(Taerynn’s point of view)

King Taerynn saw the trepidation flash across his face. 

He wanted to roll his eyes. It was so typical of a human, to respond with fear when seeing him. Though he rarely came face-to-face with this weak species, the reaction was always the same whenever it happened—realizing he was a dark elf, screaming, and running away. Sometimes, they even passed out on the spot.

Let’s get this over with.

“What’s your name?”

The question confused the boy, who finally stopped floundering in his grasp.

“My… name?”

Did I speak Elvish? You know what I mean.

But he could not push the request or show anger that could frighten him. 

Yes, Taerynn did know his name—Snow White von Castell, but that was because he heard it through the grapevine. The prior King of Ascelin had a daughter. Rumors of her unique beauty even reached his ears, which was how he recognized this, er, prince in the coffin, who was not a princess at all. Very peculiar.

And learning a human’s true name in that manner did not count for fae folk. To have an influence on a mortal, they needed them to provide it willingly. 

Once Taerynn had power over Snow White’s identity, deconstructing the soul would be much easier, though a very fragile process to find the mirror shard. He really needed his name to force him to cooperate. An unwilling heart and mind would make that complicated.

“Yes. I asked for your name.”

They studied each other. 

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Under Taerynn’s grip, he felt Snow White’s rushing heartbeat in the sweet spot under his jawline.

He is nervous. 

Those ocean-blue eyes previously laced with horror were now calculating. Taerynn watched them move up and down, staring into his face again. Almost as if he was… seeing right through him. The king did not like that, taken aback.

Does he know my intentions?

“My name is Snow White.”

Ha, not as sharp as I thought.

“Then,” Taerynn smiled wickedly. “I need you t—”

His hold on Snow White’s face compressed more, making him whimper. 

He leaned further to see into his wide-opened eyes, peering into the black iris pools. They were as clear as Midgard’s, or the human realm’s, day, with no opaque sheen. The haziness would have indicated they were being influenced by fae.

But there was none.

That meant one thing. 

This time, the elf could no longer hide his vexation, feeling his face darken.

“Snow White is not your true name.”

But I’ve heard the stories. Could they have been wrong?

When he didn’t reply to the accusation, Taerynn scoffed and let go, albeit harshly. Snow White, or whatever his name was, dropped to the floor. The heavy chain attached to the lower wall made a loud sound, ringing throughout the dungeon. CLANG.

“You lied.”

Fae hated being lied to. Despised it, really; a one-way ticket to them making the liar’s life hell.

Snow White coughed and gradually stood, hands placed on their knees. “I-I’m not lying. That is my name.” The timidness returned, like a lamb about to be devoured by the wolf.

Scared. Then observant. Now scared again?

Taerynn could not figure him out. It was irritating! If Snow White wasn’t his true name, then it had to be a nickname. It was the truth, but also not. So, in a way, it wasn’t technically lying. 

“What is your true name?” Taerynn asked, golden eyes gleaming.

As expected, Snow White was silent, avoiding eye contact. He focused on the filth growing in the dungeon. 

This was going to be more difficult than planned. Whatever. The king of this damned wasteland could wait. He had only been searching 45 years for the Magic Mirror shards, being able to go to the human realm merely once a year because of the curse. To painstakingly find each minuscule piece that called to him had forced the ruthless King Taerynn to be patient.

And the curse was all thanks to Snow White’s stepmother—the Queen.

“Why don’t you think about it a little more?” he asked more calmly. The tone was meant to translate as, You should consider it very carefully by the next time I come.

He turned to leave, closing the heavy iron-barred door behind him. It was a metal perfect for fae folk prisoners since they were weak to it… but not him. Iron was not one of them. Taerynn was an exception to that. He was a… one of a kind elf, which led to nothing but tragic ends since the day he was born. 

The king took a step forward to leave the dungeon area.

“Wait,” a faint voice called out.

He paused, waiting.

“C-can you at least t-tell me where I’m at?”

Since he will be with me until his death, it wouldn't matter if I told him.

“Myrkrheim.”

***

(Winter’s point of view)

Winter let out a long, shaky breath when the dark elf left, leaving him alone in the dungeon. He put a hand over his chest.

His heart wouldn’t stop thumping like crazy. The hard beats were unpleasant. Ever since seeing the elf’s face and just being touched by him, there was… something going on inside. A warmth? A pull? It felt like the odd sensations were coming from his heart, but not exactly. 

It was deeper, more… within. He couldn’t explain, for he had never felt this. When they were gone, the feeling dissipated, leaving tingles in his fingertips.

Without him here, the silence was more deafening than anything. Winter studied where he was locked in, corner to corner, wall to wall. And then the ground, where his vomit was. The apple bites still looked new. 

Seeing the fruit’s red color…

A burst of the missing memories collided with him at full force. It literally was like he had been struck, being knocked back into the wall behind him. He held onto the craggy wall to keep himself up as it all came barreling back:

An elderly woman with a hunched spine and a large, infected boil on the bridge of her nose had appeared suddenly. She acted nice and offered him things, such as a comb. And Winter knew she was acting, a fake. In reality, he had sensed the true wickedness inside her.

Because ever since “that incident” when he was nine years old and his eye was almost blinded by glass, Winter changed. His childhood frailty improved, basically cured. The prediction he would die before his teenage years was proven false. The Nordenstein Castle’s physician could not figure out how he was sickly yesterday, then fine today. 

But there was another shift in him. It was a secret. No one knew since it used to frighten him so much at night, thinking he was possessed or something.

Possibly, it was a newfound intuition. Or maybe the heavens gave him foresight. When the bandage was removed from his eye a month later, Winter cried and panicked. A lot. He didn’t understand back then, too petrified to ask his stepmother despite her witchcraft ability. It took time to get used to the new sixth sense, and why he perceived demonic energy more in some than others.

Winter could see the actual ugliness in people, only magnified a thousand times. If a person was bad, he saw how bad, the evil. 

And that older woman who kept insisting on taking her “gifts” was evil, which reminded him too much of the Queen.

The last present she tried to offer was a glistening apple from her basket. It was the most delicious apple he ever saw, much more delicious-looking than any rotten ones growing in the dwarves’ orchard. Winter recalled salivating over the shiny redness when she cut one, eating half to show him that it was fine to consume.

Yet, it didn’t feel right. He declined. The woman’s aura was too vile to accept anything, and he told her not to return since his friends would also come back in a few days from mining. Her eyes had a dangerous glint, even though she smiled and said it was fine. 

The following day, he went to the orchard and gardens to collect any ripe foods ready to be harvested. He wanted to prepare a hardy feast for the dwarves tomorrow. On the ground under the apple trees were several fallen ones…

Including the best-looking apple that had ever grown on their land. How lucky! Winter brought it, and the basket of goodies, back to the cottage. Hungry later that evening, he examined it, feeling off about something, but wanted to eat it. How could someone not when it was as yummy as it seemed?

The temptation...

He took a bite. And two. Then thr—

That was the final thing Winter could remember… and then he woke up in a dungeon with a dark elf, puking that same apple. 

Poison. The apple was from her! It was too perfect to have grown on our trees! How could I have been so… foolish? Had living carefree for two years blinded my judgment?

Winter reflected on what the elf told him: “You have been missing for 33 years. I discovered you in an abandoned mine in a glass coffin under the earth. Your friends are dead.”

Three decades ago…

Dead…

The seven dwarves—nameless, rough, and stinky—were dead. They saved his life when discovering Winter in the Forbidden Forest, accepting him as their own, and becoming the only friends he ever made.

The fun they had, singing and dancing. Teaching him how to hunt and use a dagger for defense. Learning basic survival skills, such as cooking. And being free.

Winter covered his mouth not to wail, but he couldn’t help it. Tears trailed down his cheeks. Legs unable to hold his weight up, he crumbled on the nasty ground coated in slime and strange puddles of muck. It wasn’t fair to grieve here! Where were they buried? How did they die? Would he ever know?

This was too much. Too much information, too much happening at once, and too much to accept this abrupt change.

Myrkrheim.

The elf said that name. 

Myrkrheim, Winter repeated in his head. Myrkrheim. I am there now? Where have I heard it before? Was it in my studies? The books I read? I also should’ve asked for his name. That darned elf tried to influence me with my true one! He can’t know. I’d rather die than be controlled and he does… whatever he tells me to do.

Time went by. He tried yanking off the shackle until his ankle bled. It was no use. Day or night, Winter couldn’t tell. There were no windows. He’d watch the fiery torch on the other side of the cage-like door. The fire never extinguished, like it was magic.

It was freezing! His breath was visible at times. When his body shook, worry plagued him. If that dark elf wouldn’t kill him soon, the cold would first. 

So mana kept me alive for years? I don’t know exactly what that is, but will it keep me alive down here, too, just barely enough to survive?

No one came by either, not a single guard. That was unusual. 

BANG.

Winter opened his eyes, raising his head slowly in the direction the sound came from. Something had fallen over, such as a broom. It came from way down the hallway. A coldness spread in his limbs from fear. Goosebumps peppered Winter’s skin, instincts going haywire. Run. He should run. He tensed up, watching the hallway without blinking.

A shadow crept forward.