There was speculation amongst the people of Falchovari as to the secret of her longevity and exquisite features, but there were only a few who knew the truth. Every morning, she drank a vial of magical potion she brewed herself. It was unknown to anyone exactly what was in the potion, for the Queen kept it a closely guarded secret. Magic was more effective when channeled through an object. Even as a girl, Queen Schön had been impassioned by jewels. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, only the best were for her. And so, she infused her magic into these precious stones.
The Queen took these gems and ground them down into a shimmering, silver powder. This powder was kept in a large,glass bottle in her atelier, replenished with gemstones from the southern mountains whenever it ran low. Each morning, she would measure a dose from the bottle into a dram of fresh water. The silver powder would mix in the glass goblet like galaxies of stars, swirling with the infused gems. Drinking this magic potion each morning endowed the Queen with an otherworldly beauty, making her shimmer like a brilliantly cut diamond herself. She had told Makellos, once he was old enough to be entrusted with the secret that kept her alive and thriving, that when he reached the peak of his beauty, she would allow him to sometimes consume the potion as well, to maintain his fairness, for she could not have him grow old and haggard. When that might be, of course, was entirely up to her own inconstant whims.
Also in the Queen’s private workroom was a large, gilded mirror. There were mirrors all over the palace, both because Queen Schön was very conceited, and also because she could use them to summon her Shadow to her whenever she wanted. But this particular mirror was only known to her. She had embedded dark magic into it so that the mirror could only speak the truth. But there was only one question that she really cared to ask. “Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” the vain Queen would ask. And every day for many years, the mirror would reply, “You, my Queen, are the fairest in the land,” and the Queen was satisfied.
It was reaching into the cold months of Makellos’ twentieth winter when the Queen asked the mirror, as she did every day, “Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”
“Famed is thy beauty, Majesty,” the mirror said. “But another rises like the dawning sun to outshine thy radiance.”
The Queen’s eyes widened, for the mirror had never spoken such words to her before. Coldness stirred in her cruel heart. She would find this person who was fairer than she and eliminate them. “Reveal their name,” she commanded.
“He is known to thee by three names, Majesty,” the mirror intoned. “Prince. Son.”
The Queen’s stomach turned as she realized to whom the mirror was referring. “Makellos,” she said at the same time as the mirror.
Blood of her blood. He had done something to make himself fairer than his own mother, even without the daily magical infusion. But she could regain that fairness. Perhaps her tolerance had grown weak after so many years. Though she had already consumed her potion just before consulting the mirror, she set about to mixing another stronger version of the silver tonic with the crushed stones on her workbench next to the mirror.
When her new, stronger mixture was complete, she swallowed down the brew, feeling its magic flow through her, revitalizing her hair, her eyes, her lips, her skin, her figure. She felt refreshed once more, and even more beautiful than she ever had, so she asked the mirror again. “Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”
“Famed is thy beauty, Majesty,” the mirror said, exactly as before. “But another rises like the dawning sun to outshine thy radiance.”
The Queen screamed, throwing glass bottles and bejeweled goblets across the room that exploded against the walls. Uncut stones broke in half, revealing glimmering geodes within. She ripped pages from books and flung the books themselves to the floor, all in a savage rage. It could not be, that her own son, the only child she had ever produced, had finally come to fully flower. And not only to bloom, but to surpass her in every way that mattered.
And what a disappointment he had turned out to be. He was soft-headed, with a too-tender heart. He cried when animals were hurt. He wanted to befriend the servants. He was notimpressed by her power, her cruelty, her ability to control others, or even her magic. Their only similarity that spoke of their lineage was their beauty of face. Where she was ice, he was sunshine. Where she was calculating, he was clever. Where she ruled through fear, he showered others with kindness. Where she demanded perfection, he was clumsy and sloppy, more in a manner befitting a scullery maid than a prince of Falchovari or her own son.
But how was she to be rid of him? He was so cloistered here in the palace that staging an accident seemed highly unlikely, and there would be far too many witnesses who might try to help. She thought about the Thieves’ Guild in the city, but her faith in them recently was tenuous at best. No, she needed someone close that she could trust to deal with this matter, and deal with it away from the palace, where there would be no one around to interrupt.
And then it came to her. A chance to kill two birds with one proverbial stone, as it were. If she sent Hans, her faithful huntsman for many years, out and away to eliminate Makellos, it would also give her the opportunity to send her younger huntsman-in-training, Red, on another special task. He was always eager to prove himself anyway.
She summoned Hans to her massive throne room, dismissing the guards so no one else would overhear their conversation. She would not have anyone else learn of the plan, lest they warn Makellos, for the boy was clever, and servants did talk.
“It is time for Makellos to become a man. Take him into the forest, far from here,” Queen Schön said with a haughty wave of her hand. “Go on a hunt, teach him how to use a bow. You have served me well for many years, Hans. I entrust this mission to you.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Hans replied with a low bow.
“And there, my faithful huntsman, you will kill him.” The words left the Queen’s ruby lips as cold as ice.
Hans looked up in surprise, certain he must have misheard. “Your majesty?”
The Queen’s mouth curved into a cruel smile. “I do not care how or where it is done. But he shall not return to this palace alive. Do you understand me?”
Hans’ voice caught in his throat. Makellos was barely more than a boy and of a tender heart and gentle disposition. He had known the prince literally from the day he was born until now. And while the Queen had never been a doting mother, she had at least held a passing impassiveness for her child. An ornament to trot out to guests like a trained monkey or rare treasure. There could only be one reason that came to mind why she would suddenly decide to eliminate such a bauble. The prince was growing to outshine his mother.
Queen Schön quirked one thin brow at him, her smile dropping into a frosty stare. “Are you going to fail me, Hans?”
“No, your majesty,” he finally forced out, bowing his head. There had to be a way to complete this task without spilling the prince’s blood; he simply had to find it.
“But to ensure you do not fail in this mission, I send you with this.” The Queen patted a bejeweled box resting on the throne beside her. It was made of lovely dark wood, inlaid with marble and opal. The clasp of the box was made with a large, red ruby in the shape of a heart. “You will return to me with his liver and lungs, that I may know you have completed your task.”
Hans’s heart fell, for he would have to provide proof that he had done the sinister deed.
“You have one week,” the Queen replied. “If you do not complete your task and return to me within that time, well...” Her threat was left hanging in the air between them, unspoken, but he didn’t need to know further.
“Yes, your majesty,” he said, bowing his head again. “We shall leave tomorrow morning.”
That evening, the Queen summoned Makellos to her chambers. This surprised the prince, for he had not been in his mother’s chambers for many years, not since the day she had enchanted him for his clothing to always stay unspoiled. He made his way to her bedchamber, not far down the wing from his own. He rapped lightly upon the door with his knuckles. “Come in, my child,” he heard in his mother’s musical tone.
The guard at the door opened it for him, and Makellos stepped inside. The room was much the same as he remembered from his childhood. An elegant four-poster bed similar to his own. Glittering jewels upon nearly every surface. His mother loved jewelry and precious stones; she always had on multiple rings and large brooches or necklaces, and earrings that set off her golden blond hair like sunlight. Against the wall near her bed was the tall, elegant armoire of dark wood, its surface covered with meticulously carved gemstones in the shape of a peacock with spread plumage.
