Page 10 of How To Survive This Fairytale
“A snare, Your Majesty,” says a man with a gruff, clipped voice.
A woman’s voice answers, soft and sad: “Someone’s been hunting in my woods?”
“Probably still nearby.The tracks are fresh.”
“Find them and kill them.How dare they pilfer my woods.”
You could run.You could get to your feet and run with Favorite in your arms.Youcould, but you don’t, and when he finds you, he follows his queen’s command.
THAT CAN’T BE THE WAY THIS STORY ENDS.
Try Again?
The sound of horses.
In three months, you haven’t encountered anyone in these woods except for Gertrude.She fled here seeking a quiet place to break the curse in peace.
“Hide,” you whisper.You usher Favorite off the dirt path, into the underbrush, where his white feathers are stark against the green and brown.When he staggers behind a tree, you swallow hard and turn your head just in time to see a small retinue break through the fog.
Armored knights carry banners.Between them, at the center, a crowned woman rides in a dress of vibrant blue.Her beauty strikes you like lightning: all your wordssnapout of your body, which burns hot from head to toe.
“You dare obstruct Her Majesty’s path?”asks one of the knights.
Another dismounts.“You will bow for your queen,” he says.He looks ready to force you to your knees and leave you there to be trampled by the horses.
“Hush,” says the queen.Her voice is silken, silvery.The hand she holds up is smooth, completely unblemished by labor or curse-breaking.“He’s only a child, can’t you see?”
“A child with a snare,” says the knight who dismounted.“He’s been hunting in your woods, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, dear,” says the queen.Her gaze pins you.“Is this true?”
Remember: if you want to live, you have to be clever.
“Not hunting, Your Majesty,” you say.“Only trapping.”
“Only trapping.”She titters.Her teeth shine like sugar in her mouth; you feel sick looking at her, but you can’t look away.“Well, thereisa distinction, I suppose.The punishment for hunting in my woods is death, but if you were onlytrapping… Perhaps you could pay a fine.”
“I have no money.”
“Then perhaps you could pay with service.”Her eyes, twin emeralds, sparkle despite the lack of sun.“Since you want to hunt in my woods, you shall be my very own huntsman.You’re young, but I can see how strong you might become.I would house you, feed you, clothe you… all I ask is that you hunt for me.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all, my sweet.”
My sweet.The gingerbread house, the spun-sugar window panes.Your stomach churns.“For how long?”
The glimmer fades from her eye.“Do you find my offer so unfavorable?”
If you say yes, she will kill you.
“It’s only that… My family, they’ll worry.”
“Of course they will.I’ll write to them myself to assure them of your safety.”
“May I at least say goodbye to them?”
“Surely they’re not nearby.”