Solstice: A Kingdom of Ice Novella

Book 0: A Dark Faerie Tale

by Paula M. Hunter

Genres: Fantasy; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology; Young Adult; YA Coming of Age; Fantasy series; fairy tale retelling; fae; snow white; faerie Tale; snow white retelling; dark fairy tale; novella

Synopsis

A Kingdom of Ice Novella

Solstice is the partial retelling of Kingdom of Ice, Book 1 of A Dark Faerie Tale Trilogy, told from Khione's (the Snow White character) POV. It can be read by those who haven't read Kingdom of Ice and for those who have, it adds another dimension to the story. Also included are two additional chapters. 

The peaceful Kingdom of Turia awaits the birth of their king and queen's first child, but a cruel twist of fate and a demon's intervention destroys their lives forever. Years later, events orchestrated by Queen Eleanor, Princess Khione's heartless and jealous mother, takes away her freedom and almost her life. She is forced to flee into a nearby forest inhabited by fae.

Release date: May 9, 2020

Print pages: 62

Sample

Chapter One 

They say that having a child changes your life, or in my mother’s case, her life— and those around her— changed long before I drew my first breath. I heard it said that Queen Eleanor’s kind and compassionate nature altered so abruptly, her subjects thought illness or madness had overcome her. The respect she had for the people of Turia and her servants vanished, along with her love for my father King Eldwin. 

Just like lambs and calves, I was born in springtime, but unlike the love and protection ewes and cows show to their offspring, my mother rejected me like the runt of a litter. Her heart had grown cold. She no longer knew how to love, nor wished for that “sentiment” in return. My father loved me dearly and I him, he more than compensated for the lack of affection shown to me by my mother, we had an unbreakable bond. I rarely saw Mother. She spent her days in her rooms avoiding Father and me. Yet in my innocence, I still loved her unconditionally and I wished she would return my embrace and kisses, even though she relished it no more than a lick on the face from her hunting dogs.

 I have a vivid recollection of one day when I was five years old. She entered her bedchamber and I followed behind her. I longed for Mother to show me some affection and asked her, “Do you love me?” 

She paused for a time before giving her answer, “All mothers love their child.” 

I searched her face long and hard in the hope of seeing a softening of her features and a sign of affection in her eyes, but I found nothing but her cold, hard grey-eyed gaze. “You do not love me, Mother. Father loves me and says I should love both my parents. I wish you would love me, I will try to make you.” I slid my hand into hers and gave her my best smile. 

The queen looked down and stared at my face for a moment, before pushing my hand away. She made for the bedchamber door and left without speaking a word. I am certain that was the day I knew in my heart that she would never return my love and tears fell from my eyes that day, but none so bitter as those I would shed in the two years that followed. 

I would often hear my parents raising their voices to one another or arguing. After a particularly vicious argument I witnessed Father leaving Mother’s chambers, as he crossed the threshold, he leaned against the door and gripped the door latch. His face looked ashen as the colour drained from his face. I will never forget the look of pain on his face when he fell to the floor, one hand clutching at his chest. I let out a yell. My stomach lurched as I ran towards him. I sobbed with fear as I clutched at his hands. “Father! Father! Stand up,” I screamed. 

Servants rushed to his side and carried him to his bed. I ran after them and continued to sob. They tried to prevent me from entering the room, but I kicked and screamed at them until they let me pass through. I threw myself onto the chair next to his bed. My mother arrived at his bedchamber at the same time as the physician. When he gave his prognosis, her face showed not one bit of emotion, me on the other hands did not take the news well. I continued to sob as I took Father’s hand in mine and refused to leave his bedside

. He took my hand in both of his and spoke, “If the child wishes to stay by my side I cannot prevent it. Her presence gives me comfort.” 

A little colour had returned to his face. However, the pain remained etched into his features. I made silent prayers for his recovery. I also feared what my life would become without him. My father was my compass, I would truly be lost without him to love and guide me. 

My fears came to pass after five days, as condition had deteriorated. They did not expect him to last the night. His official gathered in the bedchamber. Father requested the queen to come to his bedside. I kept my eyes fixed on my father who lay in his rosewood bed, hidden amongst white cotton pillows and grey woollen blankets. All was quiet in the room apart from the sound of my father’s laboured breathing and the rustling of Mother’s skirts as she approached him. I did not avert my gaze from his ashen face. Dark circles encompassed his eyes and grey streaked his once chestnut-brown hair.

He stared at her and gasped, “Eleanor, you must take care of Khione, you must learn to love our child. His hand shook as he took her hand in his. “You must promise me, Eleanor.” 

She looked at him and replied, “I will do what I can.” Her words conveyed no emotion. 

He gazed at her then at me. My eyes were red from crying and I could barely see him from the tears that continued to fall. He gave me a faint smile, a smile that breaks my heart every time I think of it, and addressed me, “Weep no more my dearest child. Remember you are loved. Your face will be the last one I look upon.” Mother attempted to remove her hand from his, but he held it fast. “I will love you both always,” he whispered. The light faded from his hazel eyes, and his rasping breath halted. 

Realising that was the moment he left this world I became hysterical. I sobbed and screamed, “Father, Father, do not leave me!” I threw myself onto his now lifeless body and continued to weep. Mother prised her fingers from his hands and tried to lift me from the bed. I would not allow her to move me away and clutched him closer. My anguished turned to disdain, “You killed him! You killed him and I hate you!” I spat, every word laced with scorn. I then turned on her and rained blows on her with my fists. 

She stepped away from me and ordered her lady-in-waiting and maid to remove me from the room. I lashed out again, kicking and shrieking, but I could not fight them off and they took me from the room. My screams reverberated throughout the castle as they carried me— with great difficulty— to my bedchamber. 

Without Father, my life became a void. It was if the sun had gone from the sky leaving my world cold and empty. Grief-stricken, I could not eat nor sleep. I found no solace in my Mother as she avoided my presence. Instead, I formed a closer attachment to my nursemaid and former wet nurse, Agnes. She dried my tears, sang to me, told me stories and consoled me at night when I woke up crying and in despair. Agnes became my substitute mother. 

My mother forbade me from attending Father’s state funeral. I reluctantly looked out from my bedchamber window, with Agnes by my side. I stared at the grey, cloud-covered sky. The weather had perfectly captured my mood. It had now only to rain to match the tears I had shed since his death. Looking down below, I watched the queen and her many courtiers carry out their dark and solemn funeral procession toward the chapel. Dressed head to foot in black and carrying a red rose, my mother gave the appearance of a wife in mourning. Tears began to trickle down my face, but this time they were not tears of sadness or anguish, they were bitter and aggrieved tears. I looked down on her in anger, with disdain now replacing my grief I clenched my hands into fists and pounded the window. “I hate you, Mother,” I yelled. I wished she could have heard but, but alas that was impossible.

Agnes placed her hands over my fists. “Your Royal Highness, hush now. We will have no more talk of hate.” 

I spun around, threw myself into her arms and lay my head against her. Between sobs, I asked, “You will never leave me, will you Agnes?” I found comfort in Agnes’s familiar scent of lavender water. Agnes gathered me into an embrace. Stroking my hair, she said, “I will be by your side for as long as you need me, Ma’am.” 

“Do not call me Ma’am, my name is Khione.”

 Agnes clicked her tongue. “Do you wish me to anger your mother? You are a princess and shall be addressed as such. Will Princess Khione suffice?”

 I stared up at her. “I suppose it will have to do,” I muttered. 

***

All in the Kingdom of Turia mourned for the loss of their wise and just king. I was not alone in fearing a future without him. The people knew how much Queen Eleanor had changed. They feared what she would be capable of without her husband’s intervention and their fears were not unfounded. She soon showed the extent of her heartless persona. When she arrived back at Ruhan Castle, from my father funeral service, she ordered her gardener to remove all the rose bushes, shrubs, herb garden, plants and trees from the castle gardens and beyond. I heard that at one time my mother often frequented the herb gardens, and spent many an hour in her beloved, fragrant rose garden.

 I saw with my own eyes, the contempt she gave her servants and courtiers. She dismissed those who did not pander to her outrageous demands. The queen now surrounded herself with like-minded people and those who flattered her ever-growing vanity. She believed that many plotted to overthrow her and seize the throne and the kingdom. Trials for treason and executions became commonplace. The once peaceful kingdom of Turia came close to war with the neighbouring kingdoms if they questioned the queen’s sanity. The townsfolk now dubbed Turia, Kingdom of Ice, due to the coldness of her rule, moreover the coldness of her heart. 

My sorrow and grief increased, as I witnessed my mother’s monstrous behaviour. She forbade me her to dine with her after I asked what had become of her lady-in-waiting. I discovered much later that her lady-in-waiting had become so distressed by the queen’s despotic behaviour she had left Turia with her entire family, soon after family members abandoned court. They preferred exile than be on the receiving end of Mother’s frequent acerbic remarks and temper tantrums, not to mention her penchant for imprisoning those who disagreed with her. To her, the fact that there were family had no bearing.

After my mother banished me entirely from her presence, I ate all my meal in my bedchamber. Agnes had now become my substitute mother. Her red-haired daughter Gerda, who was only a month older than I was, formed a close bond. We often played together and on occasions fought just like siblings. Gerda’s flame hair matched her temperament when we argued over who despised Queen Eleanor the most.  We often played in the remains of the castle gardens. With every rose, flowerbed and tree now gone, and the grass on the lawns withered, the starkness gave a foreboding appearance to the grey masonry of the castle walls. 

One day while we played outside, I said to Gerda, “I wish we were sisters.”

“So do I,” she said. “Why did the queen take the flowers and trees away?”

I shook my head, as I did not understand my mother’s reasoning. “I do not know. The garden looks like a graveyard.” As I spoke those words, a sparrow perched on my shoulder and began to twitter. I started with alarm, then surprise when I realised I could understand the bird. “Yes, it is such a shame little sparrow. There are no trees for you to build a nest,” I said. 

“Did you understand the bird?” asked Gerda.

Her emerald green eyes widened at my reply, “Yes, that is strange and strangest of all, it understood me. The sparrow tweeted once more, and then flew away. Her words made me smile.

“What did he say?” asked Gerda.

“She said she would build her nest in the Forsaken Forest.”

“We must tell mother,” gasped Gerda. “The last one to the castle is a troll.” 

I giggled and ran on ahead of her over the withered lawn Gerda’s short legs were no competition for my long limbs. We both headed for the servant’s entrance. I reached the entrance before Gerda. “You are a troll,” I teased. She pulled a peculiar face and stuck out her tongue. We both laughed until we were breathless and then entered the castle. By the time we had found Agnes, we had caught our breath. 

She appeared to be astonished when we told her our tale. “You have a special gift,” she said. 

“A special gift, how wonderful,” I gasped, and for that moment alone the feeling of joy in my heart, that had vanished since the death of my father returned.