She mused as she watched the swirls of steam rise. The chamber was enormous. The stone walls were draped with detailed tapestries of red, gold, and black that hung from ornately molded rods set in iron brackets. The tapestries not only beautified the room, but kept the frigid chill outside.
The grand fireplace was flanked by two enormous statues that seemed to have souls. Each portrayed a beaut
iful and beastly winged woman, both with faces severe and remote; their downcast eyes gazed down from a towering height.
A quiet knock upon the chamber door caused the Queen to stir.
“Verona, I presume?” the Queen said.
“It is I,” Verona responded from behind the door. “My lady, I took the liberty of suggesting the cook make some of Snow’s favorites for this evening’s meal. The girl seems a little sullen.”
The Queen didn’t respond.
“She’s missing her father,” Verona continued, “as you are, I am sure. He has been away for several months now.”
The Queen considered Verona’s words for a moment, then broke her silence.
“Neither of us would thrive so well without you, Verona. We thank you and love you for that.”
“Thank you, Majesty. Will you need any further assistance? More hot water? Or your bath sheet, perhaps?”
The Queen had already begun to step from her tub, wrapping herself in the huge, soft towel, which had been warmed on a small coal apparatus next to her.
“I’ve already emerged, my dear. You may enter,” the Queen said.
As her attendant, it would have been Verona’s duty to bathe the Queen. But the Queen was insistent that no one see her without a painted face and coiffed hair. Recently, however, she’d become much more comfortable with Verona, and had allowed the woman to see her without makeup and finery.
Verona shifted uncomfortably, no doubt because she knew how the Queen felt about others seeing her before she’d been made-up.
“I’m sure the King will be home soon, my lady,” Verona said, while shifting little trinkets in the room, pretending to organize them though she might have just been attempting not to look upon the unpainted face of her Queen.
“In the meantime, perhaps you and Snow would benefit from an adventure.”
“Ah, do you have an escapade in mind, my sister?” the Queen asked, a slight smile creeping upon her lips.
“The Apple Blossom Festival. Your subjects would be thrilled if you were to attend. It would make for an even more rousing event to have their Queen and princess there to crown the Apple Blossom Maiden.”
The Queen considered this. She was still—after all the ceremonies, festivals, and attendants—not very comfortable in large crowds. She preferred to keep to herself. And then she remembered the child.
“You would join us, of course?” the Queen asked Verona.
“Indeed, my Queen,” Verona said, smiling brightly and forgetting not to look upon the Queen’s face.
“Let us attend, then.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Verona said, curtsying. “Might I be excused to make the arrangements?”
“Of course, dear. I can manage by myself,” the Queen said with her back to Verona, gazing at her lady-in-waiting’s face through her mirror’s reflection.
But as Verona bowed out, the Queen noticed something that greatly disturbed—even terrified—her. Just as Verona had closed the chamber door and the Queen found herself alone, something appeared to move behind her in her mirror—the one the King had given to her on their wedding day. Something, perhaps someone, was inside with her. But it couldn’t have been so. She surveyed the room. She was clearly alone. Verona had locked the door when she left the room, and, as was customary, locked it when she had entered. There was no chance anyone could have sneaked in. Still, she was sure she’d seen a face appear in the mirror, just over her shoulder.
She stared into the mirror and then searched the room. Anyone who had seen her would have thought she’d gone mad. But she needed to assure herself that she was indeed alone. And after thoroughly examining the room, that was the very conclusion she came to.
It must have been a trick of the light.
She settled down into her favorite chair to calm her racing heart. The heat from the fire soothed her, and she ran her naked toes over the bearskin rug at her feet. She must be losing her mind from sorrow. She wished she knew when, if, her husband would return.
Her eyes became heavy, and she began to drift off. But she was not able to sleep, still unsure that she was alone. She stood up and again walked over to the mirror. Just one last look. One more glance and then she would be able to settle down. She leaned into the mirror to examine it more closely. Perhaps it had been rigged, or charmed.