Chapter Text
There are two people, staring at each other in tense silence.
One is heartbroken, terrified, angry. His once bright, hopeful and naïve eyes are dimmed with pain. He makes for a pitiful sight indeed kneeling on the ground, looking as worn and tired as he does, especially in comparison to the one standing tall and proud, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.
The one kneeling swallows and gathers up his remaining courage to ask a single question:
‘Why are you doing this?’
The one standing grins at last, wild and dark and utterly joyless.
‘Does that even matter?’
Neige LeBlanche has strange dreams, sometimes. Dreams of witches and queens and poisoned apples. Dreams that star innocent princesses and their cruel stepmothers. Dreams that, most often, end in death.
(skin as fair as snow, lips as red as blood, hair as black as ebony)
(what an absurd description)
(it cannot be considered beautiful)
(not when those colours only mean that an innocent has been marked for death by a jealous eye)
He doesn’t tell anybody about them, of course. They are just dreams after all, strange as they are. Not that there’s really anybody around him to tell; Neige lives in isolation, hidden away from the kingdom in a secluded old estate and a few servants. Although he is technically a prince, he has no riches to speak of, only a single slowly crumbling estate. He’s lived like this for as long as he can remember, ever since his mother died in childbirth. Neige doesn’t really have any idea why he is kept separate from the rest of the royal family and the servants never tell him anything, no matter how much he begs.
He knows that he has a cousin, the heir to the throne, and he knows that his cousin’s name is Vil- but that is the end of it.
Neige cannot say he is dissatisfied with his life, that would be extremely ungrateful considering that he lives in far more comfort that so many others in the kingdom, but…
There is a longing, deep within his heart, to belong with someone. To look at a person and know that they treasure him and he them.
One day, one of the older women falls ill and is unable to come in for work. Instead, she sends her daughter, who is young and inexperienced. When the girl arrives at his door, Neige manages to question her on what the kingdom is like. She tells him in badly concealed excitement that the old king has died and his son, the noble and beautiful Crown Prince Vil, is taking his place soon.
Neige’s breath hitches in his throat.
His heart thump-thump-thumps rapidly inside his chest.
He does not want to say he is pleased at the death of the old king, but he knows that his isolation had been enforced by the king’s edict soon after his birth. Now that his cousin Vil is taking the throne, there is a slight chance that maybe, just maybe, Neige can return to society.
Vil is crowned the new monarch.
Months pass and Neige’s quiet hope almost dies…
…until a wintry evening at the estate brings with it a message from Vil.
An invitation to spend the winter months at court.
Neige’s arrival at the castle is quiet and understated. There is a single man present at the entrance to greet him and bring him inside- a man who calls himself Rook. The hunter welcomes him and escorts him all the way to his new quarters in the castle, which he says have been chosen and decorated personally by Vil.
Rook hesitates briefly after his explanation, muttering to himself that ‘It is a shame that such beauty will soon be marred.’
He excuses himself afterwards, saying that his night’s duties are not yet done.
It is late and Neige is tired from his long journey, so he doesn’t notice the strange look in the hunter’s eyes as he leaves and the quiet remark goes unheard.
That night, he dreams again.
He dreams of a little girl and her stepmother.
He dreams of a queen and her most loathed rival.
He dreams of a huntsman, a terrified princess and a boar’s heart given to a queen.
When he wakes, Neige shivers in the freezing cold of the early morning, not daring to throw off his bedcovers for fear of being deprived of the little warmth he has left. Despite the fact that’s he’s gotten his wish, he cannot help but feel apprehensive, like he knows something is going to go terribly wrong.
Then, he shakes his head.
‘I’m being ridiculous,’ Neige mutters to himself. ‘Cousin Vil has chosen to allow me here after all, I should be grateful to him.’
Maybe it was just the dreams that had plagued him throughout the night that unsettled him so. Neige has to admit, even if only in the depths of his own mind, that they were… deeply disturbing. He can’t quite put his finger on why, but they feel oddly ominous.
He tosses those thoughts aside as he dresses- it was most likely the imaginings of his own worked-up mind, exhausted from the travel and his unfamiliar surroundings.
Thankfully, Neige is fully dressed and ready to face the day by the time the knock on his door comes.
The one who greets him is a boy, about his age.
He smiles, warm and inviting. Neige is transfixed instantly.
‘Hello. You must be Neige.’
Neige swallows.
‘You… you know me?’ he says in a shaky voice, inwardly cursing his sudden bout of nerves.
‘Yes, of course. His Majesty talked quite a lot about you.’
‘Are you close to Cousin Vil?’ Neige asks, unable to help himself.
The other frowns immediately. Neige is puzzled, until he realises the form of address that accidentally slipped from his lips. Vil may be his cousin, but he is also the current monarch and has never given him permission to talk so familiarly about him. They’ve never even met.
He flushes, realising his misstep.
‘I’m- I’m sorry, I mean, His Majesty!’ Neige says desperately.
Instead of offering reassurance or acceptance of the apology, the boy quickly moves on.
‘My name is Epel. His Majesty has instructed me to show you around.’
(Although he does not know it himself yet, that is how Neige first meets the Queen’s Poison…)
(…and the one who has been ordered to kill him.)