Bride to the Cursed: a Snow White retelling

Chapter 15: Beast of Hatred

"Not long after you left, sire, a few men came to seek audience with the princes of Ilien and Uviel," the steward reported as they made their way back to the ballroom, their strides long and hurried. "We didn't stop them. It looked urgent. We thought it was to do with matters going on in their own lands."

"You did the right thing," Dane assured him. It was bad form to meddle in the domestic affairs of a foreign kingdom, especially one they'd always been friendly with.

"Aye. After the meeting, they came back demanding to speak with you, sire. But when I informed them I would send a messenger to your chambers, they lost their patience and declared war."

As they closed in on the ballroom, Dane could hear the sounds of shouting and the clashing of swords. He picked up pace.

They'd been friends with Ilien for centuries, the similarities in their culture a large part of their friendly relations. Though Asis was by far the larger kingdom, Ilien dominated the seas, their prowess with ships unmatched across the continent.

Uviel, on the other hand, was on the other side of the continent, their relations neutral and so far limited to trade. There was nothing to gain from war between them. It was sheer absurdity. It made no sense.

When he entered the ballroom, the scene that greeted him was as far from a ball as it could be. All the noble attendees had taken refuge against the walls. Some of the ladies huddled up together, shaking, crying. In front of them stood the guards that each foreign delegation brought with them, some of them with their shields and weapons raised in defence, whilst others were embroiled in combat. Here and there around the room laid the wounded, bleeding from cuts and stab wounds.

"Dane, you bastard!" A man came charging at him, his sword aimed directly at Dane's heart.

Dane stood still, fixing the cuffs of his doublet as he let the guards on his side parry the attacker's sword, sending it flying across the room. As the man came to a halt, disarmed, the guards rested their own blades against his throat. A group of Ilien guards stepped forth, but did not dare close in with their prince held at sword point.

All around them, the fighting ceased as all eyes turned to the spectacle.

"Prince Everett, what is the meaning of this?"

"What is the meaning of this?" the Prince of Ilien repeated, a trickle of blood running from his throat as he released a croaky, heart-wrenching laugh coated with venom and despair. "You killed my brother, Dane the Usurper, and you ask me what's the meaning of this?" he spat. "We should've known better than to believe anything from you."

Dane narrowed his eyes, anger simmering from the use of that label. "I know nothing about your brother's passing," he said, fighting to keep his tone calm and even. "Let's talk. In private."

"I don't want to talk, much less in private." The prince seethed, his eyes wild and bloodshot from a mixture of rage and despair. "Oh, we've heard the stories. You tortured your brother Crown Prince Geoffrey. You killed your father. You framed your brother Warren for it and executed him. We gave you the benefit of the doubt by coming here, thinking you wouldn't be so bold as to play any games with so many of us gathered. You host this ball in the name of seeking a queen, yet what did you do?" he demanded. "You spent most of your time with a woman who's been revealed tonight to be your own former wife. Your divorce is a farce. This whole celebration is a farce. What are you scheming, King Dane? Are you holding us hostage while your forces invade our kingdoms?"

There was no use arguing over the inaccuracies of those allegations. As confused and insulted as he was, Dane raised a hand, signalling his guards to remove their swords from the weaponless prince. "I assure you, there is no farce. No schemes. No games."