A Visit in Prison

The nature of a prison surpasses walls. It is not the boundaries of propriety and societies' ever changing whims. It certainly is not within the coldness of the wedding bed that Leopold never ventures into. Something that I have always been internally grateful for; the very idea unnerves me in ways that may become my undoing. As much as all of these restrictions shout at me in silent mockery with their ever surrounding presence, I am not imprisoned by any.

Only by the gaping hole that hollows itself more through each passing day. Another moment kept from Daniel, from happiness, from freedom. That is the greatest prison. Myself.

I stroll through the royal gardens and count the seasons by the leaves. Their spring buds and autumn colors are my counters. My marks on my prison wall, so to speak. At times, I laugh openly like the madwoman that I suspect is my new person. Hands free and opened, trying to keep balance. The ivory skin of a queen, shining and bright with the insanity of a witch. The king and his precious daughter find me at these moments to be quite amusing. They only smile amongst each other and pass me off as having a pleasant day.

If only they knew how the steady laughter turns into a tearful fury. The memories of the life that I might have had are my sole comfort; while my pleasures are the dreams of this kingdom's misfortune. Leopold's death with the downfall of his daughter's "fairness."

It is sweeter than the sickliest saccharine experience that life could offer. One that I wait for with the utmost patience. I have to remind myself that every day is part of the price that I pay to reap my final reward of independence and power. Just like today.

And what a day, it has been. I dressed to please no one in particular; as it is that no one notices my presence. A pale pink gown with a snow mink cap. Lovely and elegant but no one's eyes will dare to admire it. I am the king's wife, the forbidden "virgin" queen. That is courtiers' whispering when they think that Leopold has left the room and I am adequately distracted. The king's virility, or lack of, is a common joke. Admittedly though the man has never touched me.

Maybe there is a little truth behind every rumor. The lovely warm sun lightens the day for me and attempts to break the ice around my heart. If I could destroy the sun for a mere moment with Daniel, I know that I would do it without hesitation.

"And this is my wife, Regina."

The apple I plucked stands blood red in my gloved palm. I can hardly remember how it feels to have the skin of something living against my own. Always gloved, always covered, and always separated. Unless, I'm being introduced for Leopold's pleasure as his property.

Finally, I break away to face whoever Leopold is trying to impress, and I am stopped. It is a man, like I have never seen. It is not the wrapped cloth around his head or the bright state of his attire. I almost overlook the distinct earthly hue of his flesh. His kohl traced stare is what holds the greatest amount of my attention. He looks at me with something that I find peculiar. I have known the stares of desire and the bold glances of wantonness. Anger. Now, that is a trait that is unforgettable in any interaction but this is completely different.

I try to smile. I try to speak. Practice the court manners that my accursed mother taught but I find that I can only manage small actions. My lips are the only ones with the courage to move and so they do.

"Hello."

He doesn't even speak. I swallow nervously, against the autumn day and its beckoning of winter. The arches even seem to be calling out for more words to be said but it isn't happening. Instead, the handsome stranger gives a slight bow. He is respectful; a gentleman if allowed to be judged. I don't wait for him to say anything more because a strange sensation is frightening me. An old feeling that I thought had died with Daniel.

Butterflies trapped in my stomach.

I move past the awkwardness and the heightened beating of blood rushing in my ears. I decide that another stroll around the garden is necessary and make my way away from the king's guest. I turn away at a polite speed and go on my way.

I can hear my husband's voice fade away but never the other man's. Leopold continues his rants about the kingdom and its abilities. His daughter. The neighboring allies and enemies. It is still the same boring drabble that I have endured for the past years. I feel some pity for our visitor.

Through the western arch, I see them make their way to the castle. They walk slowly through the lower gardens and I finally catch wind of that man's voice. It is low and pleasing to the ear. He speaks as though he relishes every word that he says and makes it his own. As if he is sharing his very soul and nothing else; not like the chattiness of Leopold who never runs out of insignificant topics to discuss.

Then an echo of my name hits me from below. I glance down and see both men staring up at me. Leaning against the arch and staring down at them. I smile brightly and wave at Leopold as if he was whom I wished to gaze upon. The old man returns my gesture and then leads the dark visitor away with a hand on his shoulder. I don't turn away even though Snow is following after them.

Instead, I wait. My instincts tell me that I must wait. Something is to happen and I cannot depart from this spot. All of them are almost to the heavy timber doors of the courtyard. I shift the picked apple from hand to hand and toy with it until I understand why I had remained.

The stranger stops and for a moment, I feel a spark inside the depth of my heart. His eyes connect with mine and from so far, I know that he feels it too. I shyly bow my head and remain the proper wife to the king.

As expected, he copies my movement and moves away with king. His departure is so sudden of a loss that I am caught off-guard by its intensity. I take a seat under my treasured tree. Its blossoms are my only comfort and its fruit, my only nourishment of soul.

At least, they were. Until him, until he arrived, and stared at me as if I were the grace of gods. I sigh quietly and dig deep for the fury that I have carried since Daniel's death. It rises inside but it is only half of what I normally experience. My visions blurs from the tears that won't shed themselves and I find myself asking a question out loud.

"What is happening to me?"