His first mistake was stopping in a village that wasn’t much better than a few slanted huts against a muddy hillside to ask for directions. He and his well bred stallion stood out like blood on snow. He wore a velvet cloak with silver trim over a pair of cream jodhpurs tucked into rich, dark reddish brown boots that gleamed despite the slush around him. His off white silk shirt was held in place with a soft teal vest, tailored to his exact measurements and his hands were encased in fur lined gloves. And at his side was a rapier so sharp and bright it caught the barest hint of any sunshine and reflected it tenfold.

His second mistake was, when the old woman with less teeth in her head than fingers on her hands demanded payment for directions, that he handed her a shiny piece of gold. More money than the hag would see in her entire life, made even more probable because his royal highness had drawn a crowd. The woman would be relieved of her shiny coin and her life within a short amount of time.

Not knowing he’d practically begged to be followed and ambushed, the fair-haired prince remounted his stallion and set off towards the forest. He rode with supreme confidence, a bearing one can only truly attain when one has been told all their life that they are to inherit the earth, or at least, a decent portion of it. His eyes were a dusky blue hue and his hair gleamed flaxen in the spirals of light through the canopy of green and gold leaves. This forest was old and large, touching several kingdoms and covered valleys, mountains and swallowed up rivers, some of which never made it to the other side of its girth. The trees were enormous, their trunks crackled with age and their branches thick and wide, reaching out to touch other branches until they locked high above the thick layer of fallen leaves. Warm puddles of sunshine contrasted with the cool, dark of the forest floor and he rode deeper and deeper into the forest until there was less and less of the light. And in its place, hiding throughout the steadily increasing darkness, was a shadow that moved as if it were alive.

With a squirrel’s agility the shadow leapt from branch to branch, more than twelve feet above the naïve head of the prince. It was silent, nimble and always kept to the dark, watching and waiting for the first move to be made.

The prince’s serenity was broken when a flock of birds burst out of a thicket, twittering their annoyance as their nests were disturbed. He drew out his rapier in a flash and looked around, his horse stopping still as if it instinctively knew it must wait…

…but only for a moment before five men leapt out from behind bushes and trees, brandishing blunt swords and chipped axes. They were typical robbers, sweating and filthy, stained by the life they lived without doubt or remorse. They roared their battle cry and surrounded their prey as the prince’s gaze became firm. He easily clipped the first thug on the shoulder from his height advantage and his stallion turned on the spot so he could create a perimeter. The ruffians paused, their colleague wounded but not out of the fight.

“I am Prince Evander, first born son of King Olaris and heir to the throne of Genefeld. You should know that to attack me is to secure a warrant for your deaths. Even now I am prepared to overlook this transgression but if you insist on continuing, I will exact my father’s justice and dispatch you all.”

The shadow, poised in the trees with all the grace and confidence of a cat, gave an ever so slight huff, its vantage point giving it a fine view of the event.

“Royal coward!” The wounded man spat. “You can’t even face us on your own two feet.”

“Do not do it. Do not do it…” The shadow whispered.

Prince Evander raised his chin nobly. “I will point out that I am outnumbered but as I have been trained by the greatest weapons experts of my father’s kingdom,” he dismounted with a light tread, “I need not fear five to one odds.”

The wounded man grinned and clamped his yellow, broken teeth on bottom lip…and whistled. Seven more men appeared, their clothes and skin so filthy it was difficult to tell where the fabric ended and their skin began.

Prince Evander realized his error but in the true ridiculously self righteous pomposity of the royals, he didn’t try to remount his horse. Instead he gripped his rapier and lunged. The blade was sharp and strong, designed to kill a man by running them through in the blink of an eye as opposed to their blunted weapons. But it would only take one blow to lay him out cold and then his attackers would be spoiled for choice as to the manner of his death. Because of this the prince was light on his feet, darting in and out, leaping over a fallen tree and into the forest. It was strange to hear the clashing of metal in the leaf laden, moss covered sanctuary. The grunts of the men filled in the spaces in time when their weapons didn’t meet with the prince’s.

He managed to dispatch two of the thugs and had just sent another sprawling when something went whizzing through the air and one of the ruffians screeched and dropped. The prince didn’t have time to look as he sprinted to a cluster of mossy rocks then pushed off to collect another of his assailants with a powerful blow. The problem with it was his weapon was now embedded in the man and he couldn’t pull it free before a mace swinging ruffian bore down on him with murderous intent in his yellow eyes.

Suddenly the thug was propelled forward, barely missing the prince, and landed against the cluster of rocks, his heart pierced with an arrow. Stunned, the prince gave it more attention than he should have and before he had time to react the final six thugs swarmed him with yells of triumph and dragged him to his feet. The prince grunted as he was pushed up against a nearby tree, his arms pinned and a very shiny dagger dancing at his throat.

“Go on little prince,” the wielder of the dagger sneered, “beg for mercy.”

Even now, with fear in his eyes, Prince Evander didn’t lose his royal snobbery. “Princes do not beg.”

“What do you say lads? Shall we test his resolve?” They all chuckled and the one with the dagger grabbed the prince’s hair and tilted his head back so that his bobbing Adam’s apple made for quite the tempting target. Abruptly the man jolted and gurgled up blood which splattered onto the prince’s face, his eyes bulging out of his head before he dropped to the ground, an arrow protruding from his back. The remaining five looked around, their swords and axes at the ready and yet their foe was nowhere to be seen.

“Hold him here.” One of them finally decided. “Fargas and Grimm, you’re with me.”

The prince and his assailants waited as the men stepped out in search of their invisible quarry, their weapons held tightly in their hands as they ventured further and further away. And then the sun went behind a cloud, bathing the forest in a veil of darkness.

A shriek was the first sign that something was wrong. A shriek that was cut off before it could reach its fevered pitch. The prince jumped at the sound and felt the grip on his arms become tighter.

“Look out for the…” Yelled another before he too, was silenced.

The two who remained to guard the prince looked around, their terror level starting to peak. “Fargas? Joel?”

It would have been so beautifully peaceful if it weren’t for the hammering heartbeat in the prince’s ears. And then, out of the gloom, a figure came running towards them. Staggering was probably more accurate to describe his blundering gait and he breathed as though each breath was his last.

“Fargas? What is it?” The man’s eyes were as wide as could be and rimmed with red. His hands pulled in vain at the arrow that had sunk deep into his neck, blood streaking through his hooked fingers. His face was contorted into some petrified silent scream before he collapsed not ten feet from them.

“What do we do Dale? What do we do?” The second last man squeaked, his brash, unfeeling courage deserting him as he looked down upon what could well become his fate.

Dale, as he was, scooped up the dagger from out of his dead colleague’s hand and held it against the prince’s throat. “Assassin!” He yelled. “I will take this prince’s head clean off if you don’t show yourself. You got three. One...”

The assassin appeared. Before it moved from the shadow, it was part of the forest. Then, it stepped into the light. Clad in earthy tones and with a hood up that shadowed its face, the assassin was nearly as vague as when it couldn’t be seen at all.

Dale gripped the prince tighter, blinking the sweat out of his eyes. “There’s a bounty on his head. A hundred gold pieces. Split between twelve it wasn’t a bad bounty. Between three, well…you help us bring his head to the Queen and we’ll share it equally.”

As he spoke the assassin moved closer. Dale hadn’t seen it walk. Every time he blinked the assassin just seemed to be closer than before.

“Dale…”

“That’s close enough.” Dale held the blade out in front of him. “What do you say?”

The assassin tilted its head. “Do not blink.”

“What?”

Unfortunately before the command had fully registered in Dale’s head, he had blinked.

And the assassin was gone.

Their self preservation instinct got the better of them and Dale and his remaining colleague stepped away from the prince, looking around desperately for their quarry. They held out their weapons as if they would be any defence against the unnatural speed and skill of the unnamed assassin. If only they had thought to look up. The assassin dropped down between them with an arrow’s speed and precision, a long knife in each hand. There was a sickening gurgle from either side of the prince before his attackers slumped to the ground into their bed of fallen leaves and the forest was once again silent.

Prince Evander looked down at the assassin, who had landed scant inches in front of him, and then at the last of the men who had attacked him. The assassin paid him no heed, keeping its back to him as it knelt into the soft leaves, retrieved its knives and then proceeded to go through their clothing with the light touch of a pickpocket. Prince Evander should have felt affronted by the rudeness of someone showing him their back…but given that the same person had just saved his life, he was willing to overlook the discourtesy.

“You, sir, are the finest warrior I have ever beheld! I am indebted to you.”

He saw the assassin pull a dirty, folded piece of parchment from Dale’s pocket. Once unfolded, it revealed the creased face of the prince drawn in a scratchy hand along with the promise of a sizeable bounty. The prince inhaled as the assassin studied the image.

“You have quite the bounty on your head.” The assassin remarked in a hushed but firm tone.

Prince Evander swallowed. “Whatever bounty there is, I assure you that my father will double it for my safe return to Genefeld.”

“Have no fear little prince,” the assassin was extremely adept at keeping its face obscured by shadow for even though it looked up at him, the prince couldn’t make out any features beyond the edge of the hood, “neither your father’s nor the Queen’s gold holds any interest for me.”

Prince Evander nodded. “You are a knight, ridding the land of evil and unwanted elements. You dispatched twelve with very little effort.”

“Eight.” The assassin, having turned out the pockets of the two men at their feet now turned its attention to the dagger that lay shining against the leaves. “You took care of three yourself.”

The prince looked around and saw his rapier sticking out of one of the thugs a short distance away. He moved over to the body and drew it out, wiping the blood from the blade. “But that only makes eleven.”

“The one you wounded from atop your horse fled the scene,” the assassin lifted the dagger, “no doubt to return to the person who gave them this. More will follow.”

“How can you be sure?” He asked as he came back, flicking his velvet cloak with dramatic flair.

“Because a bounty always draws a crowd,” the assassin stood up, its voice mellow and measured, “so take heed for they will try again.”

“And I will be ready for them.” Prince Evander gasped as the assassin whipped around behind him with the blade that had menaced him scant minutes earlier back at his throat. He felt the assassin lean close, fingers pulling tight on his hair as it hissed,

“You are not ready for anything.”

The prince cracked his head backwards, forcing the assassin to step away and turned on his aggressor just in time to see it leap into the air strike him in the chest with its feet. The blow knocked him back but the prince was lithe and up in an instant, unsheathing his rapier only to have a fist stop a hair’s breadth from his face before he could move.

“Side step,” the assassin ordered, eyes glittering in the permanent dusk of its hooded face, “you must remain light on your feet for a moving target is harder to hit.”

Prince Evander did so and stuck out a foot. The assassin continued its blow and rolled in beautiful fluidic form. The prince whipped off his cloak with a flourish and advanced on his quarry at speed. Yet the assassin easily shifted its weight, the prince’s enthusiastic lunge going wide. He couldn’t correct in time and the assassin grabbed his arms and twisted them backwards, keeping him from tumbling. It put one foot on the small of his back and pressed hard while holding tight to his wrists. Unable to escape Prince Evander huffed in frustration.

“Do not lead into something you cannot finish,” with a final push with its foot and the release of his wrists, the prince stumbled forward, “like going into a fight when the odds are twelve to one.”

“They were not honourable in battle.” Prince Evander threw some well aimed blows at his tutoring  adversary only to have them miss or be blocked.

“Are you truly that naïve?” The assassin spun around, catching the prince’s foot, causing him to land face first into the leaves. He spat several out and went to rise but before he could he felt a knee in his back, pressing hard so that his spine groaned. “You will die and no one will ever find your body.” The assassin said with finality. “Return home little prince. You have no business being in this forest.” The assassin let him rise and brush the leaves from his finely woven tunic.

“I have the right of a prince seeking his happily ever after.” Prince Evander retorted at the assassin who displayed no fear once again in showing its back to him. “When I was a born a seer prophesied over me, saying that in my future I had a story of true love that would be told of for hundreds of years and that my princess was waiting for me to come to her, to rescue her from whatever nightmare she might be enduring. This prophecy has been my driving force and my all consuming passion. When I became a man I was sent out from my father’s home to find my bride. It is my destiny.”

He flinched as the assassin turned in the blink of an eye and raised the dagger to his throat. “And you think this destiny keeps you safe from harm?” It demanded and advanced on him, the prince shifting backwards, trying to put distance between himself and that wretched blade. “What right have you to risk your own life? You wander out into the wilderness alone, a babe compared to the age of the earth and the evils that walk upon it. A woman waits, threatened with despair and yet remains hopeful that she will be rescued by her prince charming. If you die in the process of finding her, what happens then? You are not immortal!” The assassin’s voice reached a fevered pitch and its hand trembled with emotion so that the blade danced before the prince’s eyes. As if realising a breach of its emotional control had occurred the assassin dropped its arm, its hooded face looking away. “It is not just your happily ever after that is at stake. And just because you have one in your future does not mean it cannot be taken away from you both.”

The assassin shoved the parchment with the prince’s face on it against his chest and Prince Evander looked down at it, contemplating what he had heard. He didn’t like it but he couldn’t refute its truth. “You are right, Sir Knight,” he said quietly, “but that does not mean I will stop looking for her so that we may share true love’s kiss. I will ride to the ends of the earth if it means I find her.”

“How can you ride when you do not have a horse?”

The prince gave a low whistle. After a minute his stallion trotted into view. The prince grinned and turned to the assassin who had vanished. He looked around as the horse drew near then jumped as a satchel landed next to him with a dull thud into the leaves. The assassin landed on the ground as light as a feather next to the satchel. Prince Evander shook his head in wonder.

“Indeed mountain goats would have a hard time keeping up with you.”

“Hopefully I smell better.” The assassin pushed the deep hood of her vest back to reveal white blonde hair as straight as an arrow and falling half way down her back. Two braids left from each temple to weave together at the back of her head and another on the left felt straight down past her long face with the finest of features.

“You are a woman?” The prince exclaimed.

The assassin turned her moss green eyes onto him, her brows as fine as delicate paint strokes and her pointed ears piercing the perfect sheen of hair.

“You are an elf?!”

“Which shocks you more?” Her eyes watched him carefully, waiting for his reply.

“I thought your kind had been removed from the face of this good earth and all that was left were fairytales for children,” Prince Evander confessed, “and by your kind I mean elves.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” her lips were not firm but they were not keen to smile, “and there is very little good on this earth, so the elves retreated from it and have left it to the plans and devices of man.” She tucked the dagger into her hip sheath and slung her satchel over one shoulder. A quiver of arrows was attached to one side of her satchel and her bow was strapped to the other. Without warning she started to walk away. The prince clutched at the reins of his horse and hurried after her.

“Yet you remain?” Her head snapped around, her eyes becoming guarded. The young prince swallowed. “I am Prince Evander, eldest son of King Olaris and heir to the throne of Genefeld.”

“That is a long name.” She remarked and kept walking.

“It is polite to give one’s name in return.”

The she-elf didn’t respond for a long moment and the prince wondered if she felt it beneath her to share her name with a human. Elves had been notorious for their reluctance to fraternise with humans as they considered them to be a lower class of being. At least that was what those who told the stories insisted. As Prince Evander never even dreamed he would meet an elf he hadn’t put any energy into questioning the stories, writing them off as more fiction than fact. However, it was impossible to dismiss the woman he was following through the forest as being a character in a child’s bedtime story.

“Jé Kinah.” She said at last, her voice as soft as petals opening to a new dawn light.

“Jé Kinah,” Prince Evander repeated, “it is my absolute pleasure to meet you and if you will not accept a financial reward for my rescue can I interest you in food? Bread? Cheese? Salted meat?”

“I do not eat meat.” She replied.

“I have wine…”

“Little prince,” she turned to him and put her hand out for him to stop, “you mistake my act as an offer of friendship. I have no interest in a reward or in breaking bread with you.” She put her arm through the other strap of her satchel so that its full weight was borne by both shoulders. As she turned from him she pointed in the opposite direction. “The road is that way. If you ride without stopping you should outpace the ones sent to collect on your dead body.”

Prince Evander looked in the direction of the road. “And what will you do? Follow the road or make one of your own?”

When he heard no reply he looked back and saw that he was once again alone in the forest.

Jé Kinah sat at the base of a great oak with enough exposed roots to create a hollow that embraced her slight frame. A mattress of leaves was beneath her and her satchel lay nearby. Her appearance was typical of an elf. She had fine, flawless features, moss green eyes and pale pink lips. The points on her ears insisted on breaking through her sheet of white blonde hair and her form was slender, lithe and at home amongst the trees and brush of the forest. She wore bone coloured pants tucked into leather mid calf high boots that were supple and well worn. Her open necked tunic was the colour of sand, trapped beneath her fitted leather vest. Apart from the buckles on her boots and the holster on her hip, her outfit lacked any detail or decoration.

Her long fingers turned the dagger she had retrieved from the ruffians. It was an extremely unique weapon. She had never seen its equal even amongst the weapons that princes and knights wielded. Her keen eyes took in the lovely detail, the hilt that almost looked like semi-transparent marble with swirls of opaque white through its frosted body. There was what looked like a snowflake engraved where the hilt met the blade and the pommel was topped with a blue stone that was as cold as ice. The blade had a sharpened edge that no common blacksmith could reproduce and it was polished to a mirror shine so that she could see herself in its deadly reflection.

She eyed its convenient length and admired the craftsmanship of its make. While not worth one hundred gold pieces, it would have made a considerable profit if the thugs had thought to sell it…but then its profit wouldn’t have split amply twelve ways.

She removed the knives from the sheath on her hip and tucked them into her satchel. The beautiful blade slid neatly into its new home, a far better weapon than the others. Having little else to do she leaned back against the tree, her eyes half closed and her memories drifting far, far away…where nothing grew…and the land was stony, dark, chiselled and hot…

“Pardon my intrusion but door was open.”

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s raining out there so I thought…”

“You thought you would enter the lair of the dragon!”

Her fingers instinctively closed around a small vial that was wrapped with a leather cord which hung around her neck.

“You think you could do better?”

“I ain’t my mother but she taught me well.”

“…very well…you may stay…one night…but I will probably eat you in the morning.”

“Then I’d best get a goodnight sleep.”

Something jarred against Jé Kinah’s memories as if someone had thrown a grain of sand into a calm pond. Her eyes opened but her body remained still. Silently, instinctively her hand travelled to her newly acquired blade as her breath lay still in her chest.

And then it happened again. Now that she was aware of it, it was more like a stone had been flung into her pond, disrupting the surface and sending endless ripples out to the edges. It was something unnatural, something hard and unfeeling. She stood, taking up her satchel and looked around. It wasn’t the young prince. It was too…offensive to be him.

Once more it happened and it was as though a boulder had been thrown into her pond and destroyed the tranquil quiet she had rested within. Now her nostrils flared, taking in the barest scent on the slightest breeze. Her eyes widened, her satchel swinging onto her back as she sprinted towards a large oak. Finding the faintest footholds she climbed up to the thick lower branches and began to run, leaping from branch to branch as though she were made of air. Now and then she would stop, wait and listen. Like a beacon in the night, the sound called to her and she adjusted her heading and followed it deeper and deeper into the forest. The scent was now heavy on her tongue and it smelt of charred meat, mead and iron.

It took an hour of solid travelling for to finally arrive at the base of a mountain that stretched the forest upwards. While the tree grew close together and the ground was still covered in leaves, there were outcroppings of rock and she had to leap over several sharp gullies and through dense, thorny thickets to bring her to a house. Several trees had been built into its large girth so that it was more like a part of the forest more so than any human structure she had seen before. The roof was heavy thatch and the walls were made of stone and mud around a skeleton of wooden beams. It was two stories high with a large, fat chimney in its centre that was cold and still. The house was currently empty but from the hard packed earth around the front of it and the collection of muddy boots that had been scraped clean the night before sitting by the doorstep, she knew it wasn’t deserted.

Jé Kinah spent several minutes studying this unexpected home when six figures stomped into view. Her nose wrinkled and her mouth curled in disdain.

“Dwarves.”

They were mountain dwarves, dressed in tunics and furs, heavyset and cumbersome. Their hair was braided, plaited, tied with a single strap or left to hang loose over their broad shoulders in matted dreadlocks. Though they were hardly stunted in height, three of them at least pushing five foot, Jé Kinah knew she would still stand a foot taller than the tallest of them. Over their shoulders they bore axes made for splintering the earth and in their hands they heaved bags filled with what they had pried from stone. It was undoubtedly the sound of unfeeling axe against the tender earth which had arrested her attention.

Jé Kinah had no personal grudge against dwarves, having never met one before. It was simply that elves and dwarves were as different as night and day that caused her to shy away from their house, prepared to move on now that her curiosity was satisfied.

“By my late bearded mother I’m hungry.” One barked, dropping his axe against the side of the house. “Is there any stew left?”

“You’re always hungry Gast!”

“I work hard and I eat hearty,” Gast retorted, “I’ll even chop the firewood if someone else will cook.”

“Of course someone else will cook! None of us fancy blackened deer.”

“Just because you’ve dined with the King, Borrick…”

“It’s Phil’s turn to cook,” said one with tightly braided ginger hair, “and someone needs to relieve Gort.”

“I’ll do it.” This particular dwarf had been silent the entire time and Jé Kinah had noted that he kept himself separate to the rest of his brethren. Not enough for dwarfish eyes to notice but for an elf, the distance he put between himself and the others was like a chasm.

“You did yesterday’s shift.”

“I said I’ll do it.”

“Marjellan…”

“Let grumpy go. I’ll eat his share.”

“You’ll get your share and nothing else Gast.”

“But I’m hungry!”

Jé Kinah watched as the remaining dwarves entered the house, bickering in a manner that only comes from having done so many times before without incurring offence. She watched the one called Marjellan stride off to the left, shifting in and out of sight through the trees. Dwarves treasured the jewels they plucked from their mines buried deep inside the earth more than anything else. They likely had a stronghold up the mountain where they kept much of their treasure.

“So what, pray tell, do dwarves guard far from the stones they love?” She whispered and darted off after him. Keeping her distance she followed for several minutes leaping from branch to branch through the densest forest she had come across until it abruptly opened up into a glen. Large bushes of flowers created a natural hedge around the perimeter of the glen, their fragrance saturating the air. Several large trees touched fingertip branches across the glen and their leaves kept out the harsh sunshine yet allowed a wonderful soft glow to drift downwards, enveloping everything in the most tender, precious light. Over a dozen lanterns hung around the edge of the glen and the oil inside smelt like lavender. They were unlit at the moment but she could tell they were used recently and frequently. A thick cover of clover blanketed the ground except for where a casket lay in the middle of the glen. It had been a plain wooden coffin when it had first been made but now…

Marjellan strode into the glen and tapped the dwarf on duty who stood up, nodded then left. Marjellan gave a huff then looked over at the casket. He stepped forward and flicked a few stray leaves from the top of it as if their presence was offensive to him. He looked inside for a long moment before he found a place to sit on the edge of the glen and settled in for the long haul.

Jé Kinah sighed silently. She wanted a look at what was in the casket. The light and shadows made it impossible for her to make out who or what was inside. From the mere dimensions of it she guessed it to have originally been a dwarf coffin but the attention to detail and, if her eyes did not deceive her, the fact that it was detailed with gold and encrusted with gems spoke of a person of significance. A king would be an obvious guess but this was hardly a kingdom of dwarves. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were brothers, a family group invested in their mountain mining.

Not even the patriarch of a dwarf family would warrant such a jewel studded resting place.

Jé Kinah turned her attention to the surly (even by dwarf standards) guard who whittled away at a piece of wood with a little blade. He was a tall for his kind, a burly figure with black hair that could have had a distinct curl to it if it weren’t so tangled and unkempt. His brows were heavy, his beard was thick and his eyes were dark and unfeeling. Or rather, they were not tender.

After a minute he wriggled uncomfortably and stood up. “Bloody Vicher and his brew. It’s gone straight through me.”

Alarmed that he might relieve himself then and there Jé Kinah snapped her eyes away, only remembering a split second later that she should never take her eyes off her quarry. By the time she looked back, he was gone. She scanned the forest but couldn’t see him. It seemed he had enough decency to relieve himself away from this sacred grove.

Leaving her satchel in the tree, she landed as light as a feather on the springy clover and approached the casket. Dwarves were so well known for their mining skills that their ability to hone wood was far overlooked. The casket had been perfectly built. The joins were seamless and the panels were so smooth it was hard to resist the urge to gently stroke them. Carved into the sides of it were the branches of trees but instead of carving the flowers on them, the dwarves had painstakingly created settings for gems. The casket was adorned with a multitude of ruby roses, emerald leaves, tiny sapphire blooms and clusters of amethyst grapes.

“Who were you in life to warrant such a bed to sleep in death?”

She leant over the casket, unwilling to touch it because of the reverence she had for it and for whoever was inside. The original solid lid had been discarded and in its place was a cover of glass panels in a framework of red wood. The shadow of leaves flickered across its width as Jé Kinah peered inside.

A girl. The casket was for a girl. She couldn’t have been more than seven and ten summers. Her hips and breasts curved beneath her plain white cotton dress that only reached down to the middle of her calves, her bare feet poking out at the end. Her hands were placed on her belly and her face was turned towards the heavens. Her eyes were closed as were her blood red lips and her head rested on a pillow of black curls. She was as pale as snow and she was as still as ice, beautiful and dead.

And yet…a very light fog was on the glass directly over her face. Strange that it was nowhere else in the casket…just over her mouth…

Jé Kinah leaned in then jolted as a reflection on the glass moved far too quickly for her liking. The whittling blade went flying past her cheek and embedded itself in a trunk of a tree. Jé Kinah spun around and barely missed Marjellan’s next three blows with the axe.

“Get away from there!” He roared, as angry as a bull but faster than Jé Kinah had given him credit for. Her only saving grace was that he was fighting out of pure emotion which overrode his senses and as he charged at her, his weight carried him far further than he should have gone. She simply sidestepped him then tripped him up. As he crashed into the heather Jé Kinah ducked from a whizzing sound and then several more as a volley of arrows were fired upon her. How his brethren had known he required their assistance was a mystery even as they began their assault. If Marjellan had kept his distance, Jé Kinah doubted she could have dodged them all but Marjellan was angrier than common sense allowed and as he came barrelling towards her the arrows stopped for fear of hitting him and the rest of his brethren charged. Jé Kinah struck and wove, danced and hit, trying to get to the edge of the glen to the safety of the trees but she was surrounded. Loathed to do so she leapt up onto the casket in order to jump over their heads and run for it. This seemed to send the dwarves into a fevered frenzy and they bellowed at her to get down.

Before she could leap forwards, an axe swiped at her feet so she back flipped, landing behind Marjellan. He twisted, his axe in a battle swing, when she thrust her only weapon, the recently acquired dagger, to his throat.

“Halt!” She cried. She needn’t have given the order. Though the dwarves had their axes raised it was as though they were frozen in place, the imminent danger of one of their own staying their hands. “This blade is so sharp that should I be forced to cut your friend’s throat, he would not even feel the wound.”

Marjellan’s eyes blazed dark and angry. Here was a dwarf who knew very little peace. Even though he was helpless to move, he hadn’t relinquished his axe, his throat grazing against the tip of her blade.

“Drop your weapons.” Jé Kinah ordered and all the dwarves did so...except for Marjellan. He was shaking from the force of his rage, internally debating whether her death would warrant his. “I said drop it.”

“Marjellan...”

His axe hit the earth with a dull thud at their feet but he did not take his eyes off her. Jé Kinah had no illusions about the full force of his anger. If she showed any sign of hesitation, Marjellan would happily close the distance between them and snap her neck with his bare hands.

“What do you want?” The one called Borrick demanded.

Jé Kinah’s eyes wanted to look to the casket but she couldn’t let Marjellan have reason to charge. She didn’t want to kill him.

“I want a story,” she said and without taking her eyes off Marjellan’s dark ones she pointed at the casket, “I want her story.”

The dwarves looked at the girl contained in her casket.

“What could a she-elf possibly want with a tale of a human girl?” Borrick asked. “And yes, I know what you are although up until five minutes earlier I would have sworn black and blue that your kind didn’t exist on the earth anymore.”

“Stop talking and kill her!” Marjellan roared.

Jé Kinah’s gaze became like flint. “I do not wish to kill you dwarf but I will if I must.”

“You wield the dagger of the Queen! You’re a liar and an assassin!”

Jé Kinah broadened her gaze so it focused on the blade, Marjellan becoming blurry in the background. In its polished blade she saw the reflection of Marjellan’s eyes filled with fury...and the lack of killer lust in her own. “I have been called an assassin twice today but I never intentionally set out to kill anyone,” she dropped her arm in a calculated risk, the dagger falling to the soft heather below, “and I am not on an errand for the Queen.”

Marjellan didn’t hesitate, his brawny hand clasping around her throat, his big fingers nearly wrapping all the way around. Jé Kinah’s hands were powerless against his grip of iron so she stood helplessly and felt him squeeze.

“Time to die she-elf!”

“Marjellan!”

“She’s lying! She’s here to kill her!”

“If she had wanted to do that she would have done so already!”

“I won’t let her near her!”

“I invoke the right of the eldest son!”

Marjellan jerked. “You would use your right for one such as this?”

Jé Kinah hoped Borrick would not take long in answering as the world was beginning to blur.

“Perhaps it would do us good to tell her tale so that she lives on in the eternal memory of the last elf that walks upon the earth.”

It was a feat for Marjellan to release Jé Kinah’s throat. Only his respect for the birth order of his family kept him from crushing the life out of her. She tried not to give too much away at how much it had hurt but she suspected she was fooling nobody. Borrick approached her as Marjellan moved away. He was the eldest of the seven brawny, burly dwarf brothers and while he looked the part, in his eyes there was more than just rage and distrust. There was intelligence also and restraint. This was a dwarf who was responsible for his family, one who knew when to hew and when to stay his hand.

“Her name was Snow White. And she died by the Queen’s hand.”

“Make yourself at home.” Borrick gestured as they entered their house. Jé Kinah hung her satchel from a hook and looked around. Though it was severe in its Spartan appearance, there was no questioning the craftsmanship of every beam, pillar, slat and crosspiece. Stone had been laid in the floor and around the fireplace where a hearty blaze now roared. The branches of the trees that had been included in the house’s design stretched above their heads and tangled their tips together. From this tangle hung several lanterns that gave a warm light to the generously sized main room. The furniture was also bare. Beautifully made but without adornment. The dwarves gathered around a large pot, each taking up his bowl and ladled something thick and smelling of meat into them.

“Stew?” Jé Kinah wondered if she was going to be in breach of etiquette if she refused. She caught Borrick’s slight grin from beneath his generous beard and wanted to roll her eyes.

“It’d probably give you a gut ache. We have some goat’s milk cheese and bread...or fruit. We have a few pears, wild strawberries...”

“No apples mind you.” The one called Gort muttered and there was a series of grunts and low voiced curses about apples.

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“Why is everyone I meet intent on feeding me?” Jé Kinah held up her hand. “I thank you for your hospitality master dwarf, but my only need is to know the tale of Snow White.”

Borrick gestured to the second chair in front of the fire and as she sat down, he took the other. “It was about six months ago that little slip of a thing made it through countless death traps in this forest to end up in our house, sleeping in Gunther’s bed.” Borrick looked over his shoulder. “Never heard a dwarf scream like that before.”

“Are we telling that tale again? It’s getting old.” Gunther leaned forward between them and ladled stew into his bowl. Jé Kinah allowed a round of chuckles to ripple through the dwarf ranks before looking pointedly at Borrick.

“Well…it’s considered to be rude to enter a dwarf’s home without an invitation…”

“I have heard it can be fatally rude…”

“Too right she-elf! There was a time when my uncle had a couple of rowdy dwarf thieves enter his home and ate their way through his pantry…my uncle took a beater to them and they ran so fast…”

“Phil!”

“Sorry Borrick…” Phil moved away, his bowl full. “It’s Philmander by the way. Phil is just what they call me.”

“Of course.” Jé Kinah acknowledged politely.

Borrick huffed. “Boys, step forward, get your stew and be done with it.” As they shuffled forward, each taking their portion Borrick labelled the last three of his brothers. “That’s Turengast and Vichergast, and if you want both of their attentions you simply yell, Gast. This strapper is Gort and you know grumpy.”

Jé Kinah could almost feel the loathing coming off Marjellan as he took his serve of stew. He did not sit with them, preferring to lean against a wall, again putting distance between himself and the rest of the world. His brothers kept close, listening to Borrick finally finish his tale as the light began to fall and the fire became the only thing illuminating the occupants of the room.

“If it hadn’t been going on dusk, when the nasty beasts of this forest like to come out to play we would have thrown her out without a second thought. But there are creatures in this forest that are as old as your kind and as foul as the elves were pure. During the day and on the outskirts, it’s a pleasant enough place. But you never go out at night.”

“I did not peg you for the nervous type Borrick…not as first born.”

Borrick’s face flinched. “I wasn’t first born. Once we numbered eight. My brother, Forrick…he went out at night to secure the horses and…”

Jé Kinah could almost feel his sorrow. Instinctively she reached across and touched his hand. “Do not feel your pain. I will not question you again.”

Borrick swallowed and nodded. “So we decided to wait until morning…and that little slip of thing cooked for us. Never had anything like what she made before she came or since she passed. And everyone knows that the way to a dwarf’s heart is…”

“Through the stomach,” Jé Kinah finished, “that does not hold true just for dwarves.”

“After she’d cooked for us she told us her story. She was the daughter of the King who ruled over these lands. Her mother died just after she was born but she spoke these words, ‘I wished that I had a daughter that had skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.’ The child was named Snow White in honour of her mother’s wish and she grew into a lovely child. But the King was lonely and one day he married the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He was so in love he didn’t realise how vain she was. He was ignorant right up until the moment he died, believing his daughter to be in the best hands possible.

But the Queen spent the money of the treasury on beauty refinements and gowns, shoes and illustrious balls where guests would come and praise her. She also lavished much on Snow White because the people delighted in their princess. But one day she noticed that Snow White received more praise than herself at a ball. She tried to ignore it and invested herself in even more drastic beauty remedies…but the resentment became a splinter in her eye, sowing doubt into everything she looked upon.”

“Don’t forget about the mirror.”

Jé Kinah saw Borrick roll his eyes and she looked around at the other dwarves. “What mirror?”

“Rumour only.” Borrick muttered.

“Then how did she know about Snow White? How did she find her?” Gunther demanded. He saw Jé Kinah’s curious gaze and swallowed, all the attention now fully on him. “It was said that the Queen had a magic mirror.” He must have seen the sceptical flicker in her eyes. “She did! It didn’t reflect what it looked out upon...but it had a life...an evil presence to it.” Gunther leaned forward. “It knew things...it taunted the Queen and told her that Snow White had eclipsed her as the most beautiful woman in all the land.”

“A magic mirror?” Jé Kinah tried to keep the disbelief out of her voice and she succeeded...mostly.

“Tales for children.” Borrick said, glaring at Gunther sharply who went back to eating his stew. “I have no doubt the Queen had a mirror but rather than it being magic, it was her own selfish desires reflected in it. In the end she heartily believed that no one was allowed to be more beautiful than she...and that Snow White was her enemy and her doom.

She couldn’t get rid of her. The people would riot. So she sent the girl to the kitchens, to scrub floors and work as a servant would, hoping the hardships would make her ugly. But instead of hate in her heart, Snow White embraced kindness, mercy, compassion while the Queen’s lovely demeanour twisted her into an ugly, vindictive woman.

Nothing meant more to the Queen than to have Snow White dead so, for her birthday, she dressed her in a brand new frock with a white cloak with a fur collar and told her to go into this very forest and pick flowers. The Queen paid a huntsman to track Snow White down and kill her so that it would look like she had fallen prey to a wild beast. Snow White said she turned and saw a man sighting down an arrow at her. She asked if he had been sent by the Queen and he told her the truth.

‘I knew a day picking flowers was too good to be true.’ Snow White whispered then stood up straight. ‘Fire your arrow.’

‘Aren’t you afraid?’

‘I am terrified.’

‘Then run.’

But she would not run and the huntsman was undone by her courage and wept to his knees. He then made her swear to never return to her castle or to the Queen. He took the cloak from her and, from what I hear, he bathed it the blood of a beast and presented that to the Queen.”

Jé Kinah listened to Borrick’s narrative with close attention. The rest of the dwarves said nothing, their eyes focused on the flames as Borrick’s rough tone became deeper, duskier and with a warmth all of its own.

“You speak much of this as though you were there,” Jé Kinah remarked softly so as not to break the wistful mood, “and you have dined with the King?”

Borrick nodded. “Our family is actually from the mountains in the north but we wanted to trade down into this kingdom and beyond. My father sent all his sons to establish a new mine and to be ambassadors to the King. I met Snow White when she was a child though she did not remember doing so. I even knew the King’s father, a human’s life being so little compared to the expanse of a dwarf’s. I dined at his table many times and was invited to all their feasts…at least…until he perished and the Queen took a disliking to our kind.”

“Your father sent all his sons?” Jé Kinah looked over the dwarves. “What about his lineage? I know dwarves live for a long time but even so, he must hope for grandchildren and what hope is there here?”

The dwarves shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t need to answer to the likes of you.” Marjellan muttered.

Jé Kinah looked to Borrick for an answer. He pulled out his pipe, distracting himself from her gaze. “There are no dwarf women. Nearly one hundred years ago a malady took all of our mothers, wives, daughters…there was no explanation or reason. Just dwarf men, bereft and alone. We wept so long and hard that the valley our home overlooked filled up with tears. It’s now known as the crystal lake.” He cleared his throat. “It is possible our father also hoped we would encounter dwarf women elsewhere in the world which is also why he sent us away from his side...but the world is a big place…”

“And yet Snow White found your doorstep…?”

“Why do you want to know all this? What good can it do?” Marjellan demanded. “All it does is serve to remind us of the mistakes we’ve made.” He glared at Borrick. “Why do you entertain this one whose kind has always thought dwarves are beneath them, as though we are vermin?”

“Because telling stories, apart from mining, is what dwarves do best.” Borrick replied firmly. Marjellan huffed and pushed off from the wall where he’d been leaning.

Jé Kinah watched as he stomped up the stairs and slammed a door. “I take it not all were welcoming of Snow White?”

“There were some…reservations. Fear of retaliation from the Queen was our primary concern but as she thought Snow White was dead…I couldn’t cast her out into the unknown. She was a simple thing, too trusting…too ready to believe that everyone had goodness inside them and that it only took kindness to draw it out.” Borrick lit his pipe and the room filled with the scent of cinnamon.

“She even got Marjellan to smile.” Gort chuckled.

“That seems to have been quite the feat.” Jé Kinah remarked quietly.

“But the Queen found out. How she discovered that her step daughter was alive, we do not know but I rather suspect that was when the ‘magic mirror’ rumour began to circulate. The first we knew of any danger to Snow White was when we came home one day and discovered the poor girl passed out and as pale as death. She’d been strapped in a silk and bone corset so tight that the very air of her lungs had been squeezed out of her. The laces were cut and she began to breathe normally again. Snow White said a merchant had come by and told her that a corset would give her a beautiful womanly figure.”

“A merchant? Deep in the forest?”

Borrick puffed on his pipe. “Yes, I thought the same. So we warned her to keep the door closed to strangers. And she did…and for a few days she was safe…then we found her collapsed on this very floor, a coral comb in her hair. When we removed it, she opened her eyes and told us another seller had knocked on the door but that she had not let them in,” Borrick sighed, “but she had taken the comb through the window and put it in her hair.”

“You should have seen it,” one of the Gasts, Vichergast possibly, spoke up, “the thing was a damn weapon. The ends had been sharpened into pins and dipped in poison. Had it remained in her hair…”

“From then on we vowed that Snow White would always have a dwarf close by to watch over her.” Borrick sighed, sinking into his chair. “When she had finished her morning chores Snow White liked to weave daisy chains in the glen where she is now. We do not know what happened or how she was convinced to take a bite of a deadly apple…”

“What of the dwarf?” Jé Kinah asked. “Who was guarding her?”

“Marjellan.”

“I see.”

“He’d heard a noise back towards the house and went to see if it was a merchant. When he came back an old hag was kneeling over the unconscious Snow White, a basket of apples by her feet and a dagger, identical to the one you brandished today, screaming, ‘Now I will be the fairest of them all!’. Marjellan’s first arrow struck her hand and she bolted. Dusk was falling so rather than pursue her, he brought Snow White back to the house,” Borrick’s voice trembled and he swallowed with difficulty, “but try as we might, we could not revive her. This time the Queen had delved into a terrible dark power…and killed her.”

Jé Kinah couldn’t disrupt the silence. It was too heavy with too many memories and regrets. The dwarves seemed to feel the loss of the girl more acutely than she had thought their kind capable of beyond their love for jewels.

“Burying her in the ground just didn’t seem right for one so young and innocent. So we made a coffin then turned it into a casket befitting the beauty she was. We were always concerned that an agent of the Queen might return and defile her resting place so one of us guards the glen during the day and at night we light lanterns around its perimeter to ward off anything...unpleasant,” Borrick tapped his pipe against the hearth and stood up, “and that is our sad tale she-elf. Now, if you will abide spending the night in a dwarf hovel, you’re welcome to stay. Even your kind, who loved forests, did not colonize this one. It would not be safe out there, even for you.”

Jé Kinah was loathed to spend too much time surrounded by walls but she knew she couldn’t refuse such a gracious offer. “I would be honoured.”

“Righto lads, tidy up and then you each get to bring down one blanket from your beds.”

Jé Kinah stepped back as the dwarves went about their business, her sensitive foot stepping on something small and hard. She looked down. A tiny crystal droplet, possibly a diamond, lay on the ground. She picked it up and then saw its twin at the base of the stairs, blinking in the firelight. She collected it and then saw another two steps up. By the time she had collected them all she had climbed up to the second storey and down the passage to stop outside a closed door. She knocked and heavy footsteps came close. The door opened a crack to show the angry face of Marjellan peering out, his lips curling up into a snarl.

“What do you want?”

Jé Kinah held out the gems. “I found these…”

“They’re mine!” He snatched them away and slammed the door. Jé Kinah shook her head and went back downstairs. The love of dwarves for their gems was beyond her comprehension.

Borrick supervised the laying out of a number of blankets in front of the hearth. “Not exactly luxurious…”

“You have been most gracious.” Jé Kinah sat on the mound, wrapping one blanket over her shoulders.

“Just be sure not to take the bar off the door, not until the first drop of dawn.”

“I understand.” Jé Kinah looked up. “Borrick, what happened to the Queen, if indeed it was her disguised as an old woman?”

“She ran off into the forest at night…we tracked her the next day in the hope that she could be forced to bring Snow White back to life…but the beasts of the forest got to her first. There wasn’t much left. I do not know if there is a heaven or hell but wherever she is, I hope she is dancing on hot coals in bare feet for all eternity.”

“So…if the Queen is dead…who is issuing orders in her stead?” Jé Kinah looked up at Borrick and raised her eyebrows. She brought the dagger out of her hip sheath, having retrieved it before leaving the clearing. She set it on the mantle and gazed at it.

“The Queen could have issued the bounty before she decided to take matters into her own hands...” Borrick said quietly.

Jé Kinah was unconvinced and stared at the dagger on the mantle long after Borrick went to bed. There was something more going on than a tale of ambition and vanity but try as she might, she could not will that gleaming, deadly weapon to offer up any hints as to what.

Elves didn’t require much sleep so by the time the heavy blanket of night had begun to draw back in anticipation of dawn, Jé Kinah was sitting up in her chair, checking the string on her bow and looking over her quiver of arrows.

“Leaving us so soon?” Borrick asked as he stomped down the stairs.

“There is a young prince travelling through this forest. I did not realise the night dangers when I sent him on his way. I am going to look for him.”

“He won’t have survived the night.” Borrick said sadly.

“I have to try. For his sake…and Snow White’s.”

“What do you mean?”

Jé Kinah slung the quiver onto her back. “I do not think Snow White is dead.”

“What?”

“I think she is in a deep sleep.”

“If you touched her skin you would know it is as cold as ice.”

“And yet there is moisture on the inside of the glass. From what I have seen of your craftsmanship, I have no doubt that the casket is completely sealed.”

“It has been sealed, air tight, with purified bees wax in order to preserve her. That is why she looks exactly the same as the day she died.”

“No, not dead, sleeping. A deep, close to death, sleep.”

Borrick shook his head. “No, I cannot believe that. Not on the presence of moisture alone.”

Jé Kinah went to the mantelpiece and took up the dagger. “Someone put a bounty on the prince’s head. And not just for him. The sketch was so vague it could have been any prince that tried to enter the forest. Someone is desperate to keep a prince from reaching Snow White.” She held the dagger out to Borrick. “Why would that be…unless there was hope?”

Borrick took the blade and stared at it. “Even if you’re right…he’s dead by now. I’m telling you, the forest at night is deadly.”

“I suspect the prince spent the night outside the forest.” Jé Kinah gave a slight shrug. “When I pointed him towards the road…I sent him back the way he had come. I knew he was too stubborn to give up and he is too young and inexperienced to survive on his own. I will find him and bring him to the glen.”

Borrick grasped her hands firmly, hope renewed with her words. “If this is true…you will have all of our gratitude, from now until eternity.”

Jé Kinah gently removed her hands from Borrick’s grasp. “I do not deserve gratitude. Do not tell the other dwarves what is happening in case I am wrong. I would hate to raise false hope. But perhaps…stay within earshot?”

“I know just the mine.” Borrick heaved the bar from the door. “May your feet find ever sure footing and may the wind be always at your back.”

Jé Kinah took up her bow, slid a blade into her boot and as the light of dawn grazed the door she took off as fast as a startled deer, leaping up into the trees and sprinting towards the forest’s edge.

It took her several hours to track down young Prince Evander who, as she had fervently hoped, had followed her directions and headed towards the forest’s perimeter. After a night outside the rim of the deadly forest it seemed he had insisted on his original quest and travelled back into the forest. Not only had he become completely lost, he had managed to attract even more brigands and was now under attack.

Jé Kinah followed the tracks of his horse until they left the road and travelled far from the known path, clearly at a full gallop. Only a few minutes later did she stop staring at the ground and leapt up into a tree, her ears picking up the sound of clanging metal. She passed two bodies that had been run through with a rapier so she knew, at least for the time being, that he was alive and giving back as much as he was getting. When she finally came upon him, Prince Evander was battling four ruffians in a clearing and to Jé Kinah’s no small delight, using several of the moves she had taught him the day before in their impromptu tutorial.

There was no doubt he had flawless technique and in a display match before a watchful, noble crowd, he would be a pleasure to watch. But out here, in the wild, where rules were for breaking and gold was for taking, he struggled with his opponent’s raw power, their unorthodox techniques and their inability to recognize one on one duels or comply with the rules of honourable combat.

She saddled an arrow in her bow, sighted down it and waited. She didn’t want to take away an opportunity to learn about the gritty, real danger that existed beyond the safe walls of his father’s castle. It could well be a lesson that might save him later on in life. Prince Evander dispatched two ruffians and knocked the one swinging yet another mace over his head into a small gully. He turned his attention onto the last man who had some skill with a sword but his weapon was no match for the strength of blade it was up against. It snapped in two and the prince raised his rapier to deliver a final blow just as the man with the mace clambered out of the gully and came screaming at him. Jé Kinah nearly fired when the prince spun around, delivered a gashing blow across the mace bearer’s chest then continued the motion to point directly at the final thug’s chest. The man dropped his broken sword and held up his hands and the prince held back the fatal thrust.

Jé Kinah felt her mouth tweak into a small smile as she approved of the prince’s sense of honour, no matter how childishly idealistic it seemed at the time. The prince would not fight an unarmed man.

“You have two choices. Pick up your weapon and die in honourable combat or go back to your employer and tell them that Prince Evander will not be stopped by the filth of the earth.”

The man turned on his heel and bolted as fast as he could go. Evander sheathed his sword and looked around with a pleased expression on his young face. Now that the threat of death had passed, Jé Kinah hooked her bow over her shoulder and took a moment to study him. The young prince could not have been more than twenty summers. His lithe body had not a drop fat on it but it was also lacking in muscle or the severe tone that happened after a lifetime of battle. His fair hair just scraped his shoulders and it had a distinct wave to it. His skin was fresh and clear, unmarked, unscarred and in his smoky blue eyes was an almost childlike wonder at the world around him.

He could have been his brother.

Jé Kinah shook her head from her reverie and slid from the branch to land on the leaves before him. Prince Evander’s eyes widened and a smile flashed across his handsome features before he folded his arms and attempted to look grim.

“I did not think I would ever see you again.”

“I did not think I would see you again alive.”

He gave her the slightest glare. “You sent me in the wrong direction.”

“For your own safety,” she looked at the men strewn about on the forest floor, “I was not wrong to do so.”

“But I am standing and they are not.” His mouth cracked into a grin and he dropped all pretence of annoyance. “How did I do?”

Jé Kinah tilted her head. “You are a fast learner.”

“High praise.”

“Are you still intent on finding your princess?”

“Of course.”

Jé Kinah strapped her bow on. “Then follow me.”

Elves were known for their stamina. They could run for hours, their lightness of tread and nimble footing a great advantage. Jé Kinah held no illusions that if he had been on foot that the young prince could not have kept up with her. But he was on horseback and their pace was consistent. He went as fast as he could, following Jé Kinah who led the way from her nimble perch in the tree tops. It still took quite some time to make it into the part of the wood where the dwarves lived and the sun was beginning to sink in the sky. As the forest was thickest around the base of the mountain, Prince Evander dismounted and Jé Kinah had to concede to a far slower pace as they picked their way through areas where his stallion could fit.

Now that she had joined him on the ground, conversation was possible and at last the young prince could ask the questions that had burned in him ever since he had begun to follow the she-elf into the heart of the forest.

“Where are we going?”

“To the house of the dwarves where there is a young princess. They thought she was dead but I hope that a kiss will awaken her from her sleep like death.”

“A kiss of true love.” Prince Evander said with childlike hope. He shook off his dreamy expression and looked at the she-elf by his side. “What is your part to play in this tale Jé Kinah?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you an angel in disguise? A fairy godmother?”

“Nothing of the sort.”

“Then what motivates you to rescue a prince and lead him to his princess?”

Jé Kinah touched the vial around her neck. “My motivation is my own.”

“Of course. I did not mean to pry Jé Kinah.”

The mood became tense and silent, her snapped reply having stifled the young prince’s endless enthusiasm.

She sighed. “You may call me Jé.”

“Jé?”

“Yes. Just Jé.”

“I would have liked to have been known as Evan but my father said that shortening my name was common and disrespectful.” He cleared his throat. “I do not think him wrong but…”

“Two people can differ in their opinions and yet neither of them may be wrong.” Jé Kinah remarked and Prince Evander smiled.

“Yes, I think so too.”

Jé Kinah pointed. “Leave your horse here. The glen is beyond that thicket.”

The two of them fought their way past the brambles and walked out onto the springy heather of the glen. Marjellan was already on his feet, readying his axe. He scowled mightily at Jé Kinah and while he lowered his axe, she noted that he did not set it aside, unconvinced that she was not his enemy.

“I thought you’d scampered at first light.”

“I thought you would have been thankful if I had.”

“I was...but now you have returned with this...child.”

“This child is Prince Evander, first born son to King Olaris and heir to the throne of Genefeld.” Jé Kinah felt Prince Evander’s eyes turn to her.

“So...you were paying attention.”

Jé Kinah felt the slightest blush whip across her cheeks and clamped her teeth together.

“He’s not even old enough to shave.” Marjellan accused as though it was a damnable offense.

“A prince must be clean shaven and presentable at all times. Is that she?” He stepped towards the casket and Marjellan menaced him with his axe. “Please, honourable dwarf, I only mean to look upon her.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Can you remove the lid?” Jé Kinah asked.

“It’s sealed. And as long as it stays sealed, Snow White never ages, never withers and stays beautiful forever.”

“Snow White,” Prince Evander murmured, “what a beautiful name.”

Jé Kinah stepped between the prince and the dwarf. “Marjellan…I believe that Snow White lives.”

“You’re a fool.”

“And you are not. If the casket is sealed then what,” Jé Kinah leaned forward and brushed her fingers over the moisture that had collected on the glass, “is that?”

Marjellan looked at it. “Dew from this morning...” He rubbed at them but they were on the inside and did not budge. He frowned. “But…that cannot be…”

“Is removing the cover not worth the risk? Your preservation of Snow White could easily become her prison.” Jé Kinah saw a flicker of emotion hidden behind the anger in Marjellan’s eyes. “Please.”

Marjellan dropped his axe with a sigh and brought out his knife. “It’s sealed with wax.” He explained as he took the knife to the join of the lid to the base. In the expectant silence of the glen Jé Kinah could almost hear the sigh of trapped air escaping. The heavy lid sank into the rich earth and Prince Evander stepped as close as he could. Without the cover obscuring her vision Jé Kinah could see the tiniest snowflakes resting on Snow White’s long, black eyelashes.

“Awake princess.” The prince whispered and pressed his lips against hers. He pulled back and looked down at her...

...and nothing happened.

“Perhaps I did not kiss her for long enough?” Prince Evander wondered and kissed her again.

Still nothing happened. Prince Evander looked up, confused.

“What is wrong?”

“She’s dead!” Marjellan bellowed. “She’s not asleep. She’s dead and nothing will ever bring her back!” He stormed off towards the house as Jé Kinah and the prince stared down at the very still figure.

“What went wrong?” The prince asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You simply do not love her.” Jé Kinah walked to the dwarf’s guard post, slumped against the tree in a very un-elf like manner and slid down it, a deep sigh of defeat escaping from her as she did so.

Prince Evander’s self assured expression faltered in the threat of defeat. “But it was my destiny.”

“It was a vain hope that I could help restore anyone’s happily ever after.” Jé Kinah put her head in her hands and hid the tremble of emotion that crossed her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed down her despair with difficulty. It was too hard, too impossible for someone like her. How could she have honestly thought that she could make a difference in this cruel, bleak world?

Her fingers wrapped around the little glass vial and she breathed in and out several times, regaining control little by little. When she felt brave enough she opened her eyes and noticed something glistening in the clover by her feet. She picked it up and studied the crystal, no bigger than her littlest fingernail. Its perfect form reflected a tiny rainbow as she held it up by its narrow end, the wider, rounder end catching the light. It was quite remarkable for it, and all those she had seen that were exactly like it, had no edges. It was perfectly smooth.

“Oh no…look at this…you were not meant to cry.”

Jé Kinah swallowed and let the crystal fall into her palm, turning it around so that the narrowest part was at the top. As it lay in her palm, twinkling like a solid drop of rain, a shiver ran up her spine.

“How could I have been so blind?” She whispered and stood up. “Prince Evander, guard Snow White. I will return in just a moment.”

Borrick had been good to his word. Apart from Marjellan staying behind to guard Snow White the dwarf house was empty. Well…almost. Jé Kinah climbed the stairs to the landing and went to the door she’d knocked on the night before. It was ajar. Pressing her long fingers against the wood she pushed open the door fully to reveal Marjellan sitting on his bed, weeping into his hands...

...and falling from his hands into a pile at his feet were dozens of tear drop crystals. Jé Kinah looked around the small room. There were boxes and barrels and bags stuffed with crystals. Some of the boxes were stacked on top of each other, crystal droplets piled so high that they were overflowing and spilling out. It was like a cave of fallen stars. She closed her eyes.

“The crystal lake…a valley filled with the tears of dwarves. But not tears for gems. Tears of true love,” she knelt by Marjellan’s feet, “for the mothers…daughters…and wives the dwarf men had lost.”

Her words caused his sorrow to begin anew. The veil of anger had completely dropped and Jé Kinah could easily see the sorrow that had been hiding beneath.

“You loved her.”

“I still do.” He confessed past the tightness of his throat, his face creasing with pain. “A dwarf as rough and scarred as I in love with such a beauty…”

His voice was filled with such aching sadness that Jé Kinah was hard pressed not to weep with him as the trickles down his cheeks became perfectly formed tear drop crystals that fell into his hands.

“I didn’t at first. I knew the Queen was ruthless and that we were at risk. So I tried to drive her away. I was unkind, rude and made no secret of the inconvenience her presence caused,” his eyes filled again and his lips trembled mightily, “yet every morning she greeted me with a smile and packed me a meal just how I liked it. She mended my clothes and darned my socks,” his words choked up as he let go of the tears he’d been holding and they joined the mound at his feet, “and when my shoes were wet, she put them by the fire to dry…and when I caught a cold she made me soup and knitted me a scarf.” He closed his eyes, his sorrow filling the room. “It wasn’t what she did…it’s just that she kept doing. She never stopped and when I found her unconscious with a corset tied as tight as a noose around her that’s when I realised the depth of what I felt.” He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and shuddered. “What must she have thought of me?”

Marjellan looked at Jé Kinah whose face was wet with tears.

“The day she died I was resolved not to let anything hurt her so when I heard something near the house I went after it, thinking I could keep her safe…but I failed her. I failed her and she died.”

“Snow White is not dead.”

“How can you possibly know that?” He demanded, his anger a fraction of what it was before.

“Because hope is a double edged blade and someone is playing a cruel game with the lives of those who are meant to live happily ever after.” Jé Kinah stood up. “Prove me wrong. Your kiss could wake her.”

“But why me? Why would she love me?”

“I cannot speak for someone else’s heart. But I know that she bought a corset and a comb...two things that she hoped would make her more attractive. Maybe she had someone in mind.”

Jé Kinah and Marjellan approached the casket as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The dwarves would be returning shortly, the lanterns would be lit and the house would be locked up for the night but they had at least an hour left before then. Prince Evander stood up, his hand on his rapier. He nodded at Jé Kinah who looked to one side. Prince Evander nodded and stepped aside as Marjellan came close to the casket, the lid still lying where it had fallen. Jé Kinah’s sharp eyes could see he was trembling. She wondered if, on the chance Snow White didn’t wake up, if this dwarf might die of a broken heart.

Marjellan looked down at her serene face, her jet black hair woven with white blossoms and her lips as red as blood.

“Snow White…” He whispered as he closed his eyes and ever so gently kissed her.

An ethereal pulse rippled through the glen and Jé Kinah swayed slightly in its wake. Prince Evander looked around. “Did you feel that?” He whispered. She couldn’t answer as she held her breath, waiting...praying...

Marjellan lifted his head up, his unending well of sorrow filling his eyes again. Suddenly Snow White’s lips parted and she gave a short, shallow gasp. Marjellan froze, two crystal tears falling from his eyes onto Snow White’s face. Her eyes opened, flicking the light dusting of ice from her lashes.

“Marjellan?” She asked in a faint, hopeful voice. “Why are you crying?” Her eyes gazed up into his broken countenance. She reached up to touch his face with her shaking fingers and he gave a gasp. “Do not cry, Marjellan. I could not bear it if you were sad.”

“Snow White!” He cried and grasped her soft pale hands in his rough ones. “You live! You live!” He pressed his lips to her fingers and held on tightly, joy, relief and sorrow all blending together. “Please, please forgive me for leaving you alone. I should never have left your side…”

“You are here now.”

“And I will be here always,” he said firmly, “I promise.”

“Oh Marjellan…please say that you are my Marjellan…” She tried to rise and fell back. “I feel so weak.”

“We must get her inside.” Jé Kinah touched Marjellan on the shoulder.

“I will carry you.” Marjellan scooped her up and wrapped his arms around her like he had wanted to do for so long. Snow White rested her head on his shoulder, her mane of black curls framing her pale face as she sank against him, safe in his arms.

“I wanted it to be you,” she whispered, “as I slipped into that cold, dark sleep all I could think of was, I hope it is Marjellan I see when I awake.”

Jé Kinah and Prince Evander followed them at a respectful distance, both appreciating the quietly joyful scene with a deep sense of contentment.

Suddenly the glen was enveloped in shadow and they looked up as dark clouds filled the sky and the remainder of the sun was blotted out. The temperature dropped dramatically and in place of the warm afternoon heat was a chill that touch their bones. Jé Kinah turned around and saw a sinister fog at the edge of the glen rolling towards them.

“Evening comes early today.” Prince Evander remarked naively.

Marjellan looked at Jé Kinah, his eyes wide.

“Run!” She cried and they sprinted from the glen, Snow White still in Marjellan’s arms. Just as they passed the thicket the trees surrounding the glen were torn apart by a giant troll and a hoard of men and things with sharp pointed teeth and bat like wings trampled across the once serene sanctuary.

Jé Kinah reached the house first but another troll was already blocking their path.

“Marjellan?”

“Up to the mines!” He roared and they practically flew up the mountainside, along a narrow path to where the land became harder and the trees more sparse. Behind them they could hear the shrieks and bellows of a small army of darkness closing in on their position. They had lost them momentarily in the unnaturally early darkness but they could not hope that it would be for long.

“Over there!” Marjellan led the way to a cavern set deep into the mountain, half overgrown with gorse. At the very back of the cave was a stash of dwarf weapons as well as a pile of coarse blankets. He laid Snow White down gently and touched her face reassuringly. “Stay here my love. Do not come out no matter what you may hear.”

She nodded, painfully weak and frightened. Marjellan filled his arms with weapons and ran back to the mouth of the cave, throwing a second sword to Evander before picking up his axes and growling like a wounded black bear.

Jé Kinah swung herself into a tree and Prince Evander barely had time to fling her bow and her quiver of arrows up after her before their position was swarmed. Jé Kinah had never seen such twisted forms. They had disjointed limbs, skin that looked like it was pieced together with scars and stitches and their eyes were sewn shut. They seemed to react on instinct alone and formed the front line. Behind them the men surged, two dozen at least. They brandished torches that glowed with strange blue fire and were far better armed that the other thugs who had previously ambushed the prince. Behind them were three trolls, their twelve foot tall bodies built as solidly as forest bears but their hides were as tough as reptilian scales. Their faces were filled with dumb, mindless purpose as they swayed from side to side, grunting and wheezing, waiting for orders.

“Find her!” One of the men roared with long, greasy black hair and a nose that had been broken one too many times. “A thousand gold pieces waits for the man who drags her before the Queen!” The mention of gold stirred the blood lust in the hearts of the men and they leapt into the fray.

The prince slashed and lunged with his rapier, moving fast on his feet and striking as hard as he could. Marjellan was like a deadly twister, spinning with both axes blazing, cutting down creature and ruffian alike. Jé Kinah used her position to take out as many of them as she could with deadly aim. Her stream of arrows did not go unnoticed. “Gregor!” One of the men yelled. “Up there!” Then he gurgled, spat up blood and dropped where he stood, the tip of the arrow protruding through his back.

Gregor, the man who had reminded the men of the enormous bounty should they capture Snow White, looked up at her and his eyes glowed with greed and lust. He shouted something incomprehensible even as Jé Kinah sighted down her an arrow, aiming for his heart.

Abruptly the tree she was perched in shuddered and its very foundation creaked and snapped as a troll rammed its entire weight against the trunk, knocking itself out in the process. As the tree began to fall she sprinted along its trunk and leapt just before it went crashing to the ground to another tree then another and another, slinging arrows into her bow and releasing them as fast as she could. They were severely outnumbered and even as she watched from her perch, the second troll started sprinting towards the cave.

“Marjellan!” She cried. The dwarf had already seen the troll barrelling towards the place where Snow White lay hidden and he planted himself in its path. There was no competition. Marjellan would be crushed and no matter how many arrows Jé Kinah planted in its calloused hide, it didn’t break stride. It was upon Marjellan and about to run him down when the battle cry of dwarves filled the air. Marjellan’s six brothers burst from the gorse bush at the top of the cavern and down onto the troll. Their combined weight dragged it to the ground, squashing many of the stitched eyed foul beasties as it went. They hacked into the troll until it was dead before Borrick, splattered with troll blood, charged and his brothers followed him into battle, their axes singing through the air and they wielded them with deadly accuracy and skill.

Jé Kinah had been distracted for a mere second by the arrival of the dwarves but it was enough for the last of the trolls to grab hold of her booted ankle. She was dragged out of the tree like a sack and hit the ground hard, the air exploding out of her lungs. She had the dagger out in an instant but the troll’s hide was thick and its mind was numb. Black blood like tar smeared her face, telling her she was doing damage but at the way she was being dragged through the forest, away from the noise of the battle, she knew it wasn’t enough.

“Hold her there!” Gregor ordered the troll and it dragged her up into the air, her long blonde hair barely touching the ground. With its thick fingers it wrapped its hand around her body, trapping her arms against her sides. Jé Kinah couldn’t budge so Gregor, who was no longer in danger of the blade, removed the dagger from her clenched fist. He brought his torch that flickered with a blue flame close to her upside down face, his eyes bloodshot and his breath foul. “Well, well…what could you possibly have done to warrant such a reward?”

Jé Kinah felt her blood freeze in her veins. “Me?” She gasped.

“You’re as surprised as I am.” He held up a familiar dagger to her throat, a twin to the one he had taken from her. This one was unmarked by troll blood and it glistened in the strange blue light. “I’d happily kill you and take your head as proof but she wants you alive.” Jé Kinah’s mind raced, unable to fathom who he was talking about. The icy cold tip of the blade danced along her chin, tracing her cheekbones, bringing his foul, stinking face back into focus. “Still...there are many ways to live...and you are very beautiful...”

Far from the battle Jé Kinah knew she was on her own. Her skin crawled with the way Gregor leered at her but with her arms tightly pinned, she was helpless. Abruptly the troll roared in pain and it let go with one hand to swing wide, releasing her arms and torso. With one boot in its other hand Jé Kinah wasn’t free and still dangled above the ground. She twisted and out of the corner of her eye saw Prince Evander only just leap out of the way of troll’s furious blow.

“Unhand her beast!” He ordered, his righteous fury undiminished even as the troll roared at him.

“Kill the hero!” Gregor ordered with dark laughter in his voice.

“Evander run!” Jé Kinah yelled, swinging herself up and beat at the troll’s hand that trapped her leg, attempting to pry herself free.

But the young, idealistic prince continued in his foolish approach and while he did some damage, he was not prepared for the mallet fist that struck him in the chest. Jé Kinah watched his body crumple to the ground and her face creased into an animalistic snarl. She let go, swinging wildly and caught hold of Gregor by the scruff. At the same time she yanked her dagger out of his belt, slashing for his chest as she swung back. Without a second thought to Gregor, Jé Kinah used the momentum to twist back up and jabbed the blade into the troll’s neck, blood gushing out of the wound as she yanked the dagger free. It gave an almighty scream and finally released her boot as it lashed out in wild panic.

Jé Kinah landed like a cat, lithe and nimble and sprinted for the closest tree. She ran up it, used the smallest foothold to twist in midair and propelled herself towards the troll, sinking the dagger into its chest, deep into its heart until only the hilt remained. The troll, thrashing in its last moments of life, teetered at the edge of a steep decline. Jé Kinah went into a standing leap and rammed both feet into its chest, causing it to lose its footing and it tumbled back down the mountainside to land in a broken, bloodied heap. Jé Kinah didn’t even spare it a second glance, sprinting over to where Evander lay.

“Evander,” she called, turning him over, “can you hear me?” He was pale as death and she patted his bloodied face. “Come on. Wake up. Evander, wake up!” He groaned, his face contorting in pain. Jé Kinah gasped for a breath of air, not having realised that she had been holding it.

“Don’t move.” The pinch of a blade was felt in her back and Jé Kinah immediately froze. As it was pressed harder she was forced to stand up, Evander alive but insensible at her feet.

“Next time you leave someone for dead...you’d better make sure they’re dead.” Gregor taunted her from behind. “When I deliver you to the Queen, remind me to thank her for the chain mail.”

Jé Kinah shivered. “You have the wrong person. No one is looking for me.”

He chuckled and she felt him touch her neck beneath her hair, his greasy fingers sliding over her skin. “You want to tell me where I will find another she-elf on the earth?” Jé Kinah blinked, stunned into silence. “Now then my lovely, you’ve got nobody left looking out for you and no weapons in your hands. Be a good girl and come quietly or I’ll kill the heroic fool at your feet,” she felt him shift closer to her body, the pinch of the blade becoming unbearable as he breathed on her neck, “or maybe I’ll skin him alive and let you watch.”

As Gregor chuckled at his own spiteful malice, something snapped within Jé Kinah. She felt the rise of heat in her veins until her body felt like it was on fire and something dark, sinister and ancient unfurled itself from deep inside her being. Her hands hooked into claws, her fingernails becoming long, dark and green. Her eyes filled up with black and her hair became streaked with darkness. Fire burned in her belly and she tasted blood as her pointed teeth pierced her tongue. Insensible of the pain from the sharp edge of the blade, she turned slowly around to face Gregor and saw the shock on his face, her reflection in his eyes. He staggered backwards, dropping the dagger, his expression contorting with fear.

“What are you?” He cried.

She snarled, showing pointed teeth and a glow from deep within. The man screamed and bolted but before he could blink she was in front of him, her veins standing out on her skin as though her blood had turned to tar. He skidded in the leaves and tried for a different route but she leapt onto his back and without hesitation sank her teeth into his neck.

There was an awful moment of a twisted scream before there was nothing…except the sounds of feasting.

Abruptly her head came up, blood trickling down the sides of her mouth. Her veins had receded, her hair was fair and her eyes had emptied of the black until there was intelligence in them once more. Intelligence...and horror. Her trembling fingertips rose to her mouth and she touched the blood, smearing it across her face in an attempt to wipe it away.

“No…oh please no…” She scrubbed it away, her tears mingling with the blood, until she was mostly clean on her face…though she felt filthy to her core. As she stood over the man whose neck and shoulder were a ragged, bloody mess, her hands shook and she raked her fingers through her hair and desperately willed the horrific scene away.

“Jé,” a hand touched her arm and she froze, “are you injured? Tell me you are not hurt.” Evander stepped in front of her, his blue eyes troubled and his face etched with concern. One arm was holding his ribs and there was a line of blood on his face which would probably become his first ever scar.

“I am not injured.” She said in a voice that leagues away from her own, unable to meet his eyes.

“Are you sure? You are bleeding.” He went to touch her face and she recoiled. Shaking she used the edge of her sleeve to wipe the last of the blood away.

Evander cleared his throat and looked down at the man. “What did that? One of those little beasts turned on him? Or was it something even fouler that lives in this forest?” Jé Kinah trembled and Evander mistook her slight head bob as a nod. “Come. I can hear dwarves shouting victory. I think we have won the day.”

Jé Kinah nodded firmly this time and they turned to go, but not before she kicked leaves over the weapon that Gregor had menaced her with that had fallen beside his partially eaten body. It was the same as the other dagger with a snowflake carved into the hilt and capped with an ice blue stone.

“Do you, Marjellan, third son of our father, king of the dwarf lands to the north, take Snow White to be your wife? Will you love her, honour, protect and nurture her for as long as you live and only her?”

“I will and I do.” Marjellan replied.

It was hard to imagine the Marjellan who had spoken those words had anything to do with the Marjellan who had menaced Jé Kinah three days earlier. His once matted, black hair had been washed and combed so that it hung in rich waves around his face. His eyes were bright and showed no anger or sorrow and his face was clear and happy.

Borrick beamed at his brother and turned to Snow White.

“And do you, Snow White, daughter of the late King and survivor of the poisoned apple, take Marjellan to be your husband? Will you love him, honour, protect and nurture him for as long as you live and only grumpy?”

A ripple of chuckles chorused out of the small crowd gathered beneath the wild yellow roses that formed a natural arch above their heads. Snow White was a vision in the simplest white dress, her bare feet sinking into the soft clover, her hair loose except for where she wore a daisy crown. Her cheeks were pink with anticipation and her lips were ever red.

“I will and I do.” She said.

“Then by the power vested in me…because there really wasn’t anyone else around worthy enough to perform the ceremony…I declare that you are husband and wife.”

Marjellan and Snow White kissed and the small crowd made enough noise with their cheering for ten times their worth. The dwarves surrounded the happy couple while Jé Kinah and Evander looked on from a small distance. Evander’s right arm was in a sling and his body bore some fine bruises from the battle. Jé Kinah’s wounds were internal and that’s the way she intended them to stay. But as she watched Marjellan and Snow White exchange vows, entirely in love with each other, she felt a smile gently crease her face.

“Well…I do not believe I have had the pleasure of seeing you smile before.”

Her lips flattened. “Is it not customary to smile at a wedding?”

“I take it you have never attended a royal wedding then?”

“I have never attended a wedding, royal or otherwise.”

“And yet you were so intent on me having a happily ever after.” He smiled at her. “You are an odd one.”

Jé Kinah restrained herself from rolling her eyes. They stood side by side, watching the dwarves laugh and carry on, the despair that had threatened to engulf them only days earlier already becoming no more than a bad dream. “I am sorry you did not get to rescue your princess.”

“You were right. I did not, do not, love her. How can I? I do not know a thing about her. And she seems so very happy with Marjellan.” Evander shifted his arm then settled.

The newly wedded couple came over to them. Snow White took Jé Kinah’s hands in hers and looked full into her face. “How can I thank you?”

“By telling me you are happy.”

Snow White looked at Marjellan and her eyes were alight with love. “I am.”

“Then that is all I require.”

“But it is not all you shall receive.” Marjellan handed Jé Kinah and Evander a generous pouch each. “They’ll trade for goods and food on your travels. I have no reason to weep anymore.”

The pouches were filled with his tear drop crystals. Jé Kinah nodded in acceptance of hers. Evander held out his uninjured arm and Marjellan shook his hand.

“Will you stay?”

“I cannot speak for the young prince but I have a long way to go.” Jé Kinah replied quickly. Evander smiled.

“And as I fully intend on following Jé back to the road at least, I will leave with her.”

“Then we wish you all the best and that you both discover your own happily ever after. “ Snow White beamed. Then she, her husband and the singing dwarves headed towards the house.

Borrick paused before them. “This is farewell I gather.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, master dwarf.”

“Thank you for accepting it.” Borrick looked at his brother and wife. “I have one remaining concern that I would share with you. If the Queen is dead…who is wielding those blades and offering bounties? Who was after Snow White that night?”

Jé Kinah did not feel any need to explain that the ruffians and trolls were actually after her. She simply replied, “Whoever it is, they may yet return.”

“Well we’ve done a bit of damage to those forest beasties. My bet is they won’t be back in a hurry. Perhaps we’ve begun to root out the evil that lurks here.” Borrick nodded. “May your travels take you home.”

“Goodbye Borrick.” Jé Kinah gave a slight bow then turned and left the clearing. Evander took the reins of his horse and followed Jé Kinah through the forest to the road. There was a pleasant, warm breeze blowing and there were sparkles in the sunlight that streaked down through the leaves.

“So...which way?”

“Your kingdom lies that way.” Jé Kinah pointed.

“Which way are you headed?”

“The other way,” she replied, “so this is goodbye little prince.” She made her stride long but didn’t get very far.

“And what if I should happen to choose to go the same way as you?”

Jé Kinah turned around to see him standing in the middle of the road, reminding her of a little lost puppy. “What would that accomplish?” She asked, trying to keep her tone cold.

“You could teach me to fight, to be an expert bowman and I could keep you company with my wit and charm.” He smiled but there was something eager, all too innocent behind his cavalier expression. Jé Kinah felt her resolve softening until, unbidden, she recalled his body crumpled on the ground after a valiant yet foolish attempt to save her life. It was not the first time such a fate befell someone who had come to her rescue. Her jaw tightened.

“Where I am going, you cannot follow.” She said firmly. “Go home little prince. The world is far too dangerous a place for the likes of you.” She turned her back and started walking.

“I know you think I am a child and perhaps in your eyes that might be true!” Evander called out as she strode away. “But one day I shall not disappoint you. One day you will think me an equal and a worthy companion. I will see you again Jé Kinah!”

Jé Kinah didn’t turn back but her walking became so fast she was almost running. When she was sure he could no longer see her she broke into a sprint and pushed herself hard and fast, her feet barely touching the ground. Finally she emerged from the tree line at the far side of the forest, her chest heaving and her face cold with windswept tears. She bit her lip and grasped the little vial around her neck and it took several minutes for her to regain control over her emotions. Finally able to swallow her sorrow down she lifted her head and looked out to the horizon.

“One step at a time.” She vowed. “One foot in front of the other.”