Fairytales Slashed, Volume 2

by Megan Derr

  Memories of shared laughter, shared gasps, warm skin and calloused hands, the scent of fresh grass and copper, and a mouth meant for kisses. A smooth chest, skin browned by the sun, hair that seemed equal parts gold and brown, as though it could never decided which color it wanted to be.

  Ten years or twenty, he would never forget Lev, even if Lev had probably forgotten all about him.

  The Queen sank her fingers into hair, urging his head down, and he obediently put his lips to the soft curves of her breasts, mouthing and tasting, murmuring sounds of want and need and approval, tasting cold, clammy flesh but imagining a sun-kissed chest that tasted like musk and summer.

  He stumbled as they abruptly moved, but did not quite regain his footing, instead only barely catching himself as the Queen dragged him down upon a chaise. Then she was back to kissing and encouraging, indicating he should unlace and unbutton, help himself to all the pale, perfect flesh laid bare.

  Calder only felt like being sick, and wondered what in the world was going on that a woman who had only just seen him would act in such a manner—but he went along with it, too terrified of what would happen should he stop acting.

  Some measure of her magic must be working, he thought as he continued to touch and taste, for there was no other way he would have been able to get hard—he could fake his lust only to a certain point. It all seemed some awful dream, the most terrible of nightmares as she bid him push up her skirts, undo his breeches—

  After that, he gave up thinking at all. He just wanted it over with, to know what was happening, to go bathe in the river and try to forget the cold, clammy feel of her body.

  Eventually it did end, and she pushed him roughly away, uncaring that he landed in an awkward, untidy heap on the floor, cock hanging out. He fumbled to right himself, then moved so that he was kneeling before her, head bent low. She held out her hand again, and he kissed the back of it, murmuring what he hoped was an intoxicated-sounding, "My Queen."

  "My Huntsman," she said, voice smoky, throaty—and filled with no small amount of smug satisfaction. "I am happy to have your devotion. Fetch to me a fawn, bring it before the sun sets. Please me, my Huntsman, and I shall see you find your pleasure in turn."

  "You are my pleasure, my Queen. I will bring that which you desire," he said, and kissed her hand once more before rising smoothly and departing. He nodded to the cursed guards, then made his way through the castle, back to the kitchens. Once there, he stopped a servant and bid the man tell the Princess to find him in the forest, at their usual place.

  The man nodded, and Calder continued on his way, out of the castle, across the grounds and into the relative safety of the forest to which he was bound by blood. Had that bond protected him? But no, a Huntsman's power was in the forest. Out of it, he was perfectly ordinary.

  He had his way through the forest, moving with ease, barely noting his own movements, so familiar was he with his surroundings. All that lived in the forest hovered at the edge of his senses; should he choose to focus on any creature, immediately he would be able to find it, would know all he needed about it.

  In short order, he was back at the clearing which housed the home of the forest dwarves.

  "Hey, ho!" They called out from where they were gathered around an enormous table to one side of their house, where they always ate when the weather was good. "Is the King returned? Why do you look so pale?"

  "Because there is a witch in the castle, Professor," Calder replied, but could not bring himself to explain the awful events which had played out in the King's salon. Even now, he wanted to be sick. He started to say more, but the sounds of someone in the underbrush drew his attention, and he turned to greet the Princess as she burst into the clearing.

  She threw herself into his arms, holding tightly, and he could feel her shaking. "Princess, did something else happen?"

  "I did not notice until I was out of the castle," she said, "but that whole place feels wrong. Did you see Papa?"

  Calder shook his head. "Unfortunately, I did not. You were correct, Princess. That woman is a witch—worse, she is Queen."

  The Princess's eyes went wide. "What—but—Queen—how can that be?" Tears streamed down her face, and she covered her mouth to muffle the sobs. "Papa never wanted to marry again; we tried for years to tell him it would be all right—why would he suddenly change his mind, and marry in secret, and marry a witch?"

  Recalling all that had happened in that room, imagining what it might have done to a man susceptible…he could see all too well how the King might have handed over marriage without even a thought. "I believe your father is under a spell," he said gently, not quite able to say that he feared the King was under the Siren Curse, hoping he was wrong, for he did not recall Lev ever saying how precisely the curse was cast—but he had only snapped his fingers to break it on that long ago frog.

  "A spell?" Snow White asked. "What kind of spell? Will he be okay? Are we going to save him?"

  "Of course we are," Calder replied.

  The dwarves stirred, one saying, "So how did you get away unscathed?"

  "I didn't," Calder said flatly, feeling cold and sick and used all over again. "She tried to cast her spell on me, and she thinks she succeeded—let us hope it stays that way. That is why I called you out here, Princess. If she thinks that I am free of her spell for even a moment, I am as good as dead, and we stand much less chance of saving your father."

  He hoped there was a chance to save the King…but if he was under the same Siren Curse as the guards…Calder preferred to think there was some hope.

  "So why are you not affected?" asked Samuel.

  "That pretty little charm of his, I'd imagine," said Mick before

  Calder looked at him in surprise, then reached beneath his clothes and pulled out the jeweled pendant he almost never removed. He drew a sharp breath to see that one of the jewels—the ruby—had gone black, and was cracked right down the middle. "I don't believe it," he said softly, rubbing his thumb over the destroyed jewel. Lev…

  "Happy Birthday, Cal," Lev said with a smile, and kissed him hard before pushing a velvet bag into his hands. "Wear it and you will always be in good health."

  "You didn't have to get me anything," Cal said with a smile, and stole another kiss, more touched than he could say. He'd never had a birthday present before; it wasn't the sort of luxury the poor could afford. Later, it simply hadn't mattered.

  Opening the bag, he tipped the contents into his hand, and stared in shock at the necklace which tumbled out. "Lev…" He shook his head, and slowly looked up from the glittering jewels, the quality of the necklace. "I don't know what to say—thank you. It's beautiful. Why would you give me something like this?"

  "Because your fool neck needs all the help it can get in staying out of trouble," Lev replied, and if Cal was disappointed slightly that there had been no profession of love…well, that was his problem. They were lovers, and only for the length of school. He would be grateful for what he had, and not ask for things he could never have.

  "Thank you," he said again, and put the necklace around his neck. "I'll wear it forever."

  Lev smiled, and took his hand. "Good. Now, come on, I've arranged a table for us at Mary's."

  "It was magic the entire bloody time and I never noticed," he muttered. "I'm going to kill him." Longing, sharp and sweet and aching, wrenched through him. Lev's smile, his laughter, his brilliance, just how gods damned beautiful he had been.

  Where was Lev now? Was he still at Castle Roseberry? Was he the grand wizard to which he had always aspired? Did…did Lev think of him at all, or was the school day lover whose life he had just saved long forgotten?

  There seemed little point in asking the question, though he had asked himself such things a thousand times or more since he and Lev had gone their separate ways, peaceful and polite and agreeable. It had been the right thing to do, for both of them—he to go miles south to be bound to a forest he ruled still, and Lev had gone north to take up a vacant wi
zard position.

  But he still wondered, every now and then, about what might have been if he'd admitted how he'd really felt, if they had been willing to act differently, instead of breaking apart to go down their separate paths.

  At least, if they had stayed in touch, he could have told Lev thank you again.

  "Hell of a protector you got there," said one of the dwarves. "You never did tell us who gave it to you."

  "You're right, I didn't," Calder retorted, though it only caused the dwarves to snicker and gesture and elbow each other. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the Princess. "Return to the castle. Stay in your rooms as much as possible. Do not mind me if I act strange or out of character. I sense I will only get anywhere in this mess by pretending to be completely under her spell. Trust no one else, Princess. I have already seen other men fall victim. If you feel you are in danger and do not know where to go, run here to the dwarves. They'll keep you safe until I can come for you. Understand?"

  Though she looked as though she wanted to argue, Snow White nodded and said, "Yes, Calder. I am sorry you have already suffered."

  "It is nothing, Princess. Now, get home. I will return once I have done her bidding."

  She tried to protest, but he would brook no argument. Sending her on her way, he then turned to matter of the fawn. "Why would a witch want a fawn?" he asked aloud. "That is what she demanded I bring to her, though she must know I cannot take a babe for harmful purposes."

  "Because she knows you're breaking the law," Samuel said.

  Mick nodded in agreement, as did the other dwarves around him. "Innocence, likely. If she really is a witch, and I've no cause to doubt it after seeing the pallor of your face, then such things will appeal to her. Witches are feared for a reason, boyo."

  Calder nodded. "Then I must find a fawn, and soon, but…" He cast his senses out, letting the forest feel his need, his regret, his fear…

  And the forest replied, guiding him to a fawn that was doomed to die, anyway, too weak and sickly to survive, a burden to the mother and sibling who tried to care for it despite knowing the futility. Waving farewell to the dwarves, Calder took off, wending through the forest, until at last he came upon the baby fawn.

  First he strode to the doe that had birthed it, stroking and petting her, murmuring words of thanks and apology, shared sorrow. Then he moved to the fawn, and fed it a few leaves of calming weed. Once the fawn was completely pliant, barely conscious, he picked it up in his arms and, heavy hearted, swiftly returned to the castle.

  When he at last reached the castle, he was greeted at the kitchen door by one of the manservant's, who had a strange gleam to his eye—but not, thankfully, the tale-tell signs of the Siren's Curse. "Lord Huntsman," he said, an odd timbre to his voice, as though he were drunk, "Her Majesty the Queen bids you find her in the old armory, and bring that which she bid you find."

  "Of course," Calder replied, and added on the chance the Queen somehow watched his every word, "I will go at once to my beautiful Queen." So saying, he turned and walked around the eastern side of the castle, then down a broken, neglected stone path to the old armory at the eastern most edge of the castle grounds. A new armory had been built years ago, much closer the castle and better placed strategically. The old one had been left to crumble on its own time, or until the land was needed for something else.

  As he drew closer to it, the coppery smell of magic grew stronger, making him sneeze. He stopped briefly to double check that his pendant was hidden away beneath his clothes again, silently praying that she continued to be oblivious to its presence.

  Lev…what would Lev do in such a situation? But Lev was a wizard, and what he could do about witches was above and beyond anything Calder would ever manage. He needed to stop relying upon a precious memory and think for himself.

  Reaching the door, he knocked thrice, then knelt, still clutching the fawn awkwardly in his arms.

  After several minutes, the doors slowly opened and a cool voice bid him enter. Rising, Calder strode inside, barely avoiding flinching when the doors closed behind him.

  The coppery smell was strong now, and beneath that was the scent of blood, similar but metallic in a slightly different way. He had asked Lev, once, why magic and blood smelled so much alike. Lev had only looked at him in surprise, and said that he had never heard anyone describe magic as having a smell, let alone smelling of blood. They had never answered the question.

  Though he had only been gone a little over an hour, the new Queen had made herself right at home in the old armory—thousands of tools of the trade of witchcraft filled the massive space. Cauldrons of all sizes, other containers for measurement and storage, herbs hanging in drying bunches, trunks of various size holding things about which he preferred to remain ignorant, shelves upon shelves of books…

  And a mirror…

  Why a mirror? He glanced at it as best he could without giving away he was looking at anything while he knelt and waited for her to see fit to acknowledge him.

  "Put the fawn there, my Huntsman," the Queen said, and indicated a large table…no, not a table. An altar, made of some dark, heavy wood he did not recognize, inlaid with black marble. Obediently setting the fawn down upon it, stroking its small head one last time, he stepped back to where he had been before and knelt again.

  She moved close and he saw her clearly for the first time—wearing nothing more than a black dressing robe, only loosely closed, revealing portions of her body that no Queen should reveal to any man but her King. Her hair was pulled completely back now, no doubt to be out of her way while she worked her magic.

  He barely repressed a shudder as she stroked his face, his mouth, then tilted his head up to look at her. "You are a splendid specimen, my Huntsman. Always show me such obedience, and you will receive great rewards."

  Then she let go, and returned to her work tables, dark silk robe swishing around her, flashing bits of bone-white flesh every now and then.

  Left in peace for a moment, he glanced again toward the mirror. Something about it nagged at him. It was a handsome piece, if not terribly remarkable. The mirror itself was of highest quality, and given that it was large enough for a man to see himself in fully…only a king could afford such a mirror. The frame was remarkably plain, for such a grand mirror, simple gold in an ivy and flower pattern, with small jewels of various colors making up the flowers.

  Then he realized he could see nothing in the mirror. It showed no reflection—even at his angle, he should see it reflect something. It showed nothing however, almost as though it were fogged over, except it looked more like the fog was on the other side of it, which was impossible.

  Throaty chuckles made him snap his gaze back.

  "Like my mirror, do you?" the Queen asked, hips swaying as she stalked toward him, sank her hands possessively into his hair, tilting his head back at a painful angle, forcing him to stare at her bared breasts, then up into her shimmering eyes. Her nails dug into her scalp, then she let him go. "It is not for one such as you, my Huntsman, but you have been good to me so I will show you what it does."

  Was she always this arrogant? But, if she could so easily take a castle under control, in nothing more than a few hours, he supposed she felt entitled. Why did she not realize he was not truly under her spell? He had never been that convincing an actor. His honesty was one of the things Lev had lo—liked about him.

  Striding to the mirror, the Queen held her palm out towards it, fingers spread, and murmured a series of words that made Calder want to toss his lunch.

  Then the mirror seemed to shimmer the same strange, unnatural color as the Queen's eyes. "Mirror mirror," she said in a lazy, almost playful tone. "Who is the most powerful woman in the land?"

  "You, Queen," said a sibilant voice that seemed to fill the room, coming from nowhere and everywhere, and it was only with the greatest of effort that Calder did not finally toss whatever remained of his lunch. He did not like that voice—it was poisonous. Evil. "You are the most powerful in
the land."

  Laughing, she returned the mirror to its fog-clouded state, then turned to face Calder once more. "All that I want to know, my Huntsman, the mirror will tell me. Make certain you remember that, should you ever think of doing something which might disappoint me."

  "I would never want to disappoint you, my beautiful Queen," Calder replied, striving for the eager to please, desperate to please tone that he knew she wanted to hear. "I am devoted to you, and only your happiness brings me pleasure."

  "Yes," the Queen agreed. "Go, now, and come to me here at dawn."

  "Yes, my Queen," Calder replied, and kissed the hand she extended, then rose, turned, and strode from the old armory.

  He returned quickly to the sanctuary of his forest, where no magic could reach him. The most powerful of witches, even the bitch who now was Queen, could not surmount the ancient power of the forest to which he was blood bound.

  Safely amongst his own, he wandered aimlessly for a time, unhampered by the growing dark. He needed to know more about what was going on, who she was, what she was doing. Once again, thoughts of Lev rose to the surface, but he dismissed that notion almost immediately. Even if Lev did remember him, would help him—he was miles upon miles away, and Calder could not easily leave his forest for the days it would take to reach Lev, plead his case, and return. That aside, the Queen would notice his absence, and he dare not take such a risk before he knew the true face of the enemy.

  His only option, therefore, was to seek answers where he could—within his forest. In this case, that meant the goblins.

  Immediately he veered off the path he'd been traveling, diving into the forest, dodging through trees and underbrush at seeming random, walking as easily as though it were high noon and not well after dark, moving swiftly down a sharply steeped hill, then wading up a shallow creek to a cluster of boulders—ducking low to squeeze between two of them, then standing up fully straight when there proved to be a surprising amount of space past the narrow entrance.