Snow

"Because we wouldn't," the Princess said and her hand joined her brothers, traced over and around the Prince's, her nails scoring the skin at his nape lightly. "We never forget." Her other hand touched his chin, lifted his face up toward them.

They glowed as brightly as he remembered, golden and perfect and smiling at him. "I missed you," he told them. "It's been so long."

"Too long," the Prince said, still smiling, and slid his other hand inside his sister's robes. Joseph watched, blood racing, and then the hiss of a knife being drawn filled the room, the Prince's hand tracing delicately across his sister's stomach, the gleam of a blade showing through his fingers.

The Princess shuddered, mouth parting.

"All we asked was for one small thing," she said and her hand moved to his mouth, fingers tracing across his lips. "And yet you-"

"Betrayed us," the Prince finished, and the Princess sank her other hand into Joseph's hair, tilting his head back. Now all he could see was them. And all he could feel was their knife at his throat.

"But I--" he said. "I didn't. I took him out deep into the woods, just as you said. I just--I couldn't kill him. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wanted to but I--"

"You meant well," the Prince said soothingly and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

"You tried," the Princess said and pushed a finger inside his mouth, tracing where her brother's kiss went.

"Yes," Joseph gasped. "I left him and I'm sure he perished. No one could survive in all that snow." They were looking down at him and the smiles on their faces were heated, hungry. He looked at the couches and then back at them, hoping.

"You have missed us," the Princess said, voice warm, honey-sweet, and he looked at her.

"Yes," he said, and stared at the diamonds woven into her hair and onto the sheer robe beneath the gilded one she always wore. Beneath that shone a glimpse of golden skin and he wanted her so badly, had missed her so much. "You know I love you so--"

"Not enough," the Princess said and the knife at his throat cut into his skin.

"I--" Joseph said, staring at the Prince with surprise on his face as the skin on his neck widened, stretching, and blood began to flow. "Please. I love you."

"Not enough," the Prince said, and twisted the knife, pushing deeper.

Joseph breathed his last breath and his blood spilled over the Prince and Princess's hands, dripped down onto the floor. They pushed his body away from theirs at the same time and stood looking at it for a moment, at Joseph's wide startled forever opened eyes, at the knife dug deep into his throat.

"We'll send our brother--" the Prince said.

"--a gift," the Princess said.

"A flask--"

"Of special wine?"

"Very special," the Prince said.

"From the Pale. A mother's gift--"

"To her only son."

"Yes," they both said.

The Prince held out his hand and the Princess took it, stepping neatly around the body on the floor as they headed toward the door.

"There's a washwoman," the Prince said.

"The one who always cries?"

"Yes."

"She'll never be able to remove this stain," the Princess said, and pointed to Joseph's blood drying in a dripping trail along the hem of her gown. "But still, she must try. I'll have her summoned."

"Save some tears for me," the Prince said and she smiled at him. They walked out of the room together. They did not close the door behind them.

Chapter Fourteen

The day David was crowned consort was beautiful--flowers blooming everywhere, sprinkled on the streets and woven through the trees, the sky empty of clouds and a brilliant shade of blue. He had woken up early and looked out the window, stared at the perfect looking sky and felt the breeze that blew into the room curl around his skin as if it was a living thing. As if it was measuring him, marking him. When he was being dressed he heard Judith out in the hall talking to someone, her voice rising as she talked about cost, of wizards and witch women that had been paid to make the day perfect. "It's what Michael deserves," she said and he touched the saucer that had held a cup of tea that had been brought for him, watched the roses on it continue to shine bright.

Michael came in to see him once, a mischievous grin on his face as he peeked around the door and said, "Look at you," his voice shining and proud. The dressers all giggled and blushed.

"Bad luck for you to see him beforehand," the maid who wasn't one said. She was standing by the door watching as she always did, those flat eyes never showing any emotion at all.

Michael shook his head at her and then grinned wider, darted across the room and pulled David close, kissing his forehead, his mouth, cupping his chin with one hand. "I make my own luck,"