Evermore: The Rylakian Heir

by Caroline Metzlaff

  So she simply said nothing at all. Leo, sensing her distress led her out through the ballroom to the terrace.

  Opening the cut glass door and stepping out on to the terrace, Snow felt revived by the sweet breeze that swept by and caressed her face, playfully pulling at her carefully coiffed hair. Inhaling deeply she closed her eyes and took a moment to collect herself. The sky was alive with twinkling stars, and the lights of the city further down the mountain sang out to her, the delicious scents of lilacs, roses and cinnamon combined tickled at her nose, truly this was a magical evening. And she was alive to enjoy it, she was alive. She thought on that for a moment. Yes, she was alive to enjoy this. She supposed that in the end, it didn’t really matter if her name was Snow White or Snowy Rutherford, the point was she was here, alive, enjoying a wonderful evening. Holding on the balcony she lifted her face up to the night sky. Somewhere out there, her father was being wheeled out on to his balcony to enjoy the stars. The same stars Snow gazed up at right now. She took comfort in that, they gazed upon the same sky, and she vowed that she would see her father again one day, no matter what.

  “Snowy?” He asked gently from beside her. “Are you alright?”

  She turned to him and saw the concern on his face, she hadn’t meant to alarm him; but for some reason it touched her, The prince...Leo...was really just a nice guy. A really nice guy; the kingdom would be in safe hands when he ascended to the throne, of that she was quite sure. Although she would always be a loyal member of his fan club, she didn’t think she would ever view him in quite the same way. He was real.

  “I’m okay.” She said, focusing again on the here and now. “I really am.” He nodded and smiled as he stood beside her letting the breeze caress his face as well; intuitively he realised that she didn’t need for him to say anything more, only that he stand there with her. So he did. And for a long moment they did just that; enjoyed the city lights and the scented breeze in surprisingly companionable silence.

  The rest of the evening sped by with both Snow and Cindy dancing with several noblemen always under the watchful eye of their self appointed chaperone, Leo. Of course they each danced with him as well, delighted to be acting out at least one of their school girl fantasies. He may not have swept in on a white winged horse, but he was a very, very good dancer. And what teenage girl wouldn’t feel like a princess being twirled around the palace dance floor by a very handsome and eligible prince.

  Arranging for the girls to be taken home in one of the Royal Families own carriages, Leo ensured that the girls both made it home safely before their midnight curfew.

  ~~*~~

  Just one more small thing about the trip to Crystallise, Uncle Doc did in fact escort the girls to the famed Laureate district. Musicians of every background, jammed together on street corners, dancers, mimes and actors filled the venues. They took in two shows, a lovely theatrical retelling of the fable ‘The Princess and the Frog’, and a more modern, dance inspired chorus show. Cindy wanted to try her luck at the tables, but one stern look from Uncle Doc put an end to that idea. After hours of walking up and down the cobblestone roads of ‘The Strip’, the girls were only too happy to retire to their beds that evening.

  But to be completely honest, nothing, not even Laureate with all of its outrageous splendour and nonstop excitement, could top the enchanted evening they spent at the Charming Family Palace. Leo, a fan of the good doctor’s work had promised to pop in and say hello next time he was in Turin, which would most likely be sooner rather than later. At the time, it felt like all of their dreams were coming true.

  Chapter 7

  It was a simple picture in a trashy tabloid magazine.

  The article was about the stunning turnout at the latest Cat Walk, in the trendsetting Homner district of Crystallise.

  “Mirror, mirror, on the wall,”

  “Who’s the fairest of them all?” She’d idly asked, while running a brush through her masses of glossy, black hair. Now truly, Rosalyn of Rylak was a great beauty, especially now dressed in her white lace and silk dressing gown, her black tresses cascading down her back in thick, glossy waves.

  “T’would be you by far, to hear the talk”

  “But they haven’t seen Snow White, attending the Cat Walk.” The mirror answered.

  The Queen’s expression changed from peaceful contentment to dark and dangerous rage. With one arm she violently pushed everything off her dressing room table, shattering bottles, vases and vials against the marble floor; with the other she made a fist tightening gesture and the red velvet curtains suddenly ripped off the windows and fell in a heap in the centre of the room.

  “Maidens!” Her deafening scream ripped through the room.

  Two timid and terribly frightened young girls, in matching red uniforms with long white aprons and tightly braided hair, quickly slipped in through the door, and stood on either side of it; heads hung low, they curtsied and awaited their command.

  “Bring me the latest Lonstasian tabloid magazine.” She ordered. “Do it now!” She screamed.

  Both girls scrambled for the door, each attempting to be the first out of the door and away from their terrifying monarch. When Rosalyn of Rylak was in a mood, and that was more often than not lately, no one wanted to be anywhere within her reach. Rosalyn strode to the door pushing each girl aside with a flick of her wrist.

  “Bring it to my breakfast terrace, and clean this up.” And she left through the door, slamming it shut behind her with another flick of her wrist.

  Jealousy ate at Rosalyn’s heart, just as it always had; but it was much more than that. Passing her husband’s sick room on her way to the breakfast terrace, Rosalyn paused, sagging against the door frame. Roland was still asleep, looking pale and gaunt against the covers; it broke her heart. King Roland of Rylak was stricken by a terribly debilitating disease; all of the healers in Rylak were scrambling to find a cure, and had been for years. Rosalyn had personally funded hundreds of researchers, so desperate was she to save her husband.

  Desperation can drive a woman to commit heinous acts; and it had. It certainly had.

  So, now at the queen’s breakfast table in her private breakfast terrace, lay a very popular Lonstasian tabloid.

  It was a simple picture, in that trashy tabloid; the article was about the stunning turnout at the latest Cat Walk in the trendsetting Homner district of Crystallise. But the picture, the picture was of an equally stunning teenager, innocently caught on camera as she unknowingly stood beside an infamous elvish beauty and her rakishly handsome gypsy beau.

  And Snow White did look beautiful.

  ~~*~~

  The walls felt as if they were closing in around her, her lonely tower room grew smaller and smaller by the day. With Snow and Cindy gone this past week, Rapunzel had not seen another living soul, save the Mother Goethal, who had become increasingly suspicious and hostile. Her one solace, the lone figure standing in the moonlight nightly; and the rose of perfect proportions left on her windowsill each morning.

  How long had she spent in this tower, never making the long trek down the stairs? Long enough to forget the layout of the house beneath her. How many years? She had no idea, she had no memory of any other home. It seemed inconceivable that she could have endured all of this for so long. How many days had she gone without uttering a single word, she had lost count; the thought frightened her.

  There had been a tutor many years ago, a kindly older woman whom Rapunzel had loved with her whole heart, but a loud argument with The Mother Goethal, about the benefits of sun to a growing child, as the tutor attempted to carry the five year old Rapunzel down the stairs, had ended that relationship. She had never laid eyes on the tutor again.

  Since that day on, the only door remained locked until just before her lessons arrived each day; The Mother kept the key on her person. Why she was locked in, she had no idea. What had she done? She was too afraid to ask. So she lived her life in a daze, only fully awakening when she met Cindy, Snow.
..and Manuel.

  Sometimes she imagined attempting an escape; but an escape to where? Rapunzel had no idea; she had no family. This past week had seemed ten times its length, trapped in the monotony of her existence in her cold tower. Thank goodness the girls would be returning soon. Their appearance, and the simple rope ladder crafted by Cindy had provided the only other way out of the tower. Somewhere deep inside, Rapunzel knew she couldn’t go on like this forever, that there was something very wrong with her life as it was. She began asking herself questions:

  Had the Mother ever loved her? Was she even her Mother? For some reason Rapunzel had never been sure of that; she had been instructed to call her “Mother Goethal”, but never “Mama” or “Mom”. Where was her father? Never had there been mention of a father as far as she could remember; this only added to her growing suspicion that The Mother Goethal was not in fact her mother at all. But if she was not Rapunzel’s mother, who was she and why was she jailing her? Suddenly Rapunzel felt so tired; so many questions, and no one who could ever answer them.

  The Mother entertained strange and loathsome beings at times, Rapunzel never made mention of these as in fact the very appearance of these creatures frightened her. Goblins, trolls, witches, sometimes even Imps. Very strange friends for a lonely old mother to tea with; and now, The Mother had taken to checking on her in the dead of night. Throwing her tower door open, The Mother would stand there watching, as she pretended to sleep, before finally leaving and relocking the door behind her. Rapunzel could almost feel her hard, hostile eyes boring a hole in her back. She had grown to loathe the sound of the locks clicking.

  Sighing, she returned to her seat in front of the window. The moon had just risen; he would arrive any moment now. He was all she had to look forward to most days. He would arrive moments after the sun set and the moon rose majestically, he would stand just inside the clearing. He would wave in silent greeting, and she would watch him until she retired to her bed; content in the knowledge that she was not alone. He stayed until she fell deeply asleep, always leaving a rose and a note on her windowsill for her to find each morning.

  Manuel.

  ~~*~~

  Hotels beds, as inviting and comfortable as they might be with their freshly laundered blankets and cool crisp sheets, can’t hold a candle to your own bed. That’s why as soon as Snow had unpacked, and given a special greeting and hug to each of Uncle Doc’s six sweet brothers, she did what can only be described as a swan dive, on to her own big cushy bed.

  What bliss. Within seconds she was out.

  A very annoying rapping at her window, brought her back from a very romantic dream involving Prince Leonardo and a marble dance floor. Burrowing her head under the pillow, she tried in vain to block out the sound. No, no, no.

  Rap. Rap, rap, rap.

  She growled softly to avoid uttering a word that she had once overheard in the stables back home in Rylak, and realised that the noise was not going to stop unless she did something about it. Completely annoyed, Snow sprang out of bed and flung open her window, only to find herself eyeball to eyeball with an enormous grey and blue pigeon...a grey and blue pigeon with a note rolled and strapped to one foot.

  Crap. Crap. And crap. There was only one being she knew, that employed a pigeon for communication.

  Manuel.

  The big jerk.

  Sighing, she removed the note and unravelled it carefully.

  “The base of the forest, when the moon hangs high.” It read.

  What was that supposed to mean? “When the moon hangs high?” She asked the impassive pigeon.

  “Huh? He can’t say ‘Can you meet me at eleven?’ or ‘As soon as it’s dark enough out that I don’t fry up.’ No, course not. That would be too easy. No, Manuel has to be all codey-codey”.

  The pigeon merely blinked.

  Cursing Manuel’s cryptic messages, she began to pull a sweater on. She had no idea if the “moon was hanging high”, but the annoying pigeon was sitting there waiting for her. What was it with him; did he have the stupid pigeon casing the place, just waiting for her to fall asleep? Knowing Manuel...he just might have. Jerk.

  Grumbling to herself, she slid in to some black pants, grabbed a cloak and began to crawl out on to her windowsill. Grabbing on to a branch of the nearest tree she began to slowly climb down from her second story window; the pigeon started cooing annoyingly at her.

  “Listen birdbrain, I’ve only got two speeds. And you won’t like the other one.” She grumbled at the peevish bird that appeared to snort in response.

  Reaching the bottom, she immediately crouched down to crawl past the window. Dashing down the path she was surprised to notice that the pigeon was following her. Fluttering from tree to tree, keeping time, the pigeon made noises that sounded curiously like laughter. Now it was Snow’s turn to snort.

  “Please don’t tell me Manuel has you on escort duty as well.” The bird cooed even louder.

  “Oh jeez, I hope he’s paying you for this.” The pigeon eyeballed her intently before turning his head away from her and flying on to the next tree.

  “Wait! This is where we turn to get Cindy!” She protested but the pigeon waited patiently, pointing with its beak in the other direction.

  “Are you telling me we have to go that way?” Was she really communicating with a bird? “So you’re telling me no Cindy?”

  Sure enough the bird started cooing and hopping up and down on his branch. Sighing deeply she began to follow him.

  The bird kept a ferocious pace, and Snow had to trot to keep up. The pigeon took her down an unfamiliar path that just skirted the town, stopping every once in a while to make low groaning noises, that sounded suspiciously like grumbling again, to Snow. Finally they approached the base of The Lonesome Forest; but instead of stopping, the pigeon kept on going. Snow had kind of expected Manuel to slide out from behind a tree, all dramatic like, and throw an insult her way as he usually did, but he didn’t appear to be anywhere in the vicinity. With no clear alternative, she followed the disagreeable bird in to the dark and silent forest, hoping and praying that she was not making a terrible mistake.

  “Okay, but you are going to have to have to take it down a notch, because I can’t see where I’m going and I’m not going to be breaking my leg tonight.” She informed him, the bird let loose a furious sound in response.

  “I’ll deal with Manuel, he’ll blame me anyway. What’s he gonna do...eat me?” She started to laugh and abruptly stopped as the bird regarded her with a level eye. She gulped.

  “Okay, but slow down just a little.”

  And the bird did. Just a little mind you.

  Just as Snow’s eyes were finally getting accustomed to the gloom of the forest, something reached out from the darkness and grabbed her arm. Shrieking she jumped back, stumbled on a rock and fell flat on her bottom. Looking up, she recognised a pale, familiar face, and that face was wearing a very wide grin.

  On any other face, and at any other time, she might have considered the grin attractive. But as it was, she found it immensely irritating.

  “And humans are so clumsy too.” He commented, as he reached down and basically lifted her up back on to her feet. Setting her straight, he took a step back, the grin returning as he looked her up and down.

  “What!” Indignantly Snow questioned.

  “You’ve got-” He started, pointing at his glossily perfect hair.

  Snow pawed at her own completely disheveled hair, pulling twigs and bramble out irritably.

  “Oh, and hi to you too Manuel. Yes, I did have a nice holiday, so nice of you to inquire.”

  He looked at her in confusion for a quick minute before wiping his face blank again. Grabbing her by her arm, he began leading her quickly through the forest.

  “You’re friend is in trouble, and if you do not stop him he is going to be in even bigger trouble.” He whispered ominously.

  “I don’t understand; who is in trouble?” She asked as she jogged alo
ng to keep up with the vampire.

  “He ran in to some ogrenots two nights ago. They made the mistake of taunting him about his great red obsession; he made the mistake of destroying their night shelter.”

  Ogrenots. Really disagreeable creatures, not only were they quite unattractive, they were also known for their loud mouthed mocking personalities. They looked like a cross between an ogre and a pig, which is why most beings referred to them as “ogrenots”; although some slang referred to them as “pigs”, which is quite inaccurate and a major insult to pigs. Ogrenots, were for the most part, pretty unthreatening, but they did have a tendency to mock, insult, provoke and were counted among the most irritating creatures you could ever meet.

  “Ogrenots? Yuck.” Snow made a face. “What do you mean he destroyed their shelter? And who is “He?”

  “He blew it down, it was made of straw.” Manuel stopped and carefully looked through the trees.

  “Well straw makes a crappy shelter anyway, why didn’t they build it out of wood?” She asked as she stood on her tip toes to look over his shoulder.

  “They did. That was last night. He blew it over as well.” Manuel absently answered.

  “Who is this ‘He’?” She asked again.

  “Tonight they hide behind a shelter of rocks; they toss insults and innuendo at him.”

  “And he thinks he is going to blow it down?” Snow almost giggled. Whoever ‘he’ was, he wasn’t very smart.

  “Not down, up.” Manuel said and moved away from the bushes so Snow could take a look.

  In the middle of the dark forest, stood a hastily created shelter of stone and rock, in some ways it closely resembled a fort that children would construct to play in. It had what appeared to be one round entrance, that was currently sealed with a boulder. Riotous laughter mixed with nasally sounding snorts came from the ‘fort’, it was a truly irritating sound.

  The boy.

  The boy with the beautiful eyes and the longish, dark shaggy hair, was busy erecting a pile of explosives, a homemade bomb; sweat on his brow, and a maniacal look in his eye. Now Snow knew what he was, he was a werewolf; and he was really, really irritated. It was a very stupid thing to do, antagonising a young werewolf; they took unpredictable to an entirely new level. She turned to Manuel, intending to demand he take her home immediately. She didn’t want to be anywhere near this particular situation.