and the assassin to the glade graveyard. There is a familiar sack at his side. Thirty pieces of silver. The queen is upping the bounty. I place the sack on my belt.

By the time the hole is dug, the young man has expired. I bury him and then stand to survey the rounded tops that stand out within the grass. I knew none of the three men, but seeing the burial plots bolsters my confidence. My adversaries, despite their failures, need to be named, if I am to celebrate my victories over them. I remember the first. The Sneezer. The second. The Sleeper. And, now, the third. The…Blusher.

Snow wants to talk about this latest attempt on her life. She is hopeful, at first, that it was merely a passerby. I don't want her to be concerned, but I also know that she cannot afford to be ignorant.

"He was one of three, so far, Snow," I share with her. "I will protect you, as I have sworn to do, but you must know that, until the queen herself is dead or you can take back the throne, she will not cease her efforts."

The next day, I go to the marketplace, heavily disguised, walking with a slight limp. I use the newly-acquired thirty pieces of silver to buy more provisions and a gift. Snow must be frightened. I must bring her something to lift her spirits. I see an attractive comb in the shape of a dragonfly with silver and bronze details. The wings have colored glass. I think she will like it.

While I'm at the market, I listen to the gossip passed around. The villagers believe the princess to be hidden in a secret fortress, guarded by goblins…angels…gremlins…death knights…the ghost of her dead father, the king. I say a word here and there, to fuel the rumors and sabotage the queen's ability to squelch the princess' birthright.

"I've heard tell the princess is protected by kindly dwarves who mine for gemstones…"

"I've heard a prince from another kingdom has fallen in love with her and swears to rescue her from the evil queen's clutches…"

"I think she is guarded by the woods, themselves, so much so that all of the animals flock to her lovely voice and carry out her every wish…"

It's all hogwash. The soldiers roll their eyes and do nothing to defend their queen's honor, because it's all too unbelievable. There is no credible threat to her rule found in the marketplace gossip. But, while the princess is remembered, and, as long as the queen cannot produce proof of her demise, there is hope for their precious Snow White to return.

Snow is, indeed, happy with the comb. Her hair is much longer, now that it's been about a year. She's sixteen, almost seventeen, but I cannot simply escort her to the front gates of the palace. I cannot be sure that the guards will be loyal to the true heir of the throne. And, if I take that chance and I am wrong, how am I to protect Snow from the army of the queen?

The fourth assassin appears only weeks later. The hired mercenaries are improving. I do sweeps in the forest around the glen, searching for any signs that we are being hunted. One day, I see a shadow of a man running away from my home. I pull an arrow and let it fly, but it only grazes its mark. The shadow disappears, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

This is not good.

I need to stay near Snow, now. I cannot let her out of my sight, now that the queen's forces are improving.

Two nights later, I hear the front door creak open, and I roll out of bed and sprint toward the sound. I fight the shadow, smaller and sprier than myself, even in my dazed state, and I end up using the assailant's knife to cut two fingers off his hand. He stifles his scream and runs from the cabin, out into a moonless night. I am tired from wrestling the man, and I have yet to check on Snow. I should follow the assassin, but he worries me. This is the smartest one, yet.

Snow is blissfully asleep, when I climb the stair to her room. I stay awake and sit at the bottom of the stairwell. I doubt the assassin will return on this night, unless they have healing powers. I suppose it's possible for the shadow to climb to the second-story window with one good hand, but I'm going to have to risk it.

At daybreak, my eyes finally close, and I feel Snow's skirts brush by me. I'm too tired to wake or acknowledge her. She gently guides me to my room and I sleep for much of the day.

It is late afternoon, when I groggily emerge. Snow is seated at the fire, preparing our dinner. She smiles at me and I try not to appear as dark as I feel.

"Are you ill?" she innocently asks. "Or injured?"

"No," I shake my head. My voice is full of gravel, so I clear it, before continuing. "There was another last night. A fourth." I see her shiver. She knows exactly what I am talking about. "He came in the house." She rises and takes a step toward me, looking out the window at the remaining daylight. "This one is intelligent. More so than his predecessors, anyway. We need to have a plan in place."

She nods and looks back to me.

"He will try again," I warn her. "He knows that he must catch me unawares. And he knows that he must kill me before he can get to you, so we will use that against him." I've got it. "I have plenty of stores in the basement, and the assassin is in the woods. Help me cover the windows."

We grab the rug off the floor, a wool blanket from my chair, a couple of bearskins that I have in the basement, and anything else that will block the remaining sunlight…and any spying eyes. It doesn't take long, as my dwelling doesn't have many windows, but our supper burns over the fire.

"I think, but I'm not certain, that he will attack at night, again," I whisper to her, eating the over-cooked venison. "He knows he's at a disadvantage, in size and in resources. I will stay up nights, keep watch. During the day, you'll stay downstairs and be on the alert, while I sleep. Unless you're sleeping, I want you downstairs and closer to me, so that I can hear you, if anything should happen."

She chews on her own burned meat and doesn't answer. There's an uncomfortable pause, as we eat purely for sustenance.

"I'm so sorry that I brought all of this upon you," she quietly apologizes.

I am used to her taking blame for what isn't her fault. I used to cringe at her words and believe them to be a sign of weakness. But it's not weakness. She knows that she has no control in all of this. She wants me to know that I am appreciated…because she is kind. Compassionate. Considerate. It shows great strength of character, to exhibit such humility.

Three more nights pass without event. We are silent, mostly. On edge. Waiting. And it pays off. I sit on the bottom stair, ready to run to wherever a I hear a noise. Snow sleeps above me, with her window covered. I am certain that I will hear any type of ascent, if the assassin chooses to enter through her single window.

I hear a footstep in my bedroom. Light, cautious, sneaky. But it's not covert enough for this hunter. I rush to meet him, and I grab him as he tries to flee back through my window. Snow still sleeps, and I will be as quiet as I can. My long arm easily encircles his neck, and I choke him longer than necessary. His body goes completely limp.

I am ready to dig a fourth grave.

Ten coins of gold at his waist, now at mine.

The smallest grave, yet. His severed fingers are cauterized. The arrow wound is neatly wrapped. This shadow was proficient at handling his wounds. Very intelligent. The Healer.

The fifth comes less than a moon cycle later. I am out hunting. He charges me, holding a broadsword that dwarfs his body. His eyes rage and he curses at me. I welcome the fight. I only have my bow, and this assassin is able to slash my forearms, before I hold him down and grab his blade. He orders me to let him go. He swears that he will get the upper hand. He tries to bite and spit at me.

I use his blade to chop off his head. Even in death, he looks cantankerous.

He pays for my trouble, with the twenty pieces of gold and his life.

A fifth grave. My graveyard cannot handle many more bodies. And I don't wish to devote more of my forest home to burying the queen's minions.

The Sneezer, the Sleeper, the Blusher, the Healer, now…the…Complainer. Yes, that fits nicely. I am teaming them up, in death, although they would have been more effective as a group in life.

Two months go by in bliss. It is still autumn, but winter is coming. Most of the leaves are on the ground, leaving the forest floor completely covered in colorful tones. The evergreens are the only trees with foliage. I am thankful there are many, so that my little glen is safely tucked away.

Although there have been no more assassins, I am ready and waiting for the next to arrive. There is one reason, alone, for the calm: the queen is preparing something new.

For the colder weather and for added concealment, I have permanently tacked the window coverings to the frames. Stealing into Snow's room is outright impossible, unless the miscreant has the time and patience to hack at the tree trunks that make up my cabin or slash the double-thick bear hide that covers her window.

I hunt, bring home fresh meat, and scavenge for vegetation, before the frost kills off everything. Eventually, when we run out of stores and need supplies, I will have to go back to the market. I may have to bring Snow with me, if I can figure out how to disguise her. I doubt any amount of mud, patches, or rags would subdue her beauty.

There have been no signs of human life within my patch of forest, aside from Snow and myself. I'm not complacent, but I'm not as guarded as I should be.

It's a quiet night, until my resting mind registers the flames.

I hear the fire, before I see it. My first thought it to run upstairs. My roof is partly thatched. The fire will quickly consume it, and the smoke will fill the princess' lungs. I hurry to her side, hoping that she did not sleep through this. Sure enough, she is already walking to the door, wearing her nightgown and coughing. She's barefoot, but we don't have time for her to dress. I help her down the stairs and throw her a wool blanket. Before she can go out the door, I stop her. She waits for me to give her instruction.

My dagger is already at my side, a habit I've picked up ever since I buried the first assassin. That's one weapon. Not my best and not enough. I grab my bow and quiver, then a length of coiled rope and my hatchet. I rush around my home and hope that I can kill whomever is outside before my cabin burns to ash. I step between Snow and the door, silently ordering her to stay behind me.

But, when I push on the door, it doesn't budge. I slam my shoulder against it repeatedly, determined to break through whatever barricade blocks us in. Ultimately, I concede defeat, as the smoke is starting to come down from the ceiling. I hold onto Snow's hand and lead her to my bedroom. I hack at the pelts that cover my window, until there's enough of a tear to climb through. I jump through first, then I turn to catch Snow. We exit and my arms extend to form a barrier between myself and whatever is waiting to hurt us. I hold the hatchet in one hand and my other palm is open. The rope is at my side, opposite my sheathed dagger, and my bow and quiver are strapped to my back.

I hear crazed laughter from the trees to my right and a frightened gasp behind me. Running to the sound, I am thankful that there is a moon tonight. The assassin is less of a shadow and more a lunatic. He smiles widely at me, as I charge him. I cannot fathom why he's this happy about setting fire to my home. Especially when it did not result in killing either myself or Snow. I will dispose of him and then set about salvaging my cabin.

"Princess! I'm relieved to find you alive! Come, my love!"

That halts me in my pursuit. I look back to see Snow facing a man who's emerged from the opposite side of the glen. I recognize him, too. The blue and white clothing, a red cape. He wears a blue cap, now, with a large white plume at its crest. He is so brightly contrasted against the forest palette, I am surprised I didn't spot him earlier. The prince.

I can tell that Snow is hesitant, but her pondering makes me change my course. I run for her, instead. This prince arrives at the same time as an assassin. It could be coincidence, but perhaps not.

I hear running footfalls behind me. Snow takes tentative steps toward her prince.

"Snow! Don't! You can't-" I am cut off both verbally and physically. The assassin dove for my legs and successfully tripped me to the ground. I roll from my stomach over to my back, and wrestle with the feisty man. I do my best to transfer my attention back and forth between my attacker and the princess.

At the moment, she stands away from the prince.

The assassin swipes a knife at my side, as I simultaneously try to unsheathe my dagger. A small parcel rips away from his waist and coins spill out of it. If I were to guess, I would wager that thirty gold coins are scattered amongst the leaves.

She takes a step toward the prince. I growl, but I cannot call out to stop her, with my breath being so strained.

I focus more of my efforts on controlling the assassin. I need to kill him, not allow him to divide my energies.

Now, she's hesitating. Taking a step back. Good girl. She's learned a thing or two in the time she's been with me.

I roll over the crazed man, successfully pinning him to the ground beneath me, and I can't help it. My line of sight flits up to make sure she's still safe.

She's not.

The prince charges at her, realizing that he won't lure her to him.

I feel another slice at my side. It's shallow, but I can feel the blood seep through my tunic. Both of my hands find his neck and I squeeze. There's a series of cracking noises that sound out as I crush the life out of him. He dies with that maddening smile on his face, as if he wants to laugh at me.

The Laugher.

Letting go of the dead man. Hopping from my knees to my feet. Grabbing my bow, with my left hand. Grabbing an arrow, with my right. Standing and drawing the arrow. Ready to aim. Finding the prince's head.

He has her. Just as I aim to kill him, he pulls her against his body, whipping her around. Her back is against his chest, and he barely peeks over her shoulder. She is terrified, of course, and her eyes apologize. She knows it's not her fault. She knows that I know that, too. She's just too kind for this world.

I'm angry. But anger can make you fall prey to errors. I know better than to fall into that trap. Let us see if the prince is as savvy with his emotions. My arrow is leveled, and I freeze, moving only one part of my body.

"I see your accomplice was paid in coin, but you have no need for riches, do you, Your Highness?"

The prince doesn't respond. His eyes dart around to the trees. I begin to worry that there are more men to deal with in the brush. But, wait…no, this plan went terribly wrong. The Laugher should have killed me, and, having failed, the prince is weighing his options.

"There is nothing to be done, now, boy," I insult him on purpose. No more titles. "If you kill her, I'll rip you limb from limb. If you try to steal her away, I'll hunt you down and take her back."

This young man seemed so in love with the princess, as he wooed her with song at the wishing well. I am genuinely interested in what swayed his heart. As a man, I'm sure I already know.

"What did the queen offer you? What would make you forsake the princess, the rightful heir to the throne, for Her False Majesty?"

His eyes flash with rage, and his head begins to come into my view.

"Watch your mouth, you damnable mutt! How dare you speak of Her Majesty with such insolence!"

I smile a little, proud to see him rise.

"Ah, and there's the payment. She seduced your virgin self. She is a beautiful woman," I grant to him.

His eyelids drop a fraction, lustful. Pleased.

"She is more than beautiful," he counters. "She is beauty itself. She is the fairest in the land, and I will rule and sleep beside her."

The head is in full view, but he is shifting his weight back and forth, which makes it difficult to get a clear shot.

"You are a fool, a dupe," I bait him. "She may be beautiful, but she is not honorable."

"SILENCE, KNAVE! YOUR WORDS ARE-"

The arrow pierces his left eye, the eye furthest from Snow. He looks surprised, as he is thrown backward by the force. Snow runs toward me, now that she is free. I drop my bow and catch her. I want to hold her until she pulls away, but my house still burns. I let go and leave her crying and seated on the ground.

There isn't much to do, to save my home. I grab buckets and fill them with water from the creek. I soak the parts of my roof that the fire has yet to reach. When that's accomplished, I begin to throw buckets of water on the flames. Snow appears next to me, taking a bucket from my hand and refilling it.

It takes hours to smother the inferno. The loft, Snow's room, is completely exposed and unusable. Inside, on the bottom level, there is a fine layer of soot covering every surface. The basement looks untouched. I am thankful that I still have a home, but the repairs will take me months.

When I've done all I can with the cabin, I grab The Laugher and throw him over my shoulder. He is the shortest, of the bunch. I order Snow to follow me with the shovel. It's not a pretty sight, but even she understands that she cannot be on her own until something gives. She dutifully carries the tool and follows my lead. Neither of us glance at the dead prince, as we pass the body.

She shudders at the sight in the glade. Five patches of disturbed earth. Soon to be seven. I go ahead and dig a grave for the prince. Snow sits on a fallen log and watches. It takes too long, for her, although I am not digging deep. Before I know it, she's asleep on a bed of moss nearby.

I dig…and dig…and dig…and dig…until there are two holes of equal proportion, ready to house two bodies. I throw in The Laugher and then cover him quickly. I leave Snow, still asleep, although sunlight has begun to breech the tree cover. She deserves some peace, and I can hurry.

I am not careful with the prince. I drag him through the forest, holding him by his ankles and allowing his handsome face to be mangled by the twigs, rocks, thorns, and other piercing objects that line the trail. When I throw him into the final grave, I am oddly satisfied to see that his handsome face is deformed. He's now as corrupt and rotten on the outside as he was within.

Seven holes, seven bodies, seven piles of dirt. Some have patches of moss or grass. A few weeds. The first frost will kill all of nature's bounty, but, next year, the decay may yield more fruitful vegetation. Perhaps some mushrooms or roots. None of it will be edible. The seven poison the earth.

The Sneezer, The Sleeper, The Blusher, The Healer, The Complainer, The Laugher, and The Duped Prince.

Seven small men, with seven weak hearts. And I bested them all.

The glade graveyard is full. If there is another, and I'm sure there will be, I will have to think creatively to dispose of another assassin.

Another month passes. Snow sleeps in my room, and I sleep in my chair. The repairs needed to fix the loft are unmanageable, due to the harsh cold. But the living arrangement is temporary, as is the weather. There's snow on the ground. I watch the flakes fall, while out hunting, and I marvel, again, at Snow's namesake. I've heard people say that the late queen, Snow's birth mother, wished for a daughter to be born with skin as white as the snow on the ground, hair as black as the ebony frame that held her needlepoint, and lips as red as the droplets of blood that fell from her pricked finger.

White as snow. Perhaps our queen didn't wish for a daughter with pale skin…as much as a princess that would have a pure heart that would love and serve her kingdom. Perhaps it was a wish for her to have a soul as white as snow.

I search the area, during a hunt close to home. Since fighting off the last two foes, I've never strayed far from the cabin. I'll have to leave, eventually, to procure provisions that I can't get from the forest. And Snow must come with me, regardless of the fears I have of her being detected.

As our stores deplete, I become more and more desperate. The snow accumulates on the ground, and a thick blanket of white now covers the floor of the forest. The boughs of the trees that line my glen are weighed down, but they hold firm, sleeping under the cold. Many of the creatures I hunt are either in hibernation or have migrated beyond the reaches of my homeland.

And, just as I wonder what we will be able to make for this night's supper, with the limited resources left in my charred cabin, I see a large buck meandering through the trees. The first deer I've seen in over a month. He walks from the graveyard, strangely enough, and there is no urgency in his manner. I would swear that he looked straight at me, then leveled a challenge to track him. He hops a short distance, away from my glen. I ready an arrow and soundlessly follow him. The temptation and my hunger are too great.

A leap, then a trot. A look over his shoulder, to see if I am there. Another couple of steps, never completely still, yet never out of my sight. By the time I stop and aim, he is already out of my arrow's reach.

It's frustrating and thrilling. I love the chase. I love the hunt. This is why I live my life in a solitary fashion, so that I may use my skills on my terms.

I'm not sure how much time passes. It feels insignificant, but I cannot ignore the fact that I am quickly losing daylight. My prey is still elusive, and I now have a choice: continue my path or return to Snow. I am honor-bound to protect the princess, but my soul longs for a rewarding hunt.

In the end, it's not much of a choice. Of course I will go back home. I purposefully let out a feral growl to signal my dissatisfaction to the buck. He senses the hunt is done, and, finally, he truly bounds away and disappears into the thick brush.

I am exhausted, and, coupled with the unsuccessful hunt, my mind is foggy. I trek with measured strides to make my way home quickly, but I do not run. The forest is quiet. I hear nothing around me. Even my footsteps are hushed.

In the glen, I find the princess collapsed in the snow outside. Everything around her is a haze. My feet run to her side before my mind instructs them to do so. I think I yell out her name, but I'm not sure. As soon as I'm near her, I fall to my knees.

There's a bright, red, ripe apple that appears to have rolled out of her hand. The skin shows that several bites are missing. The flesh of the fruit is still pale and unspoiled.

Her eyes are closed, her lips, red as the apple, are parted; no blood, no trauma to any visible part of her body. I remove a glove and hold a finger underneath her nose. No breath. My head dips down to her breast, and, thankfully, I hear a faint heartbeat. I pull her head to my lap and pinch the sides of her mouth to open it further. There is still a small bite of apple at the back of her throat. Without hesitation, I stick my fingers into the cavity to retrieve it. As I grip it, it falls to the back of her tongue. I lodge my fingers in further, determined.

Her chest heaves, and I see her eyes clench tighter. Coughs and horrible noises come from her throat. Angling her to the side of my lap, I help her retch into the pristine white snow that surrounds us. The contents of her stomach are simply the few pieces of apple and the yellow bile. When she is finished, she sputters and cries into my chest. I bring some fresh snow up to her lips, to wash the acrid taste, and then I scoop more snow atop the pile of vomit.

I am rocking her against me, my heart is pounding in my chest, and I kiss her forehead as if it is natural for me to do so. I am thankful she is alive. I am enraged with my thoughtlessness, leaving her alone for so long and ignoring my duty. And my heightened state, along with my previous feelings remind me of something: I need to hunt.

Snow is calmed down enough, now, to speak. Her breath hitches in her chest, occasionally, but I need to know what I am up against, this time.

"What happened?"

She explains in fragments, stringing along a story with broken and erratic sentences…but I think I understand.

As I hunted, a beggar woman appeared at the door. The princess, wizened by experience, knew not to answer the knock. The woman even called out, offering apples for sale. Although her stomach rumbled and she salivated for the fruit, she held fast and did not open the door for the stranger.

Eventually, the woman went away, and Snow breathed a sigh of relief. But a pained gasp was heard from the glen. Snow cracked the door open to see what was the matter. The beggar woman was crying, sitting and holding her ankle. The princess' heart softened, to see the elderly lady in distress, so she ran out to help her. The problem was easily managed; the woman only needed help to her feet, and she was able to hobble upon one leg. An overturned basket of apples was quickly mended, as well. And, as Snow handed the final piece of fruit to the owner, the grateful woman shook her head and insisted that it was payment for the kindness.

The princess was hungry. She looked at the ripe skin, red and lovely, and imagined how it would taste. She slowly brought the apple to her lips. The first bite was perfectly crisp and juicy. It was cold, outside, but Snow couldn't feel the chill. She couldn't detect any danger. She was in bliss. The second bite was more fulfilling, as she tore into the flesh and enjoyed the flavor. She took a third bite, just before swallowing the second mouthful. That was when her throat constricted.

She looked to the woman for help, but the old crone maliciously cackled back at her. With a sharp slap to her face, Snow was cast to the ground, and the false beggar stepped over her. The disguise had completely fooled the princess, but, now, in her moment of triumph, the witch could not resist claiming the credit. Snow looked into the eyes of her evil stepmother, the queen. Then, she blacked out.

The poison was not able to claim Snow. The bites of the apple were still fresh. The queen is still out there. With the princess dead, it would be my word against hers…but only if Her Majesty is working alone. And if she is…

I have new prey.

There's not time to waste. I order Snow back inside, tell her to barricade herself in my cabin and to await my return.

This may all be over by dawn.

The very thought excites me. It fuels me.

I track the queen. I see the footsteps in the snow, now that I am looking for them. I see the broken branches and twigs, the snowless limbs that lost their cover when something brushed against them. I see the strands of honey bronze hair, the occasional scraps of torn fabric. I rush through the forest, my forest. At sunset, clouds cover the sky and steal much of my light. I hurry.

And, when I find the queen, I leap like the predator I am. She barely huffs, as I pin her to the ground. I believe Snow, when she told me that her stepmother was disguised, but the queen is no longer hidden in plain sight. She is beautiful, fierce, and fearless. She laughs, when she sees that it is I who lie atop her.

"So, my disloyal huntsman, you betrayed me, after all!" She laughs, again, and it is an evil sound. "There was talk of others guarding the princess. Dwarfs, wizards, woodsmen…all struck by her beauty and willing to die for her. But it was only you, wasn't it? I know you are willing to kill for her. Will you also join her in death?"

"She lives!" I snarl.

The queen's eyes flicker with uncertainty and amazement. Then her countenance sets into tranquility. She arches her back, so that her chest presses into mine. Her eyes dart to my lips and her expression is sultry.

"Why lust after a girl, when a queen is ready to serve as slave to you? I will pleasure you, praise you, and bring you into my halls as my king and master."

She opens her legs and my body falls between them, straddled by her warmth.

"What say you, my big, strong huntsman?" she purrs.

The queen is beautiful. Nay, she is, as the prince exalted, the fairest in the land. But her heart and soul are as putrid as the decaying bodies of the men that rest in the glade. Beauty fades. It is our character that outlives our appearance. I don't show it, but her whorish manipulations infuriate me.

Her reign is at an end. I kill her with my hands around her throat. Those sultry, evil eyes bulge in her perfect face. It's not only the life leaving her body, it's pure rage trying to take me to the depths of Hell with her. Mostly, it's without ceremony. She was elevated from nothingness to the title of queen. I strike her back down, where she belongs. No pomp. No circumstance. No witnesses.

When the deed is done, I am oddly numb. I feel nothing. Bored. A little aggravated that I must dispose of another body. The easiest kill of my career. And the hardest.

She's not a queen in the forest. My forest. She wore the garments of a peasant; no jewels or rich fabrics, as they would have been wasted and ruined in this setting. The black robe she wears conceals her in darkness, especially due to its being hooded and much larger than needed for her slight frame.

I stand, and I am surprised to find that I'm panting. As if I'm out of breath. I am anxious to be done. Thrown over my shoulder, she is mercifully light. I'd bet that the cloak adds much to the weight I carry.

There is a cliff close enough nearby. I am tired of digging. This woman does not deserve a burial, for all of the lives she's forced me to take. I throw her out of my arms and over the edge. I lean to watch the rapid descent. The black cloak billows behind her, flapping wildly. The body hits the river below with a loud smack, then it sinks to the bottom of the water. It will flow downstream, away from the kingdom. Like the handsome prince, by the time she is found, she'll look nothing like her royal self.

Walking home, I realize that this will be my last time with Snow.

I think about that, for the duration of my short hike.

I think about what my cabin will look like, once it loses the feminine charm she adds to it. I doubt that I'll keep up her standard of cleanliness.

I think about being without her company, back to my solitary life. No shared smiles, no discussion, no quiet companionship in front of the fire. I promise myself to savor these remaining hours with her.

She is beauty. Her fine face, sure, but her humility, her grace, her kindness, and her bravery… she possesses all that is admirable. She will be a wonderous queen.

I told myself I would never love her. Not in a romantic fashion. That would be elevating myself far above my class. And yet, I fell for her, all the same. It's not right, but I only risk my own heart. I'll tell her nothing. Once again, a sacrifice will be made. My heart broken, so that hers can live on in peace.

But, when I arrive home, I find that I may lose that war within myself.

Snow runs out of the house to meet me, and I tell her that her stepmother is dead. She doesn't feign sadness; she is all relief. When she embraces me, I am caught unawares. I'm grateful she cannot see my bewildered expression. I slowly bring my arms up to encircle her petite waist, but I allow enough room for her to pull away. I expect her to do so at any moment.

Instead, she declares her love for me. My heart fills, and the part of me that relishes the hunt, the feral rogue, takes over my body and kisses her with fervor. I am triumphant for the second time, that day.

It's a sky full of stars, before we finally release each other.

"We should head to the castle, Your Majesty," I advise her. The formal words spout from my mouth with practiced ease, although I have not used any formal titles with the princess since she instructed me not to.

"No, thank you," she shakes her head. She pulls me, with one delicate hand in mine, toward the cabin's front door. "I want one more night. A reward for us both, for what we've endured. A night of peace that we are granted after almost two years of being gripped by fear."

And we share my bed, share our bodies, share our joy. I worship her body, not white as snow, now in a womanly frame with luscious curves and mature desires.

The morning is difficult.

We prepare to leave my tiny cabin for her great castle. She begs me to stay with her, be her consort, rule by her side.

"I am a huntsman, Your Majesty, it is what I was born to do. It is all I know and all I wish to know."

She doesn't correct my using her title. And, of course, she doesn't offer to stay with me in my glen. She knows better, on both accounts. I believe there's a saying about our very problem, but I cannot remember it accurately. Something about a bird loving a fish, or some nonsense…

"You shall be reinstated as my Master Huntsman," she proclaims.

"I shall proudly serve you, Your Grace."

"Will you love me, too, Bertrand?" she asks.

"Forever in this life and onto whatever lies beyond."

The rest of this story is somewhat dull, in comparison to the beginning. The princess is welcomed into her court, given both proper vestments and the crown. She rules justly and fairly, with love for her people that surpasses anything monarchs have shown for generations. She never marries. Her favorite pastime is riding through the woods. Sometimes, she stays for hours, until just before nightfall, and she prefers a little glade, according to some of her guard.

Unlike most royals, she takes an active interest in hunting and meal preparation. She meets with her Master Huntsman frequently, on the castle grounds. He occasionally takes her on his hunts. She requests to speak with him, in private, about special game she wants dropped off to her head cook. The servants and guards whisper that the two are engaged in an affair, but it is baseless gossip. And they would never do their beloved queen the disservice of spreading it beyond the castle's walls.

The queen, therefore, is known as a virgin queen. She never marries and never bears children. Apparently, she is content to be the last of her dynasty.

I cannot have children, it seems. None of the women I've bedded have ever ripened from my seed. I told Her Majesty that, but she insisted that our trysts would be easier without her having to admit to keeping a consort. I was happy to hear that.

I am a hunter, she is a queen. Two different worlds. Where they intersect, we are in bliss.

My death comes before hers. I was older. And my trade was unforgiving to my body. Because I am merely a peasant worker, she cannot give me the ceremony she feels I deserve. She cries for me every night. I cannot comfort her, but I also do not worry for her, even in her mourning.

Time passes differently, now. In a mere snap, she is by my side. Death is said to part lovers; it's used in some marital vows. Death is what finally unites us. I can be by her side forever, now. And I will keep my promise to love her wherever our souls reside.

Her body is entombed in a glass coffin, for her people and the world to see for the week after her death. Now, finally, she truly resembles her name. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, and her hair is the color of the snow that I resuscitated her in, all those years ago. She aged gracefully, but there is evidence of her years in the wrinkles on her skin. She is still breathtaking.

The kingdom mourns her. The royals of other nations that she forged alliances with travel to see her and to pay homage.

Years pass, then decades, then centuries. It is, for us, a breath. A blink.

Someone is telling our story. Spoken, then written, then revised, then retold. Snow and I laugh, to hear how time has muddled what we lived through.

She is now a princess that a magic mirror deems to be more beautiful than her wicked stepmother. The queen cannot abide being second in her own kingdom, so she orders her huntsman to kill the young girl. I am the reluctant huntsman who shoos her off into the forest. In some versions, I am killed by the queen. In others, I am not worth mentioning, after Snow flees into the woods. It is seven dwarfs that take her in and protect her. The prince, either introduced in the beginning as a lover or thrown in at the end to be the obvious hero, rescues the princess with a kiss. They live happily ever after.

Snow's favorite version has a bear knocking over her glass coffin and dislodging the bite of poisoned apple from her throat, instead of the prince's kiss doing the trick. She thinks it to be an improvement on the true story, when my fingers down her throat caused her to vomit up the poison she'd ingested.

I don't care for the various narrations, myself, although some of the iterations include elements that I spread throughout the marketplace. I am not the villain. I am not the hero. I am a fleeting, minor, forgettable character in a fairy tale.

We know the truth: I was, and always will be, hers.

Her loyal huntsman.