by J. M. Page
Hunter was already down the hall by the time Snow reached the top of the stairs and she pulled the basement door closed, replacing the false wall and shutting the closet door after rearranging the clothes within. To Robbie she said, "No one is to go in there other than me, okay?"
"It is coded to your DNA, Princess. It would be impossible for another to enter."
"Good. Great. Thank you," she said, leaving the room. At the door, she stopped and craned her neck to look in again. "Will you join us for dinner?"
"I have no need for nourishment, Princess. You are aware of that."
She nodded. "You're welcome to keep us company in any case. Your choice."
"The offer is most kind. Your mother often invited me to sit with her while she drank her tea."
Snow didn't know how to respond to that. She didn't know how to deal with the emotions that this day had brought forth. She wanted to be the strong leader she was raised to be, but she wasn't sure she had it in her. Keeping it all bottled up forever seemed to be taking its toll on her and she wasn't sure how long she could keep it up.
Still, despite all that, the thought of her mother and Robbie sitting by the fire with tea and a book was a comforting one. She imagined her mother was very happy in this place and that warmed her from the inside.
It wasn't until she reached the small dinette set in the kitchen that she realized she was smiling.
Hunter mirrored her smile as he set the table and set to work preparing the food. "Still going to try to tell me it's nothing?" he asked.
Snow shook her head, forcing her expression back to neutral as she took a seat at the table. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Hunter chuckled to himself, his back turned to her as he worked the stove, but she saw his head shaking. "Whatever you say, Princess," he laughed.
She crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. It was annoying how he thought he knew what was going on in her mind. How he thought he knew her better than he did. He didn't know anything. She couldn't let him. Letting someone know things only meant they had more ammunition against her.
"I found a bottle of Zomerian wine, would you like a glass?" he asked.
"It can't possibly be any good after all this time, can it?"
"Only one way to find out," he said with a shrug. "Besides, it's a special occasion," Hunter added, turning to her with twinkling eyes.
"I told you it's—"
"No bird," Hunter interrupted, pointing at the meat on the stove with the spatula in his hand.
"Right. No bird. That is a treat," she said carefully.
"And we should celebrate. Can you pop a cork?"
Snow stood from the table, rolling her eyes. "I'm not completely helpless, you know. I did manage to survive on my own without any help for a few months. I think I can handle a cork."
"Screw's over there," he said with a nod of his head.
Snow found the unfamiliar thing in a drawer and turned it over in her hand. Of course it was manual. Everything in this cottage was old-fashioned. It shouldn't surprise her. But now she'd already claimed she knew what she was doing so she'd have to work it out. She examined the sharp point of the coiled metal and pressed it into the rubbery cork, forcing it in a turn with all her strength.
She felt Hunter's eyes on her and heard him stirring the fragrant concoction on the stove. Her stomach growled in response to the delicious spicy smells. He'd said he'd always been responsible for putting the food on the table, and he'd adopted the job again once they arrived here, but Snow had never expected him to be so good at it.
Plick cooked for her all the time when she was growing up, but it was never anything particularly impressive or tasty. It always seemed bland and dry compared to the dishes she'd had in the palace.
But not Hunter's.
"How ya doing over there?"
"Fine," Snow grunted, twisting the screw another turn into the cork.
"Sure you don't want help?"
"I've got it," she said, her voice strained. It was nearly all the way in now, but what happened next? Did she just tug on it?
She tried and it didn't budge. She held the bottle on the counter with one hand and tried with all her might to pull the cork out with the other, sweat beading on her forehead. But she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of admitting defeat.
Hunter plated the meal and without a word, came and took the bottle from her, the gesture gentle, not judgmental. Snow relinquished it, sagging, trying to ignore the way his biceps flexed as he tugged on the corkscrew. "I could've gotten it," she said, the pop of the cork coming free punctuating her sentence.
"I'm sure you could have," he said with a warm smile, pouring them each a glass of the dark violet liquid. "But I thought it would be nice to have a glass with dinner, not after."
A hot flush crept up the back of her neck, but she saw the twinkle in his eyes, the edges of his mouth turning up, and she accepted the glass without argument.
"Cheers," he said, tilting his glass toward her.
"Cheers to what?"
"To... a lovely little cottage that's kept us safe and the forest with abundant life that's been keeping us fed."
Snow felt her own lips twitching into a smile and quickly clinked her glass, mumbling a 'cheers,' and taking a drink to cover it up, her eyes widening. "Oh, hey. It's not bad after all."
Hunter took a long gulp of wine and headed to the table where their food waited. He stood behind his chair until Snow sat. She quickly took another sip to hide her little grin.
The wine was stronger than she was used to, but tart and sweet. She'd only had the occasion to try wine a handful of times in her life, but nothing was quite as pleasant as this.
"Robbie isn't joining us?"
"He does not require nourishment," Snow answered, fighting to keep her expression straight.
Hunter arched a brow and she couldn't contain her giggle, even as she took another drink, blowing bubbles in her glass as she laughed into it.
"I'd almost forgotten how much I enjoyed cooking," Hunter said, stabbing a piece of meat with his fork.
"Do you have a staff that does that for you?" she asked, still waiting to find the chink in his merchant story. Snow just couldn't believe that someone as fit, as private, as handsome as Hunter could be a merchant. Surely he was something more.
But that would only be bad news for her, she realized. If he was anything other than what he said he was, it would mean he had other motives for sticking around her. She didn't know why, but suddenly that thought brought forth a hollow void in the center of her chest.
"Yes," he answered, drinking from his glass. "But when I was a boy... Well, I've told you I was in charge of putting food on the table. My father worked very hard. He provided flowers to the palace, the kind that he had to venture deep into the woods, into dangerous caves and canyons to find. The ones I suspect your mother loved so much. They couldn't be grown anywhere else, never domesticated, very fragile. He'd leave early in the morning, before the sun rose and make the long trek. Sometime after nightfall, he'd make the delivery and tell the palace staff how to best arrange them so that the Queen woke up to fresh flowers every morning."
Snow swallowed the bite she'd been chewing, her throat tightening. His father had worked for her mother?
"I always tried to stay up late enough to greet him, but often he'd come home and have to heat up the meal I'd already put away before going to bed. We didn't see much of each other, but I knew my father was happy," he said, swirling the contents of his glass as if he could watch the memories replay in the whirlpool of wine.
"You see... That was the thing about my father. The hours were long, the work was dangerous and physical, and the pay wasn't great, but he knew he was doing something that no one else could do. He always told me, 'Even if you end up with the dirtiest, most unforgiving, thankless job, as long as you're the best, you know you can take pride in a day's work.' It stuck with me, I guess. Even when I hate what I do, I know I'm the best and
that's some comfort."
Snow nodded, her brain starting to feel fuzzy from the half glass of wine she'd already had. "What... What happened to him?"
Hunter didn't look up from his glass, but Snow saw something dark descend over his eyes.
"What I suspect happened to a lot of people in those days. He continued his deliveries for a few years, then, one day after the Queen was in charge..." Hunter stared intently into the wine and Snow felt the sudden urge to reach out to him, but she didn't know what good it would do.
"He didn't come home," Hunter said, draining his glass. He pushed his chair back from the table and went to refill it all while more questions swirled in Snow's mind.
"How old were you?" she asked, finally finding her voice.
"Fifteen. Things changed a lot after that for me. No one knew for sure if he was killed or jailed or banished or what. Maybe one day I'll find out," he said, his eyes drifting back up to meet Snow's.
There was something there in his honeyed gaze. Something open and trusting, though Snow couldn't be sure if it was really there or if that was the wine talking.
"So when you ask why I care so much about taking down the Queen..."
"It's for your father," she said, understanding, losing herself in her own glass. Could she trust him? Tell him what she'd found?
"No."
Her eyes snapped up to his, her lips parting in a question, but he continued before she could ask it.
"I mean... yes. Of course it is. But it's for me more. For that fifteen-year-old boy that had everything taken from him. His only family, his future..." Hunter coughed and looked away. "I never expected this to be the man I turned into. It wasn't what I wanted, but I didn't get a choice."
"I know what you mean," Snow said, her lips pressed together, wishing she knew the right words that would reach across the table and soothe his aches. It was difficult to be suspicious of him when he was baring his soul to her.
"Of course you do. You know it as well as the rest of us. That's why I want to help you. That's why I'm sure everyone in the Empire will want to help you."
"You really think so?" Snow asked, something tight squeezing in her chest. She didn't know if anyone would accept her any more than they did the Queen.
"You're the Princess. The throne belongs to you. People have been whispering and hoping for your return for a decade. You saw them cheering at the fire. This is what they’ve been waiting for."
Snow cleared her throat, her food all but forgotten, getting cold as she finished the wine. "I'm sorry about your father. He sounds like a great man," she said.
Hunter nodded, leaning back in his chair with that confident grace that came so easily to him. "He was. Smart too. He used to come home from the palace and tell me about how the young Princess was blossoming into a beautiful young woman."
Snow's jaw dropped, all pretense of decorum lost with his unexpected compliment. She felt the warmth flood her face and looked down at the table, not sure what to say.
Hunter's hand reached across the space dividing them and his fingers closed around hers. "He wasn't wrong, you know."
"I..." A strange, not-unpleasant tingling spread from her limbs to the center of her being and it was impossible to fight the grin this time. How much of all this was the wine? Would he be this open with her otherwise? Would she be so receptive to it?
"There's something I should show you," she said, standing quickly and removing her hand from his, her fingers still warm from his touch.
Chapter Ten
Hunter
She'd jumped up and left the room so fast that Hunter knew he'd spooked her. He'd been around enough frightened wild animals to know to approach with caution and yet with Snow, he just barreled in there.
What was he thinking?
Better yet, what was he hoping to accomplish?
He could say that he was only trying to get closer to her for more information. That he'd told her just enough about his past with the Queen to make her believe in his dedication to the cause. But none of that was really true. It was convenient, to have those arguments in his arsenal if the Queen asked, but it wasn't really his motivation.
In the past week, Hunter had grown to like coming home to find Snow curled up near the fire. He'd begun to enjoy the way they could sit in comfortable silence without either of them feeling the need to fill it.
And he'd wanted to share a bit of himself. Like she had with her mother and the story of how she'd gotten her name. He hadn't wanted to open up to anyone since his father was captured and now seemed like a terrible time to start, but he couldn't deny it anymore.
The Princess had captured his attention.
She was a puzzle; just as broken as he was for many of the same reasons. Their backgrounds may not have been similar in anyway, but they'd both suffered great losses at the hand of the Queen. That made them kindred spirits in a way.
"What is it you need to show me?" Hunter asked, hurrying after her, swaying on his feet after two glasses of wine. He should have known better. It was obvious that neither of them drank very often — or at all — and he'd made a complete and utter fool of himself.
But he'd also finally gotten to see her smile. Even laugh.
So it was worth it for that, at least. As long as he hadn't completely ruined any shot of getting closer to her.
She didn't answer him, but headed straight for the basement, giving a command to Robbie to let him past.
As they descended the spiral staircase, her voice drifted up to him. "I wasn't completely honest. I did find something," she said.
Guilt clawed at Hunter's throat. He was both desperate to know what she'd found, and desperate not to. If he knew, he could maybe help her. Maybe make some progress with their lack of plan. But if he knew, the Queen would get it out of him. One way or the other.
By the time he reached the base of the staircase, Snow was already seated at the console again, typing quickly.
"I'm not sure what triggered it, but there was a message for me," she said.
"A message from who?"
From behind, he saw her shoulders tense and knew he'd touched on something.
"It doesn't matter. The important part is what the message contained," she said, bringing up a document on one of the screens. It didn't make any sense to Hunter, it was just a list of names and contact info.
"What's all of this?" he asked, stopping right behind her chair, unable to stop his wine-relaxed fingers from skirting down her arm. She gave the tiniest shiver at his touch, and goosebumps rose up along her arm, but she gave no other indication that she even noticed him.
"People that will be sympathetic to the cause. People that can help us," she said, turning in the chair, her eyes bright like he'd never seen them before.
Then Hunter realized what that look was: hope.
"I was going to call the first one tonight and try to find out what's happening out there... If you wanted to be here?"
He gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze. "Of course I do."
Snow took a deep breath and typed in the details of the first person — Harold Bentral — her fingers hovering over the button that would connect the call.
Hunter slid his hand down her arm, covering her hand with his. She was trembling, but he didn't know if that was from him, the promise of help, or some combination of the two. "Together?" he asked, his voice merely a murmur next to her ear.
Snow shuddered and nodded, the line of her shoulders firming. "Together."
They pressed the button with joined hands and held breath, watching the screen for any sign of life.
The computer flashed with 'Connecting' and the screen displayed a scene that sent Hunter's stomach through the basement floor. It was destroyed. The whole place. Whatever the place had been. The monitor showed broken and charred furniture, the camera lens itself even had a crack in it.
But that wasn't the most disturbing part.
Hunter slammed his hand on the end button, hoping the Princess hadn't seen it
.
The body, its bones exposed after what had to be years of decay. The dark brown stains of blood all around it.
His blood burned like ice in his veins, a cold sweat soaking through his skin in an instant.
"Snow..." he started, not knowing at all where he was going with it. Her eyes reflected in the blank surface of the monitor now. Wide and haunted, her lips parted in barely contained shock. He felt how cold she suddenly was and then she pulled away from him.
Without saying anything, she typed in the details for the next contact.
Connecting...
Hunter almost didn't want to watch. The Queen's reign of terror knew no bounds, but maybe it had only been Harold that had difficulty hiding his loyalty. Maybe the others would be okay.
When the monitor changed, it showed only static. Hunter felt oddly relieved. Not about the contact — he was surely as dead as Harold — but because he hadn't been faced with another skeleton.
He couldn't help but wonder if he'd had any part in their demise. If doing his job so well for all these years had meant he'd sealed his own fate.
"Maybe this is best saved for tomorrow," he said, but Snow was already moving down the list to the next name.
All in the space of a few moments she'd gone from hopeful and receptive to him, back to closed off and determined.
After the third one wouldn't even connect, she spoke. "You can go."
Hunter straightened from where he'd been leaning over behind her, unable to mistake the dismissal in her voice.
"If you're sure."
"I am."
He hesitated behind her for another moment, not wanting to leave her alone. Suddenly, she seemed so much more fragile than she had only minutes ago. Suddenly, Hunter felt the need to protect her from herself and her own dogged determination.
But if the past week with Snow had taught him anything, it was that the Princess wasn't easily swayed. If she needed space right now, he'd have to give it to her. His better judgement be damned.
