The Poisoned Princess: A Snow White Retelling (The Skazka Fairy Tales)
The Poisoned Princess: Chapter 1

Every morning there’s a possibility that I will be discovered and all of my carefully laid plans will come crashing down around me. Dramatic? Maybe. But my life depends on those freshly baked goods, and I will do whatever sneaking about is required for me to get them.

It’s too early for most people to be up, and I hurry down the long hallways toward the sitting room on the opposite side of the castle where my favorite secret passage waits for me. There are quite a few passages built into the ancient walls of the castle; many I haven’t discovered yet. But this particular passage came to me when I needed it most. By that, I of course, mean that I was spending way too much time in the passages and discovered this one leading directly into the pantry—the one place that allows a few moments of the freedom and companionship I so desperately crave.

It’s been ten years since my papa disappeared, ten years since I’ve had any kind of interaction with the outside world. My stepmother, Queen Pelageya, took the throne and decided it would be best for Korolevstvo Tsvetov if I were to stay protected within these walls.

“The outside world is a cruel place, Ivanna. And it is even more so for those of us in power. Heed my words and listen to your queen.”

I’m not sure how many times I’ve heard her say that to me. No one knows what happened to my papa, but we cannot afford a kingdom without a ruler. When I turn twenty, I am to take the throne, and with that kind of responsibility on my shoulders, it is wise for me to follow Queen Pelageya’s advice. She has my—and my kingdom’s—best interests in mind.

It’s a mantra I utter daily as I go through lesson after lesson, remaining locked within the library or my bedroom where I will be safe.

But even though I follow the queen’s guidance when it comes to staying away from most people, I can’t stay away from Tetia Alla. She makes the best piroshki in the whole land of Skazka. I don’t even need to venture outside the castle to know that. I know it on an instinctive level. The smell of baked dough with seasoned beef filling calls to my very soul daily.

I keep my steps light and as quiet as possible as I hide in the shadows. Typically, the halls of the castle are bright with color. The walls are always decorated with paintings, all of which are adorned in golden frames. The crown molding is also gold, and the designs are incredible, raging from vining plants to animals in regal positions. But right now, everything is dark.

I quickly look both ways, then pull the sitting room door open and slip inside. The room is dark, the heavy curtains drawn to prevent any light from creeping in. But I don’t need light. I have this room memorized like the back of my hand.

Knotting my long skirt up in my fist so it doesn’t brush against anything, I hurry to the tapestry hanging near the far-right window. Many of the castle walls are just like this room, covered in tapestries, which keep the cold weather as far away as possible and add extra insulation. Despite the dark, I can picture the designs clearly: various renditions of scenes from Skazka’s history.

Baba Yaga riding in her mortar, holding a pestle, the house on chicken legs in the background. The three harbingers of her magic—the white, red, and black riders on their respective horses of the same color. The fields full of poleviks, the deformed creatures with different colored eyes and grass for hair, coming to punish the workers asleep on the job. The land of Skazka is full of these mythical creatures, the forest itself brimming with magic. Or so I’ve been told.

The passage is even darker than the room I leave behind, but just like within the room, I know the exact number of steps that will lead me down the length of the corridor before I have to turn left. It’s colder here than the rest of the castle, sending goosebumps up my arms and down to my toes.

The simple tapochki I’m wearing on my feet may have a heel cover, unlike my old ones, but the soles are barely thick enough to protect me from the rough ground. They’re definitely not warm enough to chase away the cold. And neither is the dress that leaves my shoulders bare. I didn’t think to grab my shawl.

When I reach the place where the corridor veers off in two directions, I turn left. Within a minute, I’m at a wooden door. As soon as I push it open, I’m hit with the smell of freshly baked bread, and I smile.

I slip through the cracked door. I don’t open it all the way—there are shelves in front of it to hide it from sight. Only a few of the kitchen staff know about this particular passage, and they make sure it stays hidden but accessible for me. When I finally tiptoe to the pantry’s outside door, it’s pulled open before I can grab the handle.

“Nu nada zhe! Princessa Ivanna, you are going to give an old woman a heart attack one of these days,” Tetia Alla exclaims, her hand on her heart as she looks up at me. I can’t help grinning. She says this to me at least three times a week, when I stop by for my secret cooking lessons.

“Dobroe utro, Tetia Alla,” I greet her, bending down to place a kiss on her cheek. She only comes up to my shoulders, and I’m not tall by any means. Since trading with the human world became popular a few years back, bridging the divide between our realms, I’ve been using the metric system, but learning the imperial. According to their recognized measurements, this would make me five foot five. Tetia Alla is barely five feet tall, and the most adorable human I have ever met.

Her cheeks are constantly rosy, and her babushka headscarf always covers her dark locks. She wears the traditional sarafan, brown with tan lines and flowing designs, over her white blouse—appropriate servant colors. Even so, there’s a sense of comfort about her that I replace endearing.

“If I did not know any better, Princessa, I would say you enjoy giving my heart a morning workout.”

“Who? Me? I would never,” I grin down at her and am rewarded by a small smile. In the years since my father’s disappearance and my subsequent imprisonment, Tetia Alla has been a consistent source of kindness in my life. The queen, as she requests that I call her at all times, is not an affectionate person, but I don’t hold it against her.

“Oy, dorogaya. Come, come.” Tetia Alla motions me behind her, and I follow, no questions asked. She pulls me to a corner stool near her workstation and hands me a plate with piroshki on it. That’s when I notice that the kitchen is bustling with activity, much more than usual at this time of the morning. Tetia Alla is usually here by herself.

“What’s going on?” I ask, before taking a bite of my pastry. The moment it hits my taste buds, I want to make an inappropriate-for-current-company noise, but instead, I just savor it slowly. Food is one of the greatest gifts of life. Truly.

Food and the letters I receive in the post are my simple joys in life. That said, I think the post is supposed to come today. It’s been a pleasant surprise that the man I am betrothed to likes correspondence. At least, I’m not marrying a total stranger. Although, I’m still trying to make up my mind about him. He’s been interesting, but—

“Tetia Alla, you wouldn’t believe it.” Anya’s voice breaks through my musings. The queen’s maiden rushes in, passing me and stopping right in front of Tetia Alla, a little out of breath. I perk up immediately. I love catching the gossip mill firsthand. “The bogatyrs are back, and they were seen right on the other side of the village northeast of us! The fact that the knight-errants are so close is crazy! Can you believe it? The queen is in a tiff with the advisers again. Apparently, they’re saying the bogatyrs attacked a village for its resources! They took grain and milk. There’s so much speculation. Some say it didn’t happen. But I heard that they’re hands—”

“Goodness me, child. Slow down,” Tetia Alla says, handing the girl a glass of water. She takes it gratefully.

“Are they really handsome?” I ask, because I can’t help myself. The girl jumps, turning to face me, a look of shock on her face.

“Oh, Princessa Ivanna!” Anya stumbles back in surprise, before giving me a slight curtsy. I smile.

“Good morning, Anya. Please, do continue,” I say. The girl looks at me for a moment longer, as if unsure of how to regard me. She’s one of the newer additions to the castle staff. She’s only been here about four years and has always been kind to me, but we have never become friends. She gives me a tentative smile before turning back to Tetia Alla.

But Tetia Alla is already moving on to her next task.

“If you are finished, please see about the queen’s breakfast.”

“Oh, but Tetia Alla, they’re saying the danger is coming closer and closer every day. What will we do if these mercenaries come for us?” Anya’s distress is evident.

Tetia Alla gives her a kind smile. “Gossip, my dear, is only speculation passed around by people with no facts. It is distorted every time it is told to another. You call them mercenaries, others call them heroes. It is all a matter of perspective.”

I finish up my piroshok and dust off my hands.

“You really don’t think they’re anything to fear?” I ask. Two pairs of eyes turn to me. I’ve heard the stories about this band of men traveling through the land of Skazka. Some stories speak of their valiant efforts to help villages, while others paint them as men on a rampage, pillaging the land. They’re said to be handsome, but evil can be beautiful and often is. At least, that’s what my storybooks tell me.

“I think, Princessa, you have nothing to fear. You are well-protected within these walls. And that goes for you, too, Anya. Enough talk. See to the queen’s breakfast.”

And that’s that. I give Tetia Alla a quick kiss on the cheek and hurry back to the secret passage. I think that today, instead of a kitchen lesson, I want to see what the queen is up to.

I’ve only been to the queen’s wing twice. One of the hidden passages I discovered leads directly to the sitting room outside her bedroom, while the another leads to the conference room. I can only assume that whoever created these passages wanted to listen in on the royals.

Truth be told, I would’ve snuck over more than twice. I am curious, after all, and no one tells me anything. But somehow, each time I did, it was almost like the queen knew I was eavesdropping and watched me closer afterward. The queen’s attention isn’t something I like to have on me. Not when I want to sneak over to the kitchens or when I’m waiting for the post to come in. So, as much as possible, I try to keep a low profile. It’s better for everyone.

But today, I’m too curious. Queen Pelageya is typically pretty level-headed. She guards her emotions so closely, sometimes, I’m not sure she even has them. And I’ve never seen her “in a tiff” before.

Munching on the piroshok I’d grabbed right before I left, I make my way to the queen’s sitting room. This particular passage is a little easier to navigate today, which makes me smile. Clearly, my snooping is meant to be. I almost start humming but then catch myself at the last moment. What kind of a spy would I be if I gave away my position? Honestly.

When I reach the turnoff toward the queen’s study, I’ve nearly finished my treat. I keep one hand on the wall for guidance as my mind spins with questions about these bogatyrs. I have very limited information—all of it from the kitchens—but I can’t help wondering. I mean, is this a group of knights, traveling all over Skazka, bringing good fortune to those they meet?

Or are they destroying everything in their path?

I can’t quite decide which description is more fascinating—which should probably worry me. Why would I want destruction? Because, of course, I don’t. But I am curious about the type of person who believes something so fully they are willing to do whatever it takes to get it.

It makes me wonder if that’s the kind of queen I’ll be.

The land of Skazka brims with magic and history. I’ve read plenty of books that describe the valiant efforts of High Queen Calista and King Brendan in bringing down Baba Yaga and ridding the land of evil for decades. One day, I hope to visit Zelonoye Korolevstvo and meet Queen Calista in person. She sounds like an incredible role model, both as a ruler and as a woman.

But I’ve also heard the whispers that evil is never truly gone, and even though Skazka prospers, many of the surrounding kingdoms still struggle from day to day—especially now that the trading passage to the human realm has been opened and more foreigners flood the forests of Skazka.

Which makes me worried for all kinds of different reasons.

Even though I’m foggy about the details, I remember the forest taking my father all those years ago. It’s the only way I can put into words the images that sometimes visit me in the night. The trees coming alive and reaching for my father, wrapping their long branches around him and pulling him into the darkness. If it wasn’t for Queen Pelageya, I wouldn’t be here right now. She has always taken care of me. One day, I hope to repay her kindness by being a fair ruler and taking care of her.

I take a deep breath as I reach my destination. There are grates near the queen’s study—created for air circulation no doubt—that provide a way to peek into the room without entering. I reach one and lean against the wall, letting it support my weight, as I peek inside.

Even though it’s early morning, the curtains are only slightly cracked on one side of the room. The fireplace is lit, a normal occurrence around the castle regardless of the time of year. It casts an ominous glow over the room.

At first, I don’t see anyone, but then Queen Pelageya steps into view. I’m always incredibly impressed by her beauty. She looks put together, even this early in the morning.

Her dark brown locks are pinned away from her face, falling into a thick curly updo at her back. Her face is free of blemishes, her cheeks rosy, and her lashes dark and long. Her lips are painted red—her signature color—which is also the color of the dress that hugs her tall frame, falling all the way to the floor in layers.

Queen Pelageya loves the fashion of the human realm, with more risqué designs than I would ever dare wear. But they all look good on her, in that way that demands the painter’s brush to put it to canvas. She’s sat for portraits more than once. The dress she currently wears has a full layered skirt, while the top is diagonally secured over one shoulder, leaving the other exposed. She’s also wearing an assortment of gold jewelry—her favorite. I can’t keep the smile from crossing my face. She looks expensive and regal. She looks like a queen.

But she doesn’t look mad, not the way Anya made it sound. In fact, the queen is alone, with no advisers in sight. I’m about to turn back when she raises her hand from where it had been half hidden in her skirts, and I stop.

The queen holds what looks like a mirror, but not one I’ve seen before. Leaning a little closer to the wall, I try to see it in the low light. It also appears to be made of gold, with intricate designs around the oval glass area. The queen lifts the mirror by the handle—the glass itself isn’t any bigger than her palm—and smiles.

“Tell me, pretty looking-glass,

Nothing but the truth, I ask:

Who in all the world is fairest

And has beauty of the rarest?”

It’s such an absurd question, I nearly laugh out loud. Covering my mouth, I drop away from the grate moving across the passage to the other side, lest I be discovered. A man’s voice speaks then, sending a shiver up my spine. I can barely hear it from where I’m now leaning against the opposite wall, but I swear I can make out some of the words. It sounds like, “And her beauty is the rarest.”

As much as the question didn’t make sense, the answer makes even less sense. Who would answer a question like that? The voice doesn’t seem real and neither does the tense silence that follows.

I want to look, but something is holding me in place. A sense of…oppression. I raise my hand to my chest, pushing on my heart to try and calm the sudden burst of fear. My mind tries to process what’s causing it, but as I glance around, I don’t see any danger. When I finally move back toward the grate, the queen is no longer in sight. That’s when I hear a knock on her door.

I take that as my cue to leave. If the advisers are coming now, someone will be coming for me soon, and I still have to make myself look like a princess. My feet carry me automatically toward my chambers, but my mind is spinning with questions. What was that mirror and whose voice did I hear?