Daughter of Death -Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Daughter of Death

A Snow White Retelling

CHAPTER ONE

King Arnaud and Queen Imogene came into succession of the Bayern throne in The Fifth Age after the long and prosperous reign of his grandfather King Orson for fifty wonderful years. The new royals were beloved by their kingdom and well respected by their neighbouring monarchs still after over a decade on the throne. Peace it seemed was easily maintained by this fact and The King knew the only impedance upon his rule was the absence of a direct heir to his throne.

He and his wife had longed for a child and had tried in vain to conceive. When they realized their misfortune, they then sought every option they could find within their kingdom and the next and the next, but all roads led to disappointment. They were childless. Nothing had prevailed.

Neither gave up hope although as the years passed they were filled with less and less of it knowing Her Majesty’s childbearing days were growing shorter every year.

One chilly winter’s afternoon in the eleventh year of their reign, The Queen sat staring out into the snow covered kingdom outside of her window sill. She wondered what would become of their lives if she did not become a mother. Would there be revolution to take over the throne? Would she and her husband ever be truly satisfied with their lives if they never became parents? For her in this very moment, she felt despair fearing the worst answers to all that she now pondered.

The Queen began to weep softly into her handkerchief. 

A soft noise pulled her attention several moments later. She looked up to see a bird shivering on the windowsill. The poor creature looked half frozen to death. She immediately tried to open the window but the casement seemed to be frozen shut. Imogene was determined to rescue this poor creature and so she tugged and strained with the latch until at last it burst open. After the abrupt movement was concluded, The Queen realized that she had cut her finger. Three drops of blood fell onto the snow and the dark bird hopped forward to stand in front of the stains.

“Thy child shall be given thee for the cost of this blood sacrifice,” came a voice. “Do you accept?”

The Queen was startled but after recovering herself for a few moments, she gave it thought. Imogene decided that the cost of three drops of her blood was more than worth being granted a child. She and her husband had tried far more painful, taxing and strenuous means which had gotten them nowhere. She could not see any harm in this payment. Not to mention, the blood had already fallen into the snow and she certainly was unable to reclaim it. “I accept.”

“One day your lovely daughter will have lips stained red as a rose, hair as dark as night and skin as pale and as pure as this snow. Do you still accept?”

Thinking this sounded wonderful, The Queen again voiced her agreement.

The voice did not answer her. 

For many days following The Queen wondered whether she’d imagined the entire conversation. The only proof she now had was the dead bird outside her window casement for the three drops of blood were nowhere to be found.

She did not know the life of the bird and the drops of blood had been taken as payment and sacrifice for her wish to be fulfilled. She did not know that blood and the taking of life would become her child’s legacy...

~

“I believe I am with child,” The King heard his Queen tell him and he could not believe his ears at first. He shook his head.

“Please repeat that my love.”

“I believe I am with child,” she told him again with more excitement at having to say it aloud once more.

“B-but…” The two had not tried in months to conceive and in awareness of this The King suddenly felt a sting of worry and betrayal. What secrets had she hid from him that she might now carry a child? “That is impossible,” he stated trying to sound plain and factual and leave the hurt from his tone.

“It is not. My darling, feel here; feel the life growing there,” she told him grasping his strong hand and placing it to her abdomen. “It is our child at last.”

There was indeed a swelling of flesh there now. He found it hard to meet her green eyes now so full of hope and happiness. “How can it be ours?” Arnaud whispered. “We have not…we’re not…” It was hard to even voice his concerns for he loved his wife with all the depths of his heart and to even insinuate that she had gone and found a solution without his knowledge whether it be intervention of some soothsayer or company of another man to her bed was betrayal enough either way to cut him deeply.

“This is our daughter,” Imogene insisted, “a miracle from the last time we sought to conceive her.”

“That was four months ago at least. How is it now that we are granted such a miracle?”

“Do you remember earlier that day I had cut my finger on my casement? That day, I had such an odd conversation –so odd in fact that I thought I had imagined it. I had been told by a voice in the winter wind that we would be granted a daughter. And so now we have been. I have suspected for two months now at least but I was afraid; so afraid it wasn’t true. I did not wish to tell you and break both of our hearts when I was found not to be carrying a life within me. But now, there is little denying it to myself and I have sought out the opinions of many midwives and wise women who all cannot deny it either. I am with child, Arnaud! We have been blessed!” she exclaimed with tears of joy and relief running down her long face.

At all this explanation, King Arnaud found himself brought round to the happy truth. He and his Queen had long last been granted a child of their own conception! He grasped his wife into his arms and swung her around in joy before kissing her over and over with tears now running down his own cheeks and falling unceremoniously from his chin.

Despite the happiness of the couple, they soon realized all desolation was not over with for many infants were not carried to term or died days, weeks or even months after their birth. The King and Queen took every precaution in the hopes that this miracle child would live and they would be blessed to become parents of their little princess who could then grow under their guidance and love. Neither realized that with this promise of life, death clung as heavily and as equally to their child’s fate.

The Queen’s screams in labour had died out minutes before. His Majesty The King had then heard the faint sounds of a child crying and the general murmur of voices in the room and he waited with some impatience to be allowed to see mother and child.

Their daughter had arrived early; a month in fact before the livelihood of summer was taken by the first falling of leaves of autumn. Both parents and their closest servants and all of the midwives had prayed throughout the hours of The Queen’s labour that the child would be born safely and would be healthy. Their prayers were answered.

The door opened and a woman curtsied carefully, a small bundle in her arms. “She’s a bit small Yer Majesty but all seems te be well with `er. I present ye with yer daughter, Sire.” The midwife held the bundle carefully as she passed it to her king and Arnaud looked upon the face of his child for the first time. He at once began to weep with happiness and pressed a kiss to the child’s head feeling eternally thankful. “Thank you,” he murmured to the midwife and to the skies above simultaneously as he moved forward to enter the room to which the door was now closed.

“I’m afraid Sire ye cannot go in just yet. We must make `er Majesty and the room fit for presentation.”

“I understand. Please send my regards to my wife; I am most eager to see her.”

“Yes Sire.”

“And let our daughter be with her mother now.”

The woman hesitated at this breech in protocol but nodded and took the young princess back into the room with her. The King had decided his official announcement to his people from the castle balcony could be made once he had spent some time with his family as a whole and shared a few intimate moments of happiness.

The wait of a quarter of an hour following seemed to take an eternity. But at long last, he heard the latch of the door being moved and The King strode forward eagerly to meet a younger woman than the last at the door who curtsied and could not meet his eyes.

“Your Majesty I... I’ve come to permit you into the room that you may see your wife.” Her voice was little above a whisper and The King equated it to the young woman’s nerves being faced with royalty.

“Thank you.”

“Y-Your Majesty?” she interrupted when he tried to stride past her, “We cannot stop the bleeding Sire. I’m... I wish to warn ye.”

Arnaud’s dark brows pulled together at these words. “What do you mean?” His heart had begun to race.

“Please sir-Sire you... We’ve covered her up as best as we can that she may- that it might be presentable to your eyes...” The young woman found it difficult to explain and to deliver such news. In that moment she could not understand why the older more experienced women could not have done this; he was their King no less which made all of this the more difficult.

Arnaud all at once felt numb and terrified as he moved past the girl and entered the room barely conscious that he was even moving.  The King did not see the bloodied sheets and cloths piled to the side –all of which including the bedclothes would have to be burnt as they were ruined by the saturation of The Queen’s blood.  King Arnaud only saw his beautiful wife, Imogene, on the bed covered by a dark coverlet with only her now pale face revealed; the sweat of labour still upon her brow and cheeks. Her eyes were closed. “Imogene!”

His hand was upon her cheek, cradling and caressing her as he willed her to open her eyes and wake; to stop this horrible nightmare from going any further. She still felt warm and his hope remained clung around his heart as he pulled back the blanket to find her hand and hold it. There was blood on her nightgown which startled him to freeze for several moments before regaining his senses and taking her hand. “Imogene! Imogene my love!”

“I’m sorry Sire,” the eldest midwife spoke, “There’s nothing we can do for her. The bleeding won’t stop. May her soul be taken to peace...”

“NO!” he exclaimed firmly as though his word; his royal degree would stop Death from snatching his wife away from him.

He stroked away the bits of dark chestnut hair stuck to her forehead and pressed a kiss there. Queen Imogene found strength enough to open her eyes now to speak one last time with her beloved.

“Arnaud... Our daughter...isn’t she beautiful?”

“The most!” her husband agreed, tears coming down his cheeks.

“Where...is...” Her green eyes searched for their child. The midwife holding the baby nearby stepped forward and gave the princess to her parents laying her in her mother’s arms. The Queen managed a smile. “She is so pure...like the snowfall the night she was conceived. She needs a name to...represent that purity.”

The King smiled sadly. “What about Purity?”

“She should be...given such a nickname when it comes time for the ceremony,” The Queen spoke with a weakening tone –referring to the official naming celebration of their kingdom that also provided the child another nickname of sorts to represent a trait the parents wished their baby to grow with, “Wh-at about...Alba?”

The word in Latin meant white.

“Or Blanche –the French variant,” The King offered up –thinking of the languages he’d studied.

His wife did not reply she was fading away fast. 

“My darling please stay with me,” The King begged, “Is it to be Alba then? Or Blanche? Albera?”

“Reina,” she exhaled weakly pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head. This name was a variant on the word which meant ‘pure’.

It was the last thing Queen Imogene ever uttered and her husband cried for weeks afterwards wishing she’d had more time.

Giving her child a name, Queen Imogene died thus fulfilling again her child’s destiny: that blood and death would always be tied to The Princess’ existence.

Princess Reina was always and would remain a daughter of Death.