The Poisoned Princess: A Snow White Retelling (The Skazka Fairy Tales)

DIMITRI

Kostya and I head outside, as everyone else launches into a new discussion about elephants and firebirds. Arseniy nearly tripped over himself in his rush to sit next to Ivanka and inspect her footwear. I really don’t need to see them being complete idiots over her.

I head toward the side of the cottage where we keep the water barrels and dunk a bucket. When I carry it over to the firepit, Kostya is already there, lighting the fire. He looks up at me just as Maxim walks out of the house and joins us.

“You bought her shoes.” Maxim wiggles his eyebrows up and down. I’m about ready to punch the kid.

“It was Kostya’s idea,” I say.

The other man chuckles. “It was absolutely not,” he announces happily and then moves out of my reach.

“Traitor,” I mumble as they both laugh.

“It’s okay, Dimitri. We all knew you were a softie.”

This time, when I lunge for Maxim, he jumps behind Kostya. The other man lifts his arms in surrender, and meets my eye.

“It really isn’t fair to punish the youngster for your behavior, Dima,” he says. I grunt, rolling my eyes for good measure. I don’t like it when the two gang up on me. It’s even worse if Yasha is present, making up songs as the other two tease me. I glance back toward the house and find the door closed and the sound of laughter coming from inside.

“She was bleeding all over our floors,” I say.

“Her cuts have healed,” Maxim replies, this time not even disguising his laughter as he dances around the firepit to put it between us.

“They would’ve reopened if she kept walking around barefoot.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

I roll my eyes again and turn to stare at the water, as I stretch out my muscles. We got up extra early to grab milk this morning and then, after making a small pitstop at the market, came straight here. I would like nothing more than to sleep in my comfortable bed, but of course, that’s not happening tonight.

“Here,” Pavel says coming out of the house with two bowls. “I thought you could use it.”

The food smells delicious, as usual, and I realize just how hungry I am. We didn’t stop to eat on our journey back. I accept the bowl gratefully and sit on a log near the fire.

“So, you bought her shoes,” Pavel says, causing the spoonful of potatoes I just put in my mouth to go down wrong. I look up glaring at his grinning face. He quickly pivots and heads back inside.

“Why are you all making such a big deal about it?” I grumble, after I’m finished choking.

“Because you’ve been the most outspoken against her being here, and yet…”

“And yet, I’m a decent human being?”

Maxim exaggerates a groan, then heads for the cottage behind Pavel.

“Kostya, try to make him see just how annoying he is when he protests so much. I’ll be back.”

“Don’t bother!” I call out, but he’s already shutting the door behind him. I swear, that kid is going to get it. Granted, although I say kid, he’s only three years younger than I am. Well, almost. I’ll be twenty-one soon, and he turned eighteen two months ago. If we didn’t have it ingrained in us to protect him, he would’ve already gotten his share.

Igor comes out next, giving me and Kostya a thorough study.

“No issues?”

“None,” Kostya replies, then stands to remove the bucket of water from the fire. It has come to a boil and looks inviting. I’m ready to wash up after being in the forest, that’s for sure.

“We mentioned the changes regarding rules for the traveling passage, and I don’t like where this is going. The queen is clearly making a power play, restricting anyone who wants to enter the kingdom. We had to deal with the border patrol when we came here from Tsarstvo Vesniy, but this is different,” I say, finishing up my food, then standing as well. “Maybe we should take a trip to the passage and see if we can find out more.”

“You can’t go,” Igor replies, “but—”

“I can,” I interrupt immediately. “I can visit the pub and—”

“—I can talk to the guards,” Igor finishes, with a small smirk. He really does know the way my brain works. “You were just gone.”

“And I can’t keep sitting around doing nothing. I can feel it, Igor. There’s a storm brewing, and the first hint of it has reached us.”

He studies me in silence, the way he has for most of my life. Then he nods.

“We’ll go in a few days.”

Before either of us can say anything else, Maxim is back, carrying two cups.

“Here, we’ve got kissel!”

I take it from him automatically, then take a sip, letting the sweet and sour juice travel down my throat. There’s something about the texture of kissel that always soothes my throat. I sigh.

“Pavel has outdone himself,” I say.

Maxim grins. “Actually, Ivanka made it.”

They must see something on my face because even Igor bursts out laughing. I stare at the cup as if it has personally offended me, but I can’t help myself—I take another sip. Kostya downs his own cup in nearly one gulp, before handing it back to Maxim.

“I’ll go clean up first,” he announces, grabbing the bucket and heading inside. The others follow as well, but I don’t immediately. Picking up my discarded bowl, I turn and stare out into the forest.

Everything is different than I expected. It feels like the last few weeks have brought more uncertainty than anything we’ve done since we started. And I’d be lying to myself if it didn’t have everything to do with her.

I look down at my drink, finish it off, and head back inside.

IVANKA

The men have this post-dinner tradition where they all tell tall tales. I know they’re goofing around, but it doesn’t stop me from hanging onto each word. Yasha is a great storyteller. I think it might have something to do with his creative side, he’s usually not the talkative type. It’s a nice change, to hear him speak with such passion. The others aren’t too bad either, but in all the nights I’ve spent here, Yasha’s stories are my favorite.

I’ve moved to one of the chairs at the table, grabbing a piece of bread with jam, and watch as the others settle around the living room. Pavel and Igor are on the couch, Yasha is near the fireplace, and Arseniy is leaning against the bunk beds. Maxim returns from outside and settles down next to his brother. I glance over my shoulder to see Kostya heading toward the bathroom with the bucket. He gives me a quick nod. I turn back to the scene in front of me immediately, because I’m definitely not looking for Dimitri.

“The story of the white duck has been told far and wide.” Yasha’s words recapture my attention, and I sit a little straighter. I don’t think I’ve read this one. I definitely haven’t heard it, as no one has told me bedtime stories for a long time. Yasha strums an introductory melody on the balalaika, setting the atmosphere, and I see the men are as focused as I am.

“There once lived a king who married a beautiful woman. He was quite protective of her and when it was time for him to journey far away, he warned her to stay in the women’s quarters and avoid gossip. The woman listened, spending her days in the gardens in her wing of the castle, dreaming of the day the king would return. But then the wicked witch showed up out of nowhere!” Yasha strums on the strings loudly, making me jump. I chuckle.

“She lured the beautiful woman deeper into the part of the garden where a pool resided, enticing her into the water. Once the beautiful woman was in the water, the witch turned her into a white duck! And what do you know? As the duck watched, the wicked witch took the face of the beautiful woman and left her there.

“Many days passed, and the white duck built a nest near the pond, laying three eggs that eventually hatched into two ducklings and a little drake. The white duck took care of her hatchlings, warning them against leaving the pond and about the wicked witch that wore a beautiful woman’s face.

“But when the wicked witch saw the hatchlings swimming in the pond, she decided to lure them to her side. While the ducklings slept, and the white duck was out in the garden, the drake stood watch. But the wicked witch was…well, wicked. And night after night, while the white duck collected food in the garden, the wicked witch kept calling for the hatchlings.”

The music is ramping up again as Yasha talks, and I can’t take my eyes off him. His face is animated, and he doesn’t even have to look at the instrument to play it—as if it’s an actual extension of his hands.

“Finally, the wicked witch lured the drake away and found the two sleeping hatchlings, killing them immediately.”

I gasp, jerking in my seat, because of course, that’s not what I expected. The men glance over at me, but I wave away their attention, keeping my eyes fixed on Yasha.

“And then?” I ask, and the man grins, looking delighted.

“And then, the king returned. He heard the white duck crying over her ducklings. No one could persuade him to let it be, not even the wicked witch. He ordered the duck to be captured, but no one could catch her.

“Finally, the king went to find the white duck himself. The moment she saw him, she flew into his hands and became a beautiful woman again. She told the king of all that had transpired. As fate would have it, the king had picked up a bottle of magic water on his travels, and he sent his servants to fetch it.

“Once they returned with the bottle, he sprinkled the water over the ducklings and the drake and all three became beautiful, living children. The wicked witch was outraged and tried to flee, but the king caught her and had her punished.

“And then, just like any story that’s worth telling, they all lived happily ever after.”

The music swells again, but this time it’s a sweet melody. I’m grinning, my bread and jam completely forgotten in my hand.

“That was a terrible story,” Pavel comments.

Yasha looks appalled. “What do you mean? It was the one with the best happy ending!”

“After the death of the ducklings?”

“Well, they didn’t stay dead!”

“A warning would’ve been nice. You nearly shocked Ivanka into a faint!” Maxim exclaims, always ready to jump into any argument. Five pairs of eyes turn to me, and I do the only thing I can think of.

I place a hand over my heart and lean back dramatically.

“My poor heart may never recover.”

“See!” Maxim jumps up, pointing in my direction as I sit up again, taking a bite of my bread. “Your stories should come with a warning.”

“As if you could do any better!”

“I could! I would tell stories of—”

“Of what? Have you ever even read a book?”

“I read!”

“What are you doing?”

I nearly jump at Dimitri’s voice near my left shoulder, but thankfully, I catch myself at the last moment. Glancing up, I continue to munch on the piece of bread. It’s something to do instead of gaping at his presence. He unsettles me, but I refuse to let him see just how much.

“What do you mean?” I ask, after swallowing a bite.

“You’re smiling.”

Umm, what? I look at the scene in front of me and then back up at him.

“Yes, this is what normal faces do when a person is enjoying something.” I finally say, watching as his eyes narrow. I turn back to the men and take another bite of my bread to hide a smile. He’s too fun to poke at, at least, when I’m not one hundred percent intimidated by him. It’s a strange combination.

“You’re in a house full of strangers after experiencing something traumatic and you’re enjoying yourself?”

He really sounds like it’s an incredibly novel concept, and for some reason, that makes me curious. I turn my attention to him, as he glances between the men and me.

“Are you only allowed to enjoy yourself when life is perfect?” I ask, surprising both of us. Maybe because I genuinely want to know. Or maybe because it’s the most direct question I’ve asked him since we’ve met. We stare at each other for a long moment, as if we’re both trying to figure out what to do next.

Instead of responding, he turns on his heels and leaves the room, heading toward the bathroom. I watch his retreating back, just as Kostya comes back into the room, freshly washed. He glances at Dimitri before looking at me. I shrug, then turn back to face the others.

Try as I may, I can’t figure out Dimitri’s hot and cold attitude toward me. Besides the castle guards and the servants who rarely met my eye, I haven’t been around many men. The letter from the prince burns an imprint against my thigh where I keep it hidden. I’ve taken it out a few times to find comfort in the familiar slant of cursive. He’s the only other man I know, and I can’t picture him being so up and down with his feelings. He always seems like such a strong pillar of confidence, someone who would know his own mind and try his best not to confuse others.

Glancing down at my shoes, I wonder what possessed Dimitri to make such a kind gesture when he clearly dislikes everything about me. Whatever his motivations are, I’m going to keep the questions to myself, because I’m far too grateful to him at the moment. That, of course, might change, especially if he keeps making me crazy with his antics.