Shay’s fingers twitched. She didn’t move to take it. Something about the woman nagged at her. Maybe it was the way she held herself—too straight for a farmer’s wife. Or the way her hands were calloused in the wrong places, not from hoe or churn but from something else. Or the way, when Shay tried to catch a glimpse of her face beneath the hat, the woman shifted just slightly, turning so the brim cast a deeper shadow. A prickle ran up Shay’s spine. “Thank you,” she said politely. “But I… I have to finish these. And you’ll be wanting to sell those in town. I don’t want to hold you up. You should continue your travels.”
“Nonsense,” the farmer’s wife said. “One apple won’t break me.” She waggled it invitingly, the red skin seeming even brighter against her rough fingers. The scent of it drifted on the breeze—crisp, sweet, the exact smell of autumn markets and childhood treats stolen from the royal pantry.
Shay’s stomach tightened. “I really shouldn’t,” she said again, more to herself than to the woman.
The woman’s lips thinned imperceptibly beneath the scarf. “Look how juicy it is,” she said, reaching into the basket again. Her knife flashed—a simple, worn thing, not a court dagger—and she sliced a neat wedge from the apple. Juice beaded and ran down the blade, dripping onto the straw below.
Liora lifted the slice to her own mouth and popped it in. She closed her eyes in an almost theatrical sigh. “Mmm,” she said. “See? No harm in it.” Shay watched her chew, waiting for some sign of treachery—the woman to threaten her with the knife, bandits to jump out of the woods and kidnap her. But the woman put the knife down and smiled.
“It looks very good,” Shay admitted, tempted.
“You’re working hard,” the woman said. “Take a reward when it appears. That’s what my mother always said.”
Mother, Shay thought. The word sat wrong in this woman’s mouth. Still. The appledidlook delicious. Shay’s fingers, trusting and hopeful, reached out. “Thanks,” she said, taking the fruit. It felt heavy in her palm. Cool. Perfect. She turned it slowly, admiring the unblemished skin. A droplet of juice from the earlier slice traced a path along its curve.
“Go on,” the woman urged. Her tone was light. Only someone who knew her well would have heard the strain beneath.
Shay hesitated one last second. Everything in her life had changed the last time she’d taken something from a woman who smiled at her. You’re being foolish, she scolded herself. It’s just an apple. You’re far from the castle. No one here knows who you are. You watched her eat some.
Shay lifted it to her mouth and bit. The flesh was crisp under her teeth, sweeter than anything she’d tasted in years. Juice flooded her tongue, ran down her hand. For one absurdmoment, her eyes stung with gratitude for something so simple. She chewed. The woman watched.
As Shay lifted the second bite, the farmer’s wife made a small grimace and took the slice she’d bitten earlier from her own mouth, spitting it onto the ground behind her. Shay swallowed. The warmth from the fruit spread down her throat, into her chest. Then, abruptly, it thickened. It felt as though the blood in her veins was turning to molasses, heavy and sweet and slow, dragging her heartbeat down to a terrifying crawl. She frowned. A strange heaviness seeped into her limbs, as if someone had filled her veins with warm sand. Her fingers slackened on the half-eaten apple; it tumbled from her hand into the grass. “What…?” she began. Her tongue felt thick. The word dragged. Her vision blurred.
The woman straightened. She reached up and, with slow, deliberate care, removed the hat. Dark hair tumbled out. Eyes like polished obsidian glittered above high cheekbones. The farmer’s wife’s lines melted away from her posture like a shed skin.
“No,” Shay whispered, the sound barely there. “No, no, no…” She knew that face. She’d seen it every day of her childhood. In mirrors. In her own features. In nightmares.
“Hello, my little snow-thing,” Queen Liora said.
Shay was dizzy, like the world was spinning all around her. Her thoughts flashed through her mind—her father, Grimm, the prince, her six men. Her heart squeezed in her chest. Shay tried to scramble backward, but her legs didn’t cooperate. They felt boneless, distant, as if they belonged to someone at the far end of a tunnel.
“You look surprised,” Liora went on, stepping closer until her shadow fell over Shay. “Did you think you could hide from me forever in a hovel with coal dust on your skirts?”
Shay’s heart pounded wildly, but her body refused to respond. She could feel every beat—thumping hard in her chest—but her limbs were heavy as stone. “Stay… away,” she managed, though the words felt slurred, like she’d drunk too much wine.
Liora crouched in front of her. Up close, Shay could see the changes the mirror had hinted at: the faint gray at her temples, the fine lines beginning to etch around her mouth. But the force in her eyes was the same as ever—sharp, unyielding, hungry. “You’ve grown,” Liora said, tilting Shay’s chin up with two fingers. “Into quite the little queen of your own, haven’t you? Men at your feet. Power in your hands.” Her lips curled. “How very like… me.”
“Why…?” Shay’s head spun. “Why are you—?”
“Because you breathe,” Liora said sharply. Anger growing, she spouted, “Because every day you draw breath, you steal a piece of what is mine. My beauty. My attention. My power.” She leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “Tell me,” she murmured. “When you look in the glass they have there—do you see me? Or do you see yourself?”
Shay’s jaw clenched. “I see…,” was all she could force out.
“Exactly,” Liora said softly. “And so did the mirror. And so did he.” She didn’t say Hunter’s name. She didn’t have to.
Shay’s vision blurred. “Mother,” she said, the word sharp like glass and sin. For a heartbeat, something flickered across Liora’s face. Not quite regret. Not quite tenderness. Something more complicated and fleeting, but then it was gone.
“You always were too free with that word,” she said. “You should have stuck with ‘Queen.’ It might have hurt less.”
Her tongue felt numb. Her head lolled. The world around her started to look like a painting smeared by careless fingers. Shay’s vision blackened. She felt like she was tumbling down into darkness, the world twisting into terrifying shapes aroundher. Liora stared into her daughter’s eyes. For the briefest of instants, she caught her own reflection there—a tiny, warped version of herself in the dark of Shay’s pupils. The face she’d once wielded like a weapon, now seen through the lens of someone she had marked for death. It wavered. It faded. As Shay’s eyes fluttered, as the lids drooped, the last glimmer of Liora’s image vanished. A symbolic passing, if anyone had been there to see it. Power, moving from one vessel to another. “Sleep,” Liora whispered, fingers tightening on Shay’s chin.
Shay’s body obeyed. Her muscles unspooled, the last bit of tension leaving her frame. She slumped to the side, catching herself only clumsily on one hand before even that failed. Her cheek hit the soft, damp grass, eyes half-open, unfocused. Her lips were parted slightly, breath barely stirring them. The queen knew this time the poison would last.
Liora straightened, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. A sharp pain lanced through her own chest then—a sudden, pulsing ache that made her gasp and clutch at her heart. The poison. She’d planned for it. The apothecary had warned her: “Even a drop on your tongue, my queen, will carry a price. Be swift.” The bite she’d taken herself—discarded before she swallowed, but still tasted—left its mark. It wasn’t fatal. Not to her. Not yet. But it was a warning. Her hand pressed to her sternum, feeling the echo of Shay’s vanishing heartbeat in her own racing one. “We are bound,” she murmured, half to herself, half to the trees. “You and I.” She looked down at the girl—no, the woman, the princess, the daughter—she’d just felled.
Shay looked younger in sleep. Softer. For a fleeting second, Liora saw the child who had reached for her hand in the snow, who had begged to try on her jewels, who had laughed when Wilhelm lifted them both into the air. The second passed. Liora stepped back. She left Shay there on the bank, dark hair spread over the grass, damp shirts forgotten in the stream. She climbedback into the cart, fingers still slightly numb. As she flicked the reins, her gaze snagged one last time on the still form at the water’s edge. “Sleep well, princess,” she said. “May your dreams be kinder than your life.” The wheels creaked. The cart rolled away, swallowed by the trees.
Up the slope, hidden behind a screen of brush, Hunter watched, eyes cold and calculating. He hadn’t moved; he hadn’t tried to warn Shay of the danger. His loyalty was stronger this time. He was determined this time. He would win Liora back, win her favor, win her hand. He had to. This time had to be it. It had to work. If he were to be cast away again he would fall on his sword, for a life without Liora was too difficult for him to stomach.
