Reflect - Snow White Retold

Part 1

ONE

Guinevere whirled around in panic when her door slammed. The whirr of doves in flight signalled the departure of her friends. She envied them their easy escape.

"He's finally gone mad," Xylander said. He strode across the room to close and bar the shutters, engulfing them both in gloom. "You're not safe here any more."

Guinevere pressed a hand to her chest, trying to still her racing heart. She managed a weak smile. "We're his only children. He wouldn't hurt us." Not even she believed it. Or why would she panic so at the slamming of a door?

Xylander shook his head. "You didn't hear him, Guin. He's been trying to arrange marriages for us both. He said if the king you're supposed to marry won't agree on your dowry, he'll cut off your head and hands and send them to him instead."

"A jest, surely."

"He sent for the Master at Arms, demanding his axe, Guin. That was no jest. You must flee." Xylander pressed something into her hands. Sackcloth, it felt like. "Fill this with everything you wish to take with you. I recommend you wear something sturdy and warm, suitable for rough travel, and fill the sack with your court clothes and what jewels you can carry."

She had precious few of those, seeing as her father didn't allow her in court. She had no jewels to speak of, for those that had belonged to her mother had been claimed by her stepmother. As for rough travel...why, she hadn't left the castle grounds in months. The roughest travel she'd known in years was to get a stone in her slipper on the way to the cathedral as she crossed the square. "Xylander, I can't."

He gripped her shoulders. "We must. I will come with you to protect you, Guin, and see you safely to your new kingdom. You will be a queen, just like Mother was."

Her little brother protecting her. A few years ago, it would have been a funny notion, but Xylander had become a man while she became a mouse.

"What will we eat? Where will we sleep?" she asked. And what would become of the castle in her absence? She'd been chatelaine since her mother's death.

"We will bring as much food as we can carry in our saddlebags, and I can hunt along the way. I will pitch you a hunting camp as comfortable as your tower room here, I promise."

She wanted to believe him. Oh, the comfort was likely a lie, for nothing beat her feather bed atop its straw mattress, though the straw was wearing thin now. They must be due to be refilled – something else she'd planned to do this week. Could she trust the maids to do the work without her?

No, it was her brother she would have to trust, because she'd be leaving the beds and the maids behind.

She did believe Xylander about the hunting part, for the guards had taken to calling him Xylander the Huntsman, and the bards told stories of his victories on feast days. When her father allowed it, of course. More and more often lately, he'd roar at the bard for getting some detail wrong and send the poor man out of the hall for a flogging.

Come to think of it, there hadn't been any bard at the last feast she'd been allowed to attend. Even the travelling minstrels had stayed clear, not willing to risk being flogged to death for some imagined slight.

Xylander was right. Her heart knew it, but her head had just needed a moment to catch up.

"Bring me boys' garb. Something your squire would wear, so that when we ride out of the gates together, no one will think to look twice at me," Guinevere said. She thought a moment, then added, "Don't forget a cloak, for if I must look like a queen when we arrive, I cannot cut my hair, and I will need a cloak to cover it."

Xylander nodded. "I had thought to wait for nightfall, but if you wear a disguise, we can leave sooner. You are as brave as you are wise, sister. Any kingdom would be blessed to have you as their queen." He hurried out.

Guinevere let herself sag against the shuttered window. She would have to be a fool to try and flee from her father, who would send his troops out in search of his lost children.

But she would rather take her chances with bandits on the road, than wait for the axe to fall here. A fool she might be, but she'd be a bigger fool if she stayed.