She looks… relaxed.
A servant drops a tray when she sees us. China shatters on the marble floor.
“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty!” The girl scrambles to clean it up.
“It’s fine,” Hilda saysgently, when days ago she would have snapped at the girl. “No harm done.”
The girl gapes at her.
We keep walking.
“They’re shocked,” Hilda murmurs.
“You’re different,” Arkan says. “They’re not used to it yet.”
“Good different?” she asks quietly, a tiny frown marring her gorgeous face.
“Very good different,” I confirm, squeezing her hand.
I wink at her, and she smiles, looking relieved.
We find Snow White in the gardens. Fuck, she’s young…seventeen, maybe eighteen…and beautiful in a soft, innocent way. Dark hair, pale skin, red lips. I can see why the mirror called her the fairest. Cute kid.
Snow sees us approaching and goes very still. Her big eyes dart between me, Hilda, and my brothers. Looking like she’s calculating escape routes.
Smart girl.
“Snow,” Hilda says gently. “I need to speak with you. Alone.”
We all growl.
Hilda sighs, shaking her head. “You can stay close,” she amends. Then turns back to her stepdaughter. “Please. Just… a moment.”
Snow nods slowly. “All right.”
My brothers and I move back…not far, just enough to give them space. But we’re watching. Listening. Ready to stand by our omega.
“I owe you an apology,” Hilda starts.
Snow blinks. “What?”
“I was cruel to you. Jealous. Bitter,” Hilda’s voice is steady but I can feel her nervousness through the bond. “I let something poison me.”
“The mirror,” Snow says quietly.
“Yes. The mirror.” Hilda glances back at us, then continues. “But that’s no excuse. I treated you terribly. And I summoned a huntsman to… to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
Snow is silent for a long moment, observing our mate. Then she says: “You’re different.”
The queen nods. “I am.”
“Because of them?” Snow looks toward us.
“Partly.” Hilda touches the bite on her throat. “They’re my mates. My pack. They showed me what I was missing. What I actually needed.”
“Which was?”
“Not to be alone.” Hilda’s voice cracks slightly. “To belong to someone. To be wanted for who I am, not what I look like or how much power I have.”
