Fairest

Once upon a time, there was a convention. This convention was a stock phrase and a very old one. In fact, according to Webster's it goes back to 1380 at least. Popular? Oh yes. It began almost every fairy tale there ever was. In French, it was il etait une fois, and in German it was es war einmal, which literally meant "It was once." Sometimes it was translated as "Once there was" or "A long time ago" but most often, this trope was simply translated as "Once Upon a time."

Now, stories that began with Once Upon a time often ended with "And they all lived happily ever after." But Once never got to the end of the stories. He always stayed at the beginning. And that is where he will always be.

Now are you sitting comfortably? Then let's begin. Once Upon a Time . . .

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Snow White, and she had the most unfortunate habit of attracting trouble.

Normally, trouble does not show up and politely announce itself as trouble. Rather, it prefers to disguise itself as something much more innocuous: A “Could you do me a favor?” or “I think this will interest you” or any other of a few thousand disguises. It’s very easy to say no to trouble, but it’s much harder to say no to a friend.

But sometimes trouble has the decency to sweep into your office (where you were definitely not sleeping) like an overdramatic storm cloud of black silk and lace that didn’t even have the decency to knock.

Luckily, however, trouble or in this case Queen Manuella threw my office door open with so much force that it hit the wall with a hearty thunk that was loud enough to startle me into full consciousness. Swiping surreptitiously at the corner of my mouth just in case I had decided to take up the unfortunate habit of drooling in my sleep, I pushed myself to my feet so that I could bend at the waist and duck my head at her in something that might charitably described as a bow. “Your Highness. What a—surprise. Is there something I can help you with?”

Manuella stared me down for a few moments, and I found myself fidgeting uncomfortable under her gaze. She took up too much space in my tiny office, a sentiment that was not completely figurative. No one in their right mind was likely to use the word small to describe Queen Manuella. She was tall enough for her head to nearly brush against the low slanted ceiling, and she was on the heavier side of plump. I knew that look she was giving me. She was especially displeased with my existence. Mentally I flicked through the events of the last few days. What had I done to earn this extra ration of ire? Usually I could tell when my actions or decisions weren’t going to be popular with her. Although maybe that agreement on tariffs with the merchant guild had been a bit on the low side of things but that shouldn’t be enough to earn me a visit and a stare down.

Eventually, she held up an envelope. “This came for me today. Do you know anything about it?”

I shifted my gaze around the room. Was someone going to jump out and explain the joke to me? No one materialized so I was left on my own to sort this out. “Uhm, no, Your Highness. I cannot say that I do.”

She arched a brow at me. “Are you sure? This certainly sounds like one of your . . . plots.”

“Well, it is not.” Probably. Honestly I hadn’t done much plotting lately. But then again I had no idea what Manuella was talking about. Maybe it was my fault. “Excuse me,” I mumbled, scrambling around her and pushing my office door open. I stuck my head through the door. “Did I get any mail?” I asked quietly.

“This is just one of the many reasons why you shouldn’t sleep in your office.” My assistant doesn’t even bother looking up from his work. It’s an admonishment that he’s given me a few hundred times before.

“Thank you, Doc.” I rolled my eyes and thrust my hand through the door opening. “I’ll also be taking that as a yes.” I wiggled my fingers at him, and he gave me a disapproving look but also, more importantly my post. “Thank you.” I passed back to my desk to shuffle through the letters. I found the letter that Manuella must be referring to almost immediately. I didn’t even need to read the address because I recognized the spiked and loopy handwriting.

Robin.

Which would explain why this was my fault according to Manuella. If things went wrong and involved Robin, it was always my fault. Even when I hadn’t seen or been in contact with him for the last four months, it would seem. At least, I thought trying to be optimistic, it’s in his handwriting, so he’s probably not dead. But there were certainly nothing good lurking in the contents of this letter.

I settled my reading glasses on my nose and carefully unfolded the letter. Brace yourself.
Snow,
I know it’s been ages, but this is the first time I’ve had to sit and write really. So I hate to be begging for help first off, but this is important, and I could really use your help. Hopefully you get your mail before mother opens hers. (I snorted. That would have been nice.) It’s a bit of a long story, but I’ve met someone. A young woman actually. We’ve decided to elope.

The word was a punch to the stomach. Married? Robin wanted to get married? To some random woman he met while he was out playing knight errant? No wonder Manuella was ready to flay me alive. Although for a brief moment, I was irked that she actually thought I had something to do with this plan. If I had been involved, Robin certainly would have a better plan than run off and get married quietly. Honestly. But this wasn’t the time to worry about my ego.

“I had absolutely nothing to do with this,” I told Manuella emphatically as I let the letter fall from my fingers. We’ve decided to elope. A quick shake of my head. Have to stay focused.

I shook my head. This was—This was not good. Nor, it was I realized a bit belated, very Robin-like. Sure, my best friend was often impulsive to the point of self-endangerment, but this? Even he wouldn’t dare. Sure, he was easily infatuated by a pretty face, but he knew that and generally didn’t do anything too stupid. He’d gotten burned badly enough that it had taught him caution. But most importantly, Robin, for all his various flaws, was prince of the realm, which he took rather seriously.

“How can he do that?” I asked Manuella picking up the paper again to reread. “I thought you held all of Robin’s suits.”

“Most of them are held by King Garrick actually,” she remarked as usual never passing up an opportunity to correct me. Semantics. She adjusted a ring on her finger. “But that won’t be a problem. He’s planning to wed in Bant.”

Well, that made everything worse, but at least I could see why the queen thought that maybe I had had a hand in this.

Most of the states that had signed onto the Jaron Accords (a two hundred year old trade and defense agreement) had similar rituals and standards required before a couple could be married. The exact traditions differed, but the sentiment was much the same: Both bride and groom were required to be willing, and it would make things infinitely more straightforward if your family supported you.

Bant had no such obstacles. In fact, the only requirement was two willing participants. Naturally, this had made Bant the travel destination for would-be forbidden lovers, which had made the kingdom a bit unpopular among the other Jaron nations as it ruined more than a few familial reputations and ambitions. Bant had adjusted by amending its marriage law so that marriage licenses had to be signed three times: once by the officiate who had actually performed the ceremony, and then by the personal officiate of both bride and groom. Bantians were hardly inconvenienced because one member of the clergy could sign for all three spots. Foreigners not so much.

The new policy worked, effectively putting an end to the flood of eloping couples.

Of course, if one knew enough about the Accords, one could take advantage of a certain loophole. A single signed license in Bant was useless, yes, but take the license to another country without the triple signature rule and file it there? Perfectly legitimate, completely legal and binding. But not the average thing the prince of the realm would really know. Unless he happened to be long time best friends with the foremost scholar and highest authority on interpreting the Accords’ laws.

“Snow White, Fairest of the Land, I, a sovereign ruler of a signatory land of the accords do entreat the aid that you have been charged to provide.”

I did not quite cringe as I bowed my head to the queen. An official call for aid. “I am your patron, your highness.”

“You will stop this wedding and return the heir apparent to his rightful place—here. This will need to be accomplished in a timely manner, and with all due discretion, for any word of this reaching certain corners would have unfortunate consequences. Consequences that we may not be equipped to handle. Any failure on your account will be noted, and action will be taken to impress upon you the seriousness of the position that you hold.”

“Of course.”

A disconcerting smirk twitched Manuella’s lips. “I should have you know, Snow, that I already had an advisor look up acceptable punishments for a Fairest’s negligence of duty such as this.” I didn’t respond, but she wasn’t really looking for one anyway. “It’s a three week stay in the dungeon.”
I stared at her for a few moments. She spread her hands. “I thought I should provide some—hmmm, motivation to carefully consider the intent of my words and not attempt to twist them to suit your own ends.” She swept out, pausing in the doorframe to look back at me. “Good luck, Snow White. We’re all counting on you.”

The door swung shut behind her with a click of finality. “Bitch,” I snarled at the back of the door. But I didn’t even have a moment to spare to be mad at her.