haunted woods.
As far as princesses went, she was a pretty pitiful one.
Tears fell down her cheeks, running off her chin and settling on her hands, which still covered her face.
Are you going to give up?
Snow wiped her tears and sat up. “Mother?”
It was her mother’s voice, clear as day, but she wasn’t really there. It was just another memory. Another moment meant to tear her heart in two.
Are you going to give up? Mother had said. But when? And to whom?
She lay there and tried hard to recall where these words came from. Finally, she remembered. She’d been sitting in the royal carriage. She remembered the feel of her mother’s hand tightly wrapped around her own small one. The carriage had given a sudden lurch and then stopped. There had been shouting, guards jumping off the carriage and people running. Her mother had sat up and looked out the window.
“No!” she had shouted. “Unhand her!” She looked back at her daughter. “Stay here, Snow.”
Snow was too curious. She had climbed out of the carriage and hurried behind her mother. The guards were standing over an old woman, shouting. Her mother quickly stopped them and knelt down by the woman. She didn’t appear injured, but she looked sad. Her clothes were equally so—haggard and patched up, much like Snow’s own were these days. Lying beside her was an empty basket. A rotten apple lay in the mud beside it.
“I will have the guards escort you home. Where do you live?” her mother asked.
“I have no home, my queen,” the woman said. “The earth is my dwelling, and all I need comes from it.”
“Your Majesty, we must be on our way,” a guard interrupted.
Her mother hadn’t moved. “Not until I am done speaking with this woman,” she commanded in a strong voice. She turned back to the beggar. “The world is a beautiful home, but I would feel better if we gave you some warm clothes to wear and perhaps something to eat.” Her mother hurried back to the carriage and grabbed the picnic basket that always accompanied them on small trips. Snow knew it was full of food, and they rarely ate all of it. “Take this.” She untied the cloak around her neck. “And this, too. It will keep you warm on your journey.” Snow had watched in wonder as her mother reached out and embraced the woman. “I wish you well, my dear.”
“God bless you, my queen,” the beggar had said, and then Snow and her mother returned to the carriage. They both waved as they drove by the woman.
“Small acts of kindness are so important,” she remembered her mother telling her as they had pulled away. “I once stood in the same spot she is now. I came from nothing.”
“I don’t know what I’d do if I had nothing,” Snow recalled saying.
Her mother had lifted Snow’s chin and looked her straight in the eye. “If that day ever comes, are you going to give up? No. You will carry on just as I did. I didn’t give up, and someone took a chance on me.” She straightened and leveled her gaze on young Snow. “Always remember your past, Snow, and let it help you make decisions on how to rule your future. But never, ever give up.”
The memory startled her. She knew her mother had always been generous and kind, but she had long forgotten this memory. And it had been so important.
Suddenly, the air felt cold and she heard another voice.
Your tears won’t change your fate!
It was Aunt Ingrid. She had said those words to Snow the day after her father had left—been banished, killed, who knew?—when Snow had refused to come out of her room to have supper with her. Her aunt had sent for her twice, and Snow still wouldn’t come. She was too distraught. Instead of taking pity on the child, Aunt Ingrid had been outraged. She had flown into Snow’s room and unleashed her full wrath.
How different her aunt was from her mother. And that’s when it dawned on her: This was who ruled their kingdom? A woman whose cruel words and actions spread like venom? Wasn’t Snow the rightful leader in her father’s absence? She was of age. Her father’s rule had begun when he was only sixteen, a year younger than she was now. Her mother never forgot where she came from. Was Snow going to? Would she just lie there in the grass and give up on herself? On her