Taerynn

*SMASH*

The gold chalice crumbled in Taerynn’s strong grip, spilling red wine over the desk. The small jewels that adorned the rim had cut into his palm. Taerynn stared at the oozing blood.

“Y-Your Majesty!” Rowan exclaimed. “I’ll call for the physician.”

“No need.”

He made a fist to cover the minor wound, allowing the crimson drops to spill between his fingers and fall to the floor.

“Then, please allow me to clean this up,” Rowan offered.

As his head servant dabbed away the alcohol, Taerynn stood up to stare out the window behind his chair. It was another dismal morning in the dead of winter. The snowstorm was particularly bad that day. No one in the town below wanted to go out, not even to brawl and kill, which was the norm.

Last night…

There was no denying it. Right after finding Snow White in such a sorry state, he had sensed her presence in the dungeon. That scornful aura had been there, likely why the doppelgänger had scurried away somewhere.

The Queen of Ascelin—Snow White’s stepmother had been there.

And that pissed him off.

Taerynn had believed for years that he was done with her—that she was done with him. There was nothing else she could’ve possibly wanted from there besides his Magic Mirror, but it had gotten broken.

That had been her fault because of her part in the dark elves’ attempt to conquer the cosmic Yggdrasil tree, where the nine realms—including fae, humans, and all other creatures—resided.

That damned woman had helped the dark elves of the Svartalfheim realm invade Hel, the afterlife domain where Myrkrheim was included. Their greed to take over everything had been bold, on par with human nature.

Perhaps they had been a little too bold, since the dark elves had not won the Great Elvish War in the end.

Since then, the king of corrupted fae souls had harbored resentment toward the queen. She made it impossible to do the job forced upon him by the leaders of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts—or fae folk species, who are either lighter-inclined or darker-inclined.

Of course, Taerynn would’ve loved to get his revenge. But he was tired. His soul’s core had never been the same after that disaster, and it was getting weaker by the year. Basic commands were exhausting. Restoring the mirror took much of his time as well.

There was nothing else valuable there, not anymore.

Yet… the queen was searching for something.

She hasn’t made a move since failing to steal my mirror to combine with her half. Why now?

“I am finished cleaning, Your Majesty,” Rowan said. “Though the chalice is ruined.”

“That’s fine. You may go. I need to think,” Taerynn replied.

“Yes. I will return later with lunch. I heard they are preparing duck, brought here from Midgard.”

Snow White appeared in Taerynn’s thoughts, the image of him unconscious beside the deceased prisoner who had been forgotten who knows when.

Lunch. That human hasn’t eaten. He can’t die until I retrieve my shard. The mana might perish with him if my suspicions are correct.

“Bring two portions,” he ordered.

After Rowan departed, Taerynn watched the snowfall for a good while. It was aggravating that snow now reminded him of the young man.

Something valuable…

Does that woman want her stepson back? Does she know he has been found? The timing is too coincidental.

It was confusing since the queen appeared to have gone to great lengths to hide his status as a prince, a title that was able to succeed the Ascelin throne. A princess could not do that. They were always married off to another royal family when they came of age.

Taerynn smirked, his sinister grin reaching ear to ear.

Is that why, dear queen? Your once-mighty husband dies and you keep the ‘princess’ away from the public eye? You don’t want anyone to know.

It was possible that everyone would get what they wanted if the cards were played right.

But I know.

***

Winter

Winter thought he was having nightmares again.

Get off, get off!

In the nightly terror, he screamed “No!” and squirmed to fight off the people touching him.

“This thing isn’t cooperating, Your Majesty!”

“Get out. I’ll do it myself.”

There was a tug on Winter’s clothes. When he lashed out, a hand touched his face, and a lovely warmth spread into his head. He fell into a deep sleep again, only the horrid dreams ended for good after that.

And then the whispers began.

“Here.”

Winter stirred.

“Here.”

“Ugh,” he groaned.

The quiet voices had stopped. He must’ve still been hearing those lingering nothings from the nightmares.

His eyes blinked open, and he winced at the light pouring in through the window. When his sight adjusted, Winter squinted. The sky was completely gray.

Snow?

Indeed. Thick snowflakes hurled through the sky, likely blanketing the land below, which he couldn’t see from that angle.

Winter reached out and felt along the smooth, black, silk blanket that covered him, balling the material in his fist. Even at the castle, he never felt such a luxurious texture.

He sat up.

“Huh!” Winter gasped and doubled over.

Again?!

His hand clutched his chest, and his nails dug into his skin. The half-moon marks drew blood; it was just that painful to endure. Those tiny zaps pulsed, shooting across his chest like mini lightning bolts.

His shoulders convulsed and his muscles locked. Drool dripped onto the bed. He moaned for it to stop.

This can’t be my childhood illness returning! This is more than that!

Winter wondered if death would feel better.

Before long, the agonizing wave faded, leaving him worn out, sore, and sweaty. Winter wiped the spit from his chin and brushed the moistened bangs away from his face.

It’s over. It’s over. What is that pain, though?

As he calmed his racing heart, he scanned the decently sized room. It was bigger than the dwarves’ entire cottage.

The room was modest—a plain bed with tall wooden posts, dark green curtains pushed aside to reveal the tall window, a candle chandelier, and other practical furniture.

Winter wasn’t sure what to think about the paintings, though. They depicted gruesome monsters and war scenes.

At Nordenstein Castle(meaning ‘northern stone’) where he grew up, the bedrooms had been flashy, embellished with gold trimming and crystal decorations imported from faraway lands. It was unnecessary, but the queen took advantage of the country’s budget to show off to other visiting kingdom delegates.

Still, his current room was a vast improvement compared to his leaky tower, and especially that dungeon. The firepit in the wall adjacent to him kept the temperature toasty.

Feeling better, Winter pulled back the blanket. He noticed that his clothes were not his but a dark red tunic shirt and pants made of a soft material he couldn’t name.

Who changed me?

He poked the bruise around his ankle. It was from the shackle.

The prince went to the edge of the bed, carefully stepping onto the smooth wooden floors. His toes brushed over the large rug with an interesting pattern. Curious, he touched various items in the room and inspected their cleanliness.

One of those objects was in the corner. It rested against the wall. There was a thin white sheet covering it. Given the square shape, it might have been a painting.

Isn’t it weird for a painting to be on the ground and not on the wall?

Winter went over and slipped the thin sheet off.

A mirror?

He squatted and saw himself. His reflection looked back at him. His appearance was on the rougher side—he was skinnier than before, and his hair went in all directions from him sleeping on it. Plus, if it truly had been three decades…

I didn’t wash the whole time! Anyway, why is this mirror hidden? They are rare, even for royals. That’s a shame.

No matter.

Winter lost interest and inspected the rest of the room, dragging his finger over stuff to dust-test it. There was none.

The dwarves should see how spotless it is! I keep telling them to take better care of their home.

While living with the dwarves, it had become his duty to clean, since he was useless at other things. It had been tasking because they didn’t care about the condition of their living space, especially after spending days in the mine, which always came with dirt, mud, and filthy bags of precious stones.

He chuckled when remembering their reaction when he had tidied up for the first time. His friends would say—

Winter’s small smile quickly fell. The dwarves could never see the shininess of the floors or the dustless decor. According to the dark elf, his seven friends were gone.

Feeling suddenly sick to his stomach, Winter retreated to bed. He nestled in and yanked the covers back up. The weight of the world pressed down on him as he realized he was alone.

Completely alone.

***

*RUMBLE*

That sound came from Winter’s belly.

A delectable smell caressed his nose, welcoming him to wake up. He rolled over to his other side to find the source.

The light coming into the room hadn’t changed much, so his nap must’ve been brief. He almost jumped out of bed from fright when he saw a person in a chair, watching him with a bored gaze. It was the elf.

Unlike the dungeon, where it was dark and hard to see with a badly lit torch, the daylight revealed just how intimidating he really was—the luster in his gold eyes; thin, gloved fingers; his long, white hair hugging his frame; and a thick, black, feathered cape cascading down one side of him. The design showcased a sword belt around his waist.

The elf screamed royalty. He had to be. He was no common elf that Winter had studied in his books about the Unseelie Court, or creatures who leaned more toward the darkness.

Is he a dark elf or a light elf? I can’t figure it out. The air around him... he has to be dark. But… I don’t sense evil from him, unlike my stepmother or others who want to harm me.

Like how the elf had analyzed him, Winter did the same, asking himself if his senses were wrong.

I don’t understand. Why can’t I see his inner ugliness?

“I can see you are confused,” the elf commented. “Is it because you cannot tell what I am? You wouldn’t be the first, since I am neither.”

Neither?

Winter hesitated to ask, but he believed he deserved some answers.

“W-who are you?”

“Why don’t you tell me your name first?” The elf’s eyes gleamed.

“Snow White.”

“No. Your true name.”

Winter stayed silent, his lips pressed together.

Let’s skip that question, then.

“M-myrkrheim. Where is it?” the prince stammered.

The elf tilted his head, aware of the topic change. “Do you not know? If you can remember, you will know my name. And you need to eat—”

His captor paused mid-sentence when spotting the mirror. He rushed over, cape billowing behind him, and put the sheet back on the mirror to obscure it.

When he swerved around with a fuming face, Winter recoiled. It was an automatic, bodily response to the queen’s wrathful moods and he took it out on him.

“Why did you uncover the mirror?” the elf raged, yelling loud enough that it rang through the room.

“I… I…”

“Don’t you realize what you could have done?”

“W-what c-could I have done?” Winter asked.

“Souls can become trapped in mirrors. Did no one teach you anything? If your soul ends up lost in a mirror with the mana… my mana… my curse can never be…”

The elf growled loudly and picked up the concealed mirror, placing it under his arm. And he left, slamming the door after him.

Winter stayed where he was on the bed, reflecting on the elf’s anger and words.

No, I didn’t know.

There was supposedly a mirror shard inside of him. Souls could get stuck in them, too. Plus, the mentioning of another mirror.

The elf had said, “The poison apple should’ve killed you instantly, but one of the pieces from my Magic Mirror ended up inside you, using your body as a host.”

There was too much that Winter didn’t understand about mirrors and how they were connected to that place. He rubbed the spot over his heart.

That rude guy wants the mirror piece or whatever, and I still don’t know how it got there.

If it was true, and the elf was desperate to get it back…

He’s trying to hide how much he wants the shard.

Winter saw a smidge of hope. He could use that to his advantage.

But I know.