The House of White

The warrior queen of Quinland flashed through her enemies in battle with swift sword strokes and expert combat moves. Her king husband rode up beside her on his war stallion.

“My love, you should not exert yourself so. Think of our child!”

Queen Loreina shot an exasperated glare at her husband. “You mean well, but I do not need your words. We might not have a child, at least not a free-born child, if we do not rid our land of the Berndt swine.”

King Liam studied his wife intently. “I understand, my queen.”

Loreina went on, “And it’s not as though our heir is without protection. The smith outfitted me with special armor; no weapon made by man can pierce the forged metal.”

Across the battlefield, the Berndt witch queen listened to the royal conversation occurring in the slight reprieve with the usage of an heirloom enchanted mirror given to her by her mother. She cackled to herself, “And what of a weapon made by my magic?” before whispering a spell over the Quinnish queen’s image.

Loreina remained unaware of Helena’s plan as a pain wracked her body. “It cannot be,” she gasped through the spasms. “The child is weeks early!” She fell to her knees, kept upright only by the planting of her sword in the ground.

Helena smiled nastily. “I don’t fight with physical weapons, Loreina. Stealth is much more my style.” She sat before another sleeping mirror, one her father had given her, and woke it.

“Mirror.”

The reflection of Helena shimmered as the Mirror Spirit awoke. “My queen, how may I be of service?”

“Show me the birth of the Quinnish royal heir,” Helena ordered.

Rather than verbally obeying the command, the Mirror Spirit altered its image, revealing a fainting Queen Loreina, with King Liam hovering anxiously in the background. Helena smiled widely, revealing gleaming white teeth that shone with a villainous sheen.

“Soon, my love,” she whispered at Liam’s image. “Soon.”

----

Loreina gave one final push, gasping as she finally birthed the heir to the Quinnish throne. The babe gave out a lusty cry as a nurse lifted it for cleaning. She finally returned, giving the child to its father.

“A daughter,” Liam murmured. He smiled, crowing, “A princess fit a warrior as her mother!” as he simultaneously lifted the keening newborn for all the attendants to see. Light cheers answered his gesture.

Loraine reached out for her baby, straining to hold her daughter. Liam gently placed their daughter in his wife’s arms.

“What shall we name her, dearest?” Liam brushed back some of her hair, lightly pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead.

“Sarah.” Lorain smiled proudly through her exhaustion. “Her name is Sarah.”

----

Princess Sarah watched solemnly as healers brought her mother into the infirmary. Queen Loreina gasped for breath as bright crimson blood seeped steadily from her wounds. As the end of her life neared, Loreina called for Sarah.

“Daughter,” the queen implored in a rattling breath. Sarah came forward. “I have not long to live. With my passing you shall assume the role of Queen of Quinland, the title that I held before you, that my mother held before me, and the mother before that, and back to the beginning of our land. Your father shall act as King Regent until you come of age to marry, and choose a king.” Sarah’s lower lip trembled slightly, and Loraine lovingly caressed her face. “Dearest, please. You must listen and understand-” Loreina abruptly cut off her words, trying desperately to breathe through a violent spasm her body seemed to be undergoing. Sarah bent her head in silent prayer, knowing that her mother was about to die. The young princess beckoned to a waiting healer and stood back as the healer murmured the Last Rites over the queen’s deadly still form.

----

“I love you, Mama,” the eleven-year-old whispered, studying her mother’s exquisite glass coffin, dwarf-fashioned. Then she felt the heavy hand of her father on her right shoulder.

“Da.” Sarah turned, hiding her face as well as her tears in the soft cotton shirt he usually wore under his armor and mail. His grief was more subdued than hers, but it was still there.

“Sarah.”

She looked up, surprised at her father’s tone. “Yes, Da?’

King Liam pulled a young-looking woman forward. She had flowing brown-gold hair, impossibly pale skin (Sarah sourly noted that this woman was no citizen of Quinland, not with skin that pale), tawny-green eyes, and a full mouth. Liam gently told his daughter, “Meet your new mother.”

Princess Sarah glared disdainfully at the warm smile the woman gave. “You are not my mother.” She turned her glare to her father. “Mama has been gone scarcely over a week. You have not waited the required three months before you can again court.” She ignored the look her father shot her, and answered the unasked question. “I know things, Da. I am eleven years young, it is true, but I am not wanting of knowledge.”

The smile on the woman’s face slipped. “Well, then…” She glanced uncertainly at Liam before continuing, “Then call me Helena.”

Sarah quirked a brow, completely aware from which nation the woman came. “I shall skip my training for a few days or so,” she told her father. She ignored his protests as she swept down the hall, sparing a glance for her mother’s soulless body.

It was only hours later that she allowed herself to cry in the confines of her room, blissfully unaware of someone watching her. Sarah furiously knuckled tears from her face, hissing, “The crown princess of Quinland cannot be weak. I am not weak.”

Helena watched her future stepdaughter dispassionately in her third enchanted mirror, one which she had used to enchant King Liam through his dreams. She smiled wickedly, telling Sarah’s image, “Soon you shall see just how weak you truly are.”

--Author’s Notes--

Well, this is my take on Snow White. Yeah, I know, yet another stupid faery tale, right? Wrong. This is so much more. Reviews and suggestions are welcome. “Silly bunny, plagiarism is for losers!” --- Cheers, Lily