The Poisoned Princess: A Snow White Retelling (The Skazka Fairy Tales)
The Poisoned Princess: Chapter 7

DIMITRI

Every time we return to the cottage from one of our trips, there’s always a sense of frenzy. Seven men living together and having to take care of all the domestic duties isn’t exactly how I saw my twenties starting. But something I learned very early on is that life doesn’t always turn out the way we plan anyway.

“I think if you scrub that shirt any more, you’ll make it holy.”

Kostya’s voice jerks my attention back to my task, and I glance down at the shirt in my fist. With a little smirk in Kostya’s direction, I lean the washboard against the side of the tub and rinse out the shirt before checking it over for damages. Thankfully, I don’t see any, but my hand is a little tired, which means I was scrubbing harder than I thought.

“What has you so lost in thought?” Kostya asks, wringing out the shirt he’s been washing. He picks up clothespins to hang it on the clothesline. As with everything else, he’s meticulous, which is one of the reasons I love being partnered up with him. We work well in tandem.

“I don’t trust her,” I say, hanging my shirt on the clothesline.

“You’re not supposed to,” Kostya points out. I grunt. Maybe I don’t want to be partnered with him today. It’s too much logic for me, especially while I’m trying to be moody about the whole situation.

If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t like the fact that our carefully crafted dynamic has been shaken up. I can see it already. Even Pavel, who is usually the quiet one, is talking up a storm in the kitchen. With her—our walking contradiction of a house guest.

“Dima, I know you don’t like change, but this seems to be the path we’re taking, so it’s best to be flexible.” Kostya is the only one who calls me Dima—and the only one who’s allowed to. We’re only two months apart, so out of all the men, I’ve always felt closest to him. Especially since he’s my voice of reason. Kind of like Igor is my voice of parental wisdom. The two of them have been by my side for close to twelve years now. If I was having this conversation with anyone, it would be one of them.

“What do you mean I don’t like change? I am the most flexible person you know.”

“Yes, of course. When everything is going exactly according to plan.” Kostya chuckles. I chuckle as well. While Igor leads our group, I am typically the one who maps out the initial plans. And then we work together to perfect them.

“I know you’re not happy she’s here, and you definitely don’t want to give up your bed, but what is it about her that has you so on edge?”

I suppose I should’ve expected this question from Kostya, but I still don’t like it. It’s always nice to have people around that know exactly who you are, except when you want to hide from them and can’t. Which is why I can’t lie to Kostya either. He’ll see right through that.

“I don’t know,” I reply honestly, hating the words as I say them. Admitting weakness is not my strong suit. “There’s something about her that gets under my skin.”

“She is very beautiful…” Kostya says carefully and I send him a glare.

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Nyet.” My voice is firm and so is my stare. Kostya immediately raises his hands in surrender.

“Okay, let’s say I believe that.” He takes a step back when I try to swat at him. “But then, let’s figure out what else it can be, because until you identify the problem—”

“I can’t replace a solution,” I finish. I drop the shirt I’ve been halfheartedly washing and stand up straighter. My mind calculates everything we know about her and everything I’ve observed, and I come back to the same conclusion I had earlier.

“There’s something about her that just doesn’t sit right. She says she’s come from a bad situation, she’s dressed like a servant, but she seems almost…too soft and unbothered by the world to have lived in it.”

The moment I say it out loud, it feels right. In recent years, I’ve tried my best to give people the benefit of a doubt, but it seems that I can’t really do that. It feels even more important to be careful because it’s not just me on the line here, but my family. After all, that’s who these men are to me. I can’t use any other word to describe them, and I’m protective. Whatever it takes, I will protect and take care of them. Our unwanted guest puts a kink in those plans.

“I know what you mean,” Kostya says after careful consideration. I feel better instantly. Because if he noticed it, that means it’s not just my paranoia. “But Dima, we all have secrets. It would be very strange if she was ready to share hers after just meeting us.”

I roll my eyes, because I can’t help it. He’s disarming me with his logic again.

“I really don’t like you,” I say, picking up the discarded piece of clothing and siting back down on the stool in front of the tub. We’re almost done, and I’m more than ready for that bath and nap before dinner.

“The feeling is mutual,” Kostya replies with a completely straight face. Then he grins. It does make me feel better that we’re both on guard about the whole situation. And I know Igor is too. Maxim might already be smitten and will overlook anything at this point, but we’ll see about the rest.

Either way, we have a few days to see what we can learn before we have to leave again.

IVANKA

These men eat a lot.

While I helped Pavel prepare potato and meat stew, each of them took a bath and cleaned up. The whole cottage smells gloriously of soap and forest—I think they carry that smell on them—but it’s intensified by all the steam and hot water. Now, everyone is gathered around the table, devouring the food as if they’ve never eaten in their entire lives.

I’ve only been with them for a day, but I can tell just how close they are. As they eat, the flow of conversation is nearly nonstop. Actually, I’m not sure if flow is the right word. Hectic verbal hopping around? Madness? Chaos? Any of those seem more appropriate.

“All I’m saying is that if I came across a firebird in the forest, I, too, would try to catch it,” Arseniy announces before taking another spoonful of stew. I have no idea how they arrived at this subject, because they jump topics like they’re trying to cross a river with rapid waters and a few scattered stones are their only means of doing so.

“You’d anger a great firebird for one measly feather?” Pavel asks.

“Measly? It can light this whole room if not concealed.”

“What would you do with it?” Kostya asks, watching the two exchange a look.

“Light the whole room,” Arseniy repeats, a little more slowly.

“So you would try to catch a legendary bird just for a light source when you already have perfectly good lanterns?” Kostya continues his line of questioning in the most patient tone of voice, and I hide a smile behind my hand as I take another bite of my food.

“You know what would actually be helpful,” Maxim pipes up, “is to get one of those drinking containers that’s all the rage in the human realm.”

“You mean water bottles?” Yasha asks. It’s the first time he’s let go of his balalaika since this morning. Of course, it’s still leaning against the wall next to him. But he’s using one hand to hold the spoon and the other the bread. Still, I’m already used to the instrument being attached to him.

“Da, but not the cheap ones that break.”

“Pretty sure we were talking about the firebird,” Igor points out.

“But can you imagine how helpful it would be to have containers that don’t leak when we travel?” Maxim is undeterred.

“Imagine this!” he continues, getting a little louder. “Imagine it, we’re traveling, just imagine it—”

“Okay! We’re imagining!” Arseniy shouts. He throws a piece of bread that hits Maxim right in the chin.

“Hey!”

“You’re taking too long. We’ve already imagined the whole journey and returned.” Arseniy ducks as Maxim throws the piece of bread back.

“Hold on, just imagine it!” he repeats, sending the whole table into peals of laughter. I can’t hold back my smile at their antics. They’re so close, so comfortable with each other.

I’ve never had that. Not after my father died. True, I have Tetia Alla, who’s been the best teacher and caretaker, but it’s not the same. Whenever I made friends with the servants, there was always a sense of disconnect, considering their position and mine. And the queen was never affectionate. Now I know why. But as I watch these men talk about absolutely nothing, a heaviness fills my chest and threatens to spill from my eyes. I can’t even imagine a life where I would have this kind of family.

My plan right now focuses on survival. And I have no idea how to reach that goal. Part of me wants to march to the castle and demand my throne, but I know that won’t work. The queen would probably stab me in my sleep and then blame some foreign assassins. I suppose replaceing a way to contact the prince is an option. Oh, he’ll be worried when I don’t reply to his letters. Maybe he would come for me if he found out I wasn’t dead. But no, I can’t rely on something like that. As many letters as we wrote to each other over the last few years, he is still a stranger…and his primary interest is his own kingdom. He seems to like me, but I doubt he would disregard his own safety or position for me.

I feel a shred of sadness that I can’t reach him, because he has become such a constant in my life. But I would be lying if I also don’t feel a bit of relief at the prospect that right now, the marriage will be put on hold. I’ll have to figure out how he plays into my plan when I come up with one, and it would be nice to talk it over with him. But I can’t. I will figure this out on my own. One way or the other.

But even these thoughts prove that maybe family or ties are not in my future. It’ll be something I have to deal with eventually, but it’s probably not the best time to be dwelling on this.

When I glance up, I look past the commotion and replace Dimitri’s eyes on me. I have no idea how long he’s been looking at me—it seems that he’s always looking at me. As much as I dislike him, he acts like he downright hates me. His eyes narrow just a bit, as if he noticed something, but I don’t let myself linger and look away.

He can think whatever he wants. It’s not as if anything I say or do will change his mind about me. For some reason, I am certain of that.

“Have you ever ridden an elephant?”

The question pulls me back to the present and I try to figure out who asked such nonsense and why. Apparently, I missed something crucial while I was lost in thought.

“Okay!” Igor’s booming voice jars everyone to attention. I glance up at him as he stands. “Arseniy and Kostya, you are on dish duty today. The rest of you, clean yourselves up and head to bed. It’s been a long few days.”

Sometime during dinner preparations and the meal, the sun has set. I look out the window at the surrounding darkness. The men don’t hesitate to finish their food and then carry their dishes to the sink.

I quickly polish off my portion and follow suit. Arseniy takes the bowl from me with a smile, and when I move out of the way, I have no idea what to do with myself.

“Ivanka,” Igor calls my name. I step back over to the table, where he’s still sitting. “You’ll be taking the big bed in the other room. I’m sure you’d like to get some rest as well.”

“The bed? But who—” I don’t finish that question because I remember. Dimitri sleeps there. Turning, I meet his gaze. His hostility begins to make sense. I wouldn’t want to give up my bed either.

“No, it’s okay. Maybe replace me a spot on the floor? I’m very adaptable.”

“You look anything but,” Dimitri mumbles loud enough for me to hear, even though I don’t think I’m meant to. I turn my back on him and face Igor.

“Really, I don’t want to put anyone out.”

“You’re not. It’s the best option for now. We’ll figure out something else later.”

Then he stands, walking over to the bunk beds, as if this conversation is over. I finish cleaning off the table and then, seeing no other option, head to the room. I definitely didn’t think this part through. I’ll be sleeping in a house with seven men. They seem nice enough—except for Dimitri, who seems like—if it were up to him—he’d make me sleep in the woods.

I sit down on the bed, looking over the room when Dimitri walks in. His eyes catch mine and he approaches slowly, as if he’s hunting his prey. I’m completely frozen, unable to tear my gaze from his. He exudes confidence and power that I wouldn’t expect from someone living in the middle of nowhere.

He comes to stand right in front of me, so I have to lean back to look at him. There’s a moment of stillness as he watches me, then he leans forward. He’s so close his scent reaches out to me—he smells of the forest and something else I can’t quite recognize.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, leaning back on my hands. He’s close enough now that his presence is nearly suffocating—but not in a bad way, which makes me all kinds of confused.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he replies.

“If you think you’re sleeping here with me, you have another thing—” The laugh that interrupts me is clearly fake and too loud, but it still does something to me, making me lose my train of thought.

“Don’t worry, Highness. Being near you is at the top of my list of things I would despise. Right up there with sleeping in Baba Yaga’s hut that moves around on chicken legs.” He leans closer, close enough that I can see the way his eyes dance with—dare I say—amusement? But then he blinks it away, and I’m left with the same stare I’ve come to associate with him. He’s only a breath away now, and as he reaches behind me, his arm brushes against my shoulder. I force my body to stay completely still and unaffected as I glare at him. He stands back up, holding one of the pillows. He gives me one quick once over, before he steps over to the chest near the bed. After rummaging through it for a second, he pulls something out and tosses it at me.

“Try not to dream of me,” he says, before he grabs the blanket from the foot of the bed and disappears out the door. I place a hand over my heart, waiting for the erratic beating to slow. I’m breathing again. I don’t know when I stopped. He’s definitely giving me whiplash. I stare at the piece of material he threw. It’s a pullover shirt with an open collar, long enough that it’ll fall to my knees.

Lifting my head, I stare at the door to the rest of the house where Dimitri went, patting my hot cheeks with my hand, feeling completely unsettled.