The apple was hidden in her skirt. There was only a little of it left now, the seeded core showing on all but one side. Snow could only hope that there was enough poison left to free her.
“When am I to meet your father?” she asked, for of course he was a prince because his father was still king.
“My father has not been feeling well of late,” the Prince said. “When he is better, I shall take you to him.”
This was patently a lie, but Snow said nothing. She had to stay quiet and submit for as long as necessary. She could not let him suspect that she was planning to escape.
Though where I will go and how I will get there I have no notion.
That was for later. First she had to get out from under his eye. Nothing was possible until then.
“You may go anywhere in the castle except the east wing,” the Prince said, waving his hand in the direction of a thin, curving stair to the left. “The castle is very old and it is not safe there. Your room is this way.”
He indicated a wider stair and that she should follow him. She did, her heart pounding, wondering what he would do now.
But he only led her to a wooden door with a large red ruby set in it, a ruby like a bloodied eye. It was the twin of the jewel in Snow’s ring, and her mood fell further when she entered the room and discovered the jewel was visible on both sides.
Eyes everywhere, she thought. What am I to do?
“You may bathe and change and come down to dinner,” he said. His lips were curved in that terrible satisfied smile again, as if he’d noted her glance at the ruby.
He knows that I know, and it amuses him. It amuses him because he is certain I can do nothing about it. I am only a rat in a maze to him. No matter how I twist and turn he is certain I cannot get out.
“Thank you,” she said, very primly, and showed no sign of the surprise she felt that there was a large tub of water in the corner of the room, steam rising gently from the surface.
Aside from the tub there was only a four-poster bed with a faded red blanket upon it. A white gown was laid over this for Snow to wear after her bath.
As she slid the gown over her head, she wondered how she might bind the laces in the back without a maid. Then she cried out in shock and terror, for the laces tightened without the work of any hand, and the sash was tied behind her waist. A large toothed comb was run through her wet hair which was then bound up in braids and pinned at her crown.
Throughout all of this Snow made no noise except for her initial cry, though inside she trembled and shook. She would not show any weakness to the Prince, who was surely watching and waiting for her to panic.
I will not. I am a princess.
Snow carefully laid her other gown out on the bed and slipped the last bit of apple into her new gown, her body blocking the view from the jeweled eye in the door.
She thought the door might slide open without a touch, but she found she needed to open it the regular way. She also noticed that there was a small, old-fashioned key in the lock. This she took and kept next to the poisoned apple, though she had no illusions that the Prince would not have a key of his own.
The Prince sat opposite her at dinner, making light small talk that she answered without really listening. She noticed his hair was wet and assumed he too had bathed, though he hadn’t bothered to shave his face. He had just the beginnings of a beard coming in at his jaw, and the candlelight cast strange shadows that made it appear blue instead of dark as the hair on his head.
When they completed their meal, Snow wondered what would happen next. At home there would be singing or sewing or storytelling after a meal, or sometimes dancing. She did not wish to dance with her husband, nor did she think that music would echo sweetly in this hall. Any song would be fouled by the air.
“You may go up to your room now,” he said. “I have some business to attend.”
“Of course,” Snow said, and climbed the stairs.
Her heart lodged at the bottom of her throat. He would come to her when his business was completed, whatever that might be. There was no army to hear him now, as there had been on the road.
Am I to sit in my bedroom trembling like a little rabbit, waiting for the fox at the door to come and eat me at his pleasure?
She entered the room and shut the door behind her. The red eye blinked at her, and she felt a sudden surge of anger.
Why should I be spied upon like a criminal? Why should he have that satisfaction? At least with the ring I can tuck it in the folds of my skirt.
Snow yanked her traveling gown from the bed and tore the sash from it. She pulled several of the pins from her hair and tacked the sash up on the door, covering the ruby eye. A strange buzzing sound emitted from it as it was covered, like it was an angry bee trying to loose itself.
“See how you like that,” Snow said.
Then she took the key out of her pocket. She couldn’t fool herself that the Prince would be kept out by such a feeble attempt, but she locked the door anyway. At least she would have a few moments to prepare herself while he unlocked it.
A wisp of smoke curled out of the keyhole.
Another enchantment? Something to stop me from using the key? Snow bent down to get a closer look. She didn’t see anything obvious, but she smelled something sweet and spicy in the air.
The apple, she thought. The poison from the apple. It must have rubbed off on the key.
She turned the knob and pulled the door. It held fast. Would it keep the Prince from her bed?
Snow’s trunk had appeared in her room while she was downstairs at dinner. She took out her nightdress. She expected the ghostly hands to come and unlace her gown as they had laced it up, but there was nothing.
Is that because I covered the eye on the door? It was an interesting notion, to be sure, one that might have implications for Snow’s freedom. But it didn’t help her remove a gown that required an extra person to put on in the first place.
After several irritating minutes attempting to wriggle out of the white gown Snow gave up and lay down on the bed in it, removing only the sash that pulled the gown close around her waist.
She thought she would be far too terrified to sleep but she must have dozed, for the next thing she knew it was dark and someone was fumbling at the door.
Snow sat straight up, blood roaring. She slid the ruby-eyed ring beneath the coverlet so that it would not know she was awake. The Prince’s voice came through the keyhole, the words indistinct but the meaning of them clear.
He’s trying to magic the lock open.
She heard his voice rise in frustration, heard him curse.
But the lock held fast.
“Open the door, my darling,” he said.
There had never been less affection in the word “darling” in all the history of the world.
Snow kept still, so very still, more still than the smallest mouse caught in the gaze of a cat.
“Snow White,” he called, low and crooning and meant to seduce, to charm, to enchant. “Open the door to your husband.”
I will not.
His hand shook the knob. She felt his anger then, his frustration, his hunger, and his hunger was a terrible thing, a thing that wanted to consume her. It was like a crashing wave that pushed against the door, seeping through the grain of the wood, pummeling her. Her hands grasped the bedclothes for dear life and she bit hard on her lower lip so she would not whimper.
“Snow White!” he said, and there was no more pretense then. “Open this door, I say. You have no right to refuse me.”