SNOWRED

It’s a real shame that being outside doesn’t fix my nervousness. The more I avoided Snow being in my house, the more I wonder… I wonder of many strange things… forbidden thoughts.

I can’t help my mind.

I imagine that when I open the back door, I’ll catch Snow undressing and he’ll comment on a need to fix a stuck lace at his breeches – something I could fix with nimble hands. I imagine the weapon that lies underneath… bulging in front of my face… so close…

Another fantasy – while picking weeds and chewing on a sprig of rosemary – I imagine sleeping next door to Snow, hearing him wake in a sweat from a terrible dream. I’d check on him, give him a cold press, pat his cheek, hold his hand. He’d smile at me.

Again – another scenario – the most repeated in my head. I’m being awfully brave, I’m undressing for Snow, while he sits on the rocking chair, watching me strip in front of the fire that he made – I enjoy the thought of being a confident, experienced woman; except that I am far from such a thing…

CHOP.

Many hours later, the sun is eventually setting and Snow has left me alone to stew on my thoughts.

CHOP.

I huff out a breath, now knowing Snow is preoccupied with cutting up logs on the other side of the house.

CHOP.

I didn’t have to check on his skill –

CHOP.

But I might have to check on the well, and bring in a few clean buckets of water. I stand up and pat my dirty palms over my overalls and walk around the side of the log cabin, towards the echoing sound.

I peek around the corner briefly and I see the sculpted back of Snow, with his hair out, as he holds an axe with not two hands, but one – which is very unsafe.

The problem is that the wood is chopping uneven every time because he’s – he’s missing the shots.

Snow kicks aside smaller useless logs quite violently as he attempts to line up and split the largest one he can find.

After rolling it over this way and that, I see Snow raise the axe and pause dramatically – I wanted to admire his beauty – but I had to intervene.

“You’re missing every time!” I call out. Snow lowers the axe and watches me approach with my hands clasped, “You’re too far right off centre, aim for the left and you’ll hit the middle –”

“I’ve tried that,” Snow snarls under his breath, but pauses as I confidently yank the axe out of his hand and drag it along the ground, “What are you doing –”

“Showing you how to cut wood, obviously,” I pick up a smaller log that he chipped the bark off, “So, I can only do small ones but – I also hate doing this, hence I’ve avoided it. It’s cumbersome, anyhoo –”

“Now she talks…” Snow stands back, but I avoid his gaze as I raise the axe over my head and slam it down fast and precisely through the middle, “…that’s actually quite impressive from a child…” he compliments me, but I blink slow, sick of the incessant insult. As I finally raise my eyes and look at Snow, with the axe in my palm – boom, my pupils suddenly dilate and my blood rushes faster through my veins.

Fight.

Hunt or be hunted.

Where did those thoughts come from?

My god. The axe.

I’ve focused, quite suddenly, on Snow’s neck and the pulse beating in time with his heart – boom, boom, boom.

If I cut that line on his throat, he’d be dead in minutes –

I drop the steel axe and step back away from it.

“My mind,” I gasp, “I’m sorry, it –”

“Instincts. Relax,” Snow speaks casually – genuinely unafraid. He eventually dismisses my worry by stepping forward and picking up the axe.

Without a word, Snow starts lining up larger logs and chopping through every single one.

CHOP. Another. CHOP. Another. CHOP. Precise centre lines.

Everytime.

I stare at the logs getting split, two halves fall away, opening the middle – bang, bang, bang!

Liar.

He pretended to have trouble cutting the wood – to test me, to get my reaction, to get my attention. Typical dog.

Snow abruptly drops the axe and turns to my stunned form, as the sun continues to drop more steadily now towards the horizon, “Get inside, Ellie, clean up and start making dinner.”

No emotion. Just an order. Then Snow turns back to the wood to continue and I pause with my hand raised.

I want to find fault with what he’s said–

My breathing gets louder, he hears – but I can’t find the words to my frustration. So, I turn and I walk inside, tentative as I close the door, choosing not to slam it.

“Lying prick,” I hiss under my breath, once alone, “…he eats my food…” I look at the kitchen, “Then lies. And tells me how to run my own house. Bastard.”

I won’t obey that kind of arrogance.

Now alone briefly, I storm into my room, peel off my boots and socks, then I start unbuttoning my overalls, I throw them aside and I peel off the rest of my sweaty clothes underneath.

I can hear the distant chop, chop – until it ceases and I glance up, not realising I left the damn curtains open, since I was so deep in my thoughts.

I expect to see Snow peeking in, but he’s not – the back door slams next and I turn to see my bedroom door also wide open.

Why was I so stupid?

I sprint over to my door and shut it, quietly, almost about to slam it but I don’t want to bring any negative attention to myself.

Now naked, I choose to slip on a brown baggy gown for bed, and a red knit scarf to pull around my neck – thick patchy stained socks for my feet, and a pair of old wool slippers.

Armed with layers of clothes, I open my door and shuffle my way into the kitchen.

I avoid Snow’s gaze, as I decide to boil a kettle of water for tea – nothing else for now.

By the time I’ve set that up, I turn around to see what Snow is doing. After piling wood into the fire place, he’s sitting on a small but cozy couch, wide eyed and frozen as he just stares at me, eye nearly popping out of his skull.

“What is it?” I ask, clenching the counter tight.

“Why are you dressed like a granny?” Snow asks, genuinely shocked, “Girl. Have you never worn a proper day dress?”

“How dare you assume what I should wear, simply to please you and your ideals – ”

“You misunderstand me, Ellie!” Snow jumps to his feet, using his booming voice to drown me out as he opens his palms, completely exasperated, “You should be fitted in corsets and pretty shoes and whatever gold tiaras you please – what is this -?” Snow can’t even contain himself, storming up to my front and grabbing my scarf, he unwinds it and yanks it from me, out of my flailing grip.

“Hey, give it back –”

Snow places a hand over my neck, “I want to see your pretty throat,” his hand starts to slip lower and I back off, rounding the counter to separate us.

The thing is, Snow doesn’t seem aroused – he just seems disgusted and appalled.

I am blushing with beet embarrassment from this interaction.

“Sit and stoke the fire while I make some stew,” I whisper, “Please, Snow.”

“You have no money?” Snow turns and gives in briefly, only to sit and ponder his thoughts, leaning his chin on a hand upon his elbow as he sits this time in my rocking chair, “No matter, I have chests upon chests of gold hidden in this Valley. I’ll grab some gold coins. We’ll go shopping tomorrow in the town.”

“You can’t be seen, you’re a wanted wolf-man,” I hiss.

“You think I care what the Valley thinks of me?” Snow looks distant, harbouring a fire of curiosity, beyond just my body… now he seems interested in my future. I guess that was better than wanting to take my virginity… but why was that upsetting me so much, the fact he was straying from that into other areas? “We’ll buy you some attire that suits your figure – that makes you more confident. We’ll bring out your natural beauty so you can see it for yourself.”

“It’s not we,” I blurt it before I can take it back, my hands still on the counter, barely beginning to prepare dinner, because I just stare at him instead.

Snow eventually shakes off his thoughts and turns to me in slow motion, his gaze now focused on my immediate presence.

“…excuse me?” Snow raises a brow.

“There’s no we,” I hiss, “I’m your friend. Nothing else.”

“Aye,” Snow kicks back in the rocking chair, “Friend.”

I thought he wanted my pussy, so he’d need my legs.

I start to get busy, chopping what left overs I can find to make a haphazard stew, flavoured with rosemary to be served with nothing but bowls and spoons; since he ate the only bread I baked already.

Snow remains silent, even as I do as he bids and prepare our dinner.

Sloshing it into bowls once it’s done, I lay both on the counter and I eat standing.

I don’t tell Snow it’s ready, he just stands to intercept his bowl as I sip mine slow, from my end, angrily glaring at his steaming stew.

Snow lifts it and drinks his soup directly from the bowl.

“Not bad,” he murmurs, sipping slow.

“No one asked for your opinion,” again, I let the cat out of the bag.

My true feelings, bottled up, angry because he was so calm and collected and nice –

I’ve done it now, though – I’ve left myself vulnerable to the most scathing attack. By an ex-King. I’m sure Snow had handled far worse disrespect in some conversations. He could tear right through me. I know it. He knows it.

So, Snow keeps strategically quiet – and my hand shakes. I drop the spoon and pick up the bowl, deciding to finish it quickly.

Snow is already done, staring at me – cold and with a mean, narrowed ice blue eye.

I slam my bowl down, wipe my chin and decide to run.

“Goodnight,” I whisper and turn, heading to my room.

I wait for Snow’s response but he says nothing.

A long time passes where all I can keep repeating, is pacing my room back and forth, curtains closed, shaking out my hands and my sillies.

Such silly words – what was I thinking?

With my door locked, I eventually find myself lying under the covers, my head set on a rough pillow, staring at the log ceiling.

The very moment I close my eyes and my breathing slows to some sort of calm state – I hear a crack of wood and the bend of metal.

My eyes snap open to the door getting broken off it’s hinges, revealing Snow standing there, completely naked, staring at me, fists clenched and dick hard.

I stare way too long where I shouldn’t.

“I’ll be next door, Ellie,” Snow sound so unnecessarily royal, as he picks up the felled door with one hand and effortlessly chucks it into the living room, keeping access to my room open, “…if you need me,” Snow stares at me with a knowing heat in his gaze, “I’ll be jerking off to the sound of you breathing while you sleep.”

“How ghastly of you…!” I whisper, truly shocked.

“It’s that or a fate much worse – you can clean the mess in the morning, if you’re curious what seed tastes like – I’ll dirty a rag just for you, granny,” Snow leaves it at that, casually walking away, cock in hand.

I blink at the ceiling.

He called me granny again.

Oh, how… how oh how was I going to prove Snow wrong about this particular label?

I think I had my answer.