Not the Villain - The Evil Queen's Retelling of Snow White

23 Years, Eight Months and 19 Days Ago

23 years, eight months and 19 days ago:

I knocked on the wooden door of Casimir's office and held my breath, half-hoping he would answer, half-hoping he wouldn't. I couldn't remember the last time we had spoken alone... No, I did remember. It was on that morning, that beautiful, terrible morning. That morning in the garden when he pledged his life and love to me. The morning he promised me a happily ever after, the morning he made a promise he couldn't keep...

"Come in," His muffled voice sounded from behind the door, interrupting my thoughts. I opened the door hesitantly, breathing in the familiar smell of old books. I caught sight of the tired lines on his face, the blank eyes looking into mine, but not seeing anything. He stood up, seeing me, and as if in a trance I walked slowly over to him, stopping just in front of him so that our toes were almost touching.

"Hey." He said. "I'm sorry I haven't had the time to speak to you lately. How have things been?"

"Fine." I replied, vaguely, my voice only cracking a little from the lie. Nothing was fine. "What about you, Casimir?" I looked at him carefully. "How are you holding up?" I could tell he was still grieving. He wasn't ready. I realised. He had been training his whole life to rule, but he wasn't ready to be king, he wasn't ready for his father to leave him. The wicked glint I saw in Evelyn's eyes flashed into my mind.

"Well, I'm... holding up." He gave a sort of sad smile that looked more like a grimace.

"What did you summon me for?" I asked, gently. I already knew the answer, though. I resisted the urge to squeeze my eyes shut and block everything out.

He sighed. For a long time he didn't speak. He seemed fifty years older than he actually was, and my heart ached for him. "I've heard that you've been spreading rumours about Evelyn. That she's a witch."

"What? That's not true. You know I wouldn't do anything like that," I lied, "How could you even accuse me of saying anything like that?"

The Casimir I knew wouldn't have. The Casimir I knew would have apologised right away. But this new Casimir, with the blank eyes, just said, "I know what I've heard, Amethyst. And I'm not sure I know who's lying."

I bit down hard on my lip to keep it from trembling. If I tiptoed leaned forward a bit, I could kiss him. I almost let out a tiny whimper, stopping myself at the last moment. Standing so close to him, hearing say these things to me... it was breaking my heart all over again.

He doesn't trust me anymore.

No, that can't be. The Casimir I knew would never do that. It was Evelyn. She was manipulating him. I wouldn't accept anything else. I couldn't.

Neither of us said anything for a while.

"We could've had it all." I whispered at last.

He looked away. "Do you want me to tell you that I regret it? That I regret finding love? Because I don't, Amethyst."

"I was never enough for you, was I?"

"Stop!"

"No, listen to me. I want you to be happy, and Evelyn can't give you that. I can. Please, please just pause for a moment, and think about what I'm saying. Me? I love you. And you love me too. But Evelyn's manipulating you, Casimir. She's using you. You might not see it, but I do. Don't listen to her. Listen to your heart."

He said nothing, and for a moment I allowed myself to hope. I hoped that he would finally see. I hoped that his eyes would lose the blank look that he's had ever since all this craziness somehow leaked into my life. But he shook his head, and that hope shattered, splintered. There was nothing left for me to hope for. Casimir was lost, lost forever, and nothing I do would bring him back to me. Wordlessly, I walked out the door.

The air was bitter and cold outside his study, without a fire to warm it. My feet automatically took me towards my room, but before that, at the back of my mind, I recognised the dark figure beside the door. Evelyn. She had obviously been eavesdropping, and by the smirk on her face I could tell it didn't bother her that I found out.

As I walked away, I think I heard her whisper. "Time's up."

23 years, eight months and 18 days ago:

"Lunch, m'lady?"

I turned from where I was gazing up at the sky through my bedroom window to see Ronnie walk in with a tray balanced skilfully on her arm.

"No thanks, Ronnie. I'm not hungry." I looked away and shuddered a little from the cold wind, and pulled my blanket tighter around myself. Ronnie walked over and yanked the window closed.

"Really, you have to eat, you know." Ronnie scolded. "You haven't eaten breakfast either. In fact you haven't been eating a lot lately."

"I'm not hungry."

"Besides, the chefs said they prepared it especially for you. They were stressing about how important it was to get the food to you. Not just any food, this specific tray." She huffed. "What, did they think I was going to feed it to the horses?"

"I'm fine, Ronnie. Really."

"At least have the bread. If you don't eat, you could keel over and die of starvation, you know."

I gave in, with a smile tugging at my lips, and tore off a chunk of sweet bread. "You can have the rest of my lunch," I told her. "I know they don't feed you enough. I've seen that slop you maids are forced to eat."

She was already eyeing the food hungrily. "Well, if you insist, m'lady."

I was watching her, feeling better than I had felt in days, as she sipped daintily from the blue teacup. I was still watching her a few seconds later, when her eyes started bulging. Her fingers slacked and the teacup shattered on the ground, the poisoned tea meant for me spilling all over the rug. She clutched at her throat, trying to get words out, her knees bent and she collapsed. I heard someone screaming, then I realised it was me. I didn't take notice of the people rushing in, my eyes never left my best friend's horrified face. And before the servants and the healers took her away, I caught sight of her limp hand on the stretcher.

Her fingers were puffed up, and they were a bright, bright red.