PART I: The Unexpected Betrothal

The night that the Queen's Council announced Queen Snow White's betrothal to Marquis Plumpethdor (or Plump as he was better known, for his rather well rounded belly and chubby cheeks) at the Samhain feast, the Huntsman slipped quietly out of the castle. His departure did not raise anyone's attention, for people were rather used to his unexpected comings and goings. However, had they seen him sneaking out of the great hall, they would have still pursed their lips in distaste, for it showed a most vulgar disposition and horrible manners to leave in the middle of the queen's feast. Then they would have wrinkled their noses, thinking that they were not at all surprised; after all he was a huntsman, and even though he had admittedly washed himself for the occasion and looked very dashing in his leather breeches and dark tunic, there was still something scruffy and wild about him.

No one observed the Huntsman leave the hall though, for the people were quite astonished by the sudden news and too busy staring at their queen (the most reverend and cherished, long live the Queen!) half-choking on her wine. As it was, the news had astonished the queen too, for it was the first time she ever heard of her betrothal. And so the rest of the feast was cut rather short, for the queen had an urgent business to take up with her most esteemed counselors and the third course (roasted mutton with mint sauce) was regretfully left unserved.

-o-

Snow stormed into the Council's meeting chamber and gave the waiting counselors the glare. Someone whimpered.

"Betrothal?! Have you taken leave of your senses?" She felt most annoyed, for she had rather looked forward to the roasted mutton with mint sauce. "And to Marquis Plump – Plumpethdor!"

"But Your Majesty, you agreed –" Count Tuppence tried to explain from behind the other counselors, who all huddled together at the other side of the room, the large oak table between them and their most gentle queen.

"I did not!" Snow exclaimed, not at all childishly. But the truth was that at the last council session she had somewhat lost her focus and her thoughts had drifted among all the talk of what would be appropriate color for the new banner Duke Gherkin was designing in celebration of his upcoming marriage, would light green or powder blue be suitably grand, and whether his bride Lady Sonia would wear silk at the wedding, and her thoughts had turned into more pressing matters, namely her afternoon ride with Eric. The man had won their race two times in a row, and Snow was hardly going to let him win a third time. And so as she had contemplated ways in which she could subtly outwit the Huntsman, she might have hummed and hawed and nodded her head at the most unfortunate moment.

"Marquis Plumpethdor is very wealthy," one of the counselors squealed, but Snow could not tell which; the sound came from somewhere behind Lord Budgy. "And most importantly, he is healthy and full of vigor." Snow had seen Marquis Plump demonstrate vigor only towards his dinner, which he consummated with amazing zealousness. One time, Snow had caught him fondling the roasted hind leg of a deer most disturbingly.

"He would make a great royal consort," Lord Trombone said, his nasal voice coaxing. "He would certainly seed healthy royal babies."

Snow, who didn't want to imagine let alone witness Marquis Plump seed anything, shuddered and took on her most serious royal expression and said in her most solemn queen voice, "I will not marry Marquis Plump – Plumpethdor."

"But the time! It's running out!" Lord Budgy sputtered and started his familiar spiel of how getting with a child got more difficult with age – it had been proven – and how childbearing was more dangerous to older women – also very much proven – and taking into consideration how slim the queen's hips were –

"Yes, yes, I know all of that," Snow was quick to cut him short, knowing from past experience that listening to it all would only end in her losing her temper most spectacularly and Lord Budgy shedding hurt tears for the rest of the week. She had heard the same speech every year she had sat on the throne. However, somehow it was different to hear it now at the age of twenty-five than it had been at the age of seventeen. Suddenly Snow felt very old.

"It's true that the continuity of the royal line is a very serious matter," Duke Hammond remarked. He had silently watched the exchange of words and now felt it safe to offer his opinion. "Stability is what we should aim for in all things, for it brings with it contentment and happiness, things which we lacked for so long." Duke Hammond paused and let the effect of his words sink in. He was rather pleased with himself; he had rehearsed the sentence for weeks and had sought a suitable occasion to say it.

"And it might just be, that not only the people would feel contentment and happiness," Count Tuppence braved to suggest, "For surely a companionship and trust that a marriage can offer would ease the heavy burden of wearing the crown."

Then they all looked beseechingly at Snow, willing her to see how right they were and how her getting married was not only prudent and imperative, but the very lifeline of the kingdom and an essential prerequisite of everyone's happiness and success. Snow was not a fool; as a queen she had learned when to do things her own way and when it was better to acquiesce to the will of her counselors and court and people. They all wanted her to get married, and she could even agree that their reasons were sensible even if they themselves seldom were.

"Very well," Snow heard herself say, and was as surprised as the counselors, whose mouths opened most comically in surprise. She hastened to add, "But not to Marquis Plump – Plumpethdor! I will decide myself whom I marry."

"When?" Lord Budgy was quick to inquire, seeing no doubt in his mind's eye how Snow's search could take ages and ages. "The time!"

"Oh, a winter wedding would be most elegant, all that white…" Duke Hammond said dreamingly. And so Snow found herself agreeing to find a royal consort in three months. The wedding would take place on Midwinter's day.

"Splendid!" Count Tuppence exclaimed.

"I will happily assist in all the wedding preparations," Duke Hammond promised.

"Oh this blessed day!" Lord Budgy burst into tears.

"Marquis Plumpethdor will be so disappointed," Lord Trombone sighed.

-o-

With first the surprise betrothal to Marquis Plump and then agreeing to find someone to marry in three months' time, one can understand the fact that Snow didn't notice the absence of her friend and confidante until the next day, when she waited for him to arrive for their daily ride in vain. She wanted badly his opinion of the situation she had gotten herself into and had rather looked forward to his mocking jests and imitations of the counselors. But the Huntsman did not arrive, and discreet inquiries revealed that he had not been seen since the feast of the night before. Suffice it to say that Snow was more vexed than worried. Eric liked to come and go as he pleased, but couldn't the damnable man see that now really wasn't the best of times to go to traipse in the wild?

Besides, Snow's morning had started wretchedly enough. First she had called on Marquis Plump to explain that the news of their betrothal had been a great mistake, and she had had to endure the sight of a man crying noisily while gulping down a dozen boiled eggs at the same time. After a half-hearted apology and letting the marquis know it really had been all her counselors' fault, Snow had left hurriedly, leaving Marquis Plump to take comfort from his mashed potatoes.

Although the news and gossip travelled through the castle like wildfire, and everybody from the highest courtier to the lowest bedpan emptier knew what she had come to say to Marquis Plump immediately after she had said it, if indeed not even before, it still had to be announced officially in front of the whole court. And so Snow had gritted her teeth and had told in the most regretful voice she could muster that she couldn't marry Marquis Plump – Plumpethdor, even though he surely would make a most wonderful husband to some lucky lady.

Of course it had then proved impossible for Lord Budgy to remain silent and not to exclaim, "But she is going to marry!" And now everyone knew she had only three months to find a royal consort, and they were all looking at her, the women whispering and the men simpering, trying to catch her attention and favor. All except Lady Sonia, who casted dark looks towards Snow, murder in her eyes. No doubt the bride of Duke Gherkin was furious that Snow's hunt for a royal consort was threatening to upstage her own upcoming wedding.

The afternoon had hardly been better. Duke Hammond had laid siege to the queen's chambers and had determinedly slung samples of expensive fabric one after another for Snow to choose from. Apparently, there was a lot she had to choose; the color of the dresses and drapes and servants' uniforms and flowers and carpets and linen and so worth, and all of it had to be decided as soon as possible, for the preparing of a wedding took considerable time, if one didn't want to make a botch of it, like some people who shall remain nameless.

Duke Hammond assured Snow that he most assuredly would direct all of his attention to create her the most magnificent wedding of all of the kingdoms that had ever been seen or heard or otherwise witnessed. Snow did not doubt it, for it was well known that Duke Hammond liked to plan weddings and had proved to be rather good at it. He had been quite listless and unhappy lately, for unfortunately there had been a lull in the weddings, and he had not planned one since his own son William had married Lady Audrey in a most spectacular and tasteful ceremony. To Duke Hammond's consternation, Duke Gherkin and Lady Sonia had refused his offer of help, believing they could plan their own wedding better than him. Duke Hammond didn't held very high hopes about the outcome of their ceremony, for he had heard that Duke Gherkin's staff had been seen ordering pigeons, to release them to the sky or to put them in a pie he didn't know, but in any case there were so many things that could go wrong with birds. It was a sure recipe for a catastrophe. There would be no birds of any kind at the queen's wedding.

As the fabric samples seemed to never end, Snow had finally just randomly pointed to a bunch of them and said, "Those! And make everything else blue." The color blue had somehow come to her mind, perhaps because she had thought suddenly that Eric's eyes were strikingly blue. Although Duke Hammond looked a little skeptical and had muttered something about the harmony of the color scheme, that had fortunately been the end of that dreary business. Snow had swiftly, but with great dignity, fled to the stables, where she had, as had already been told, proceeded to wait for Eric. Who had not come. So, the whole thing was quite maddening, and how Eric had the gall to choose that day of all days to be elsewhere!

-o-

Snow might have forgiven the Huntsman if she had known what had befallen him. Or maybe not, for it was true that Eric had left the castle in a hurry to avoid all the annoying wedding preparations that were sure to follow the announcement. He couldn't bear the thought of witnessing the simpering fools planning Snow's wedding to that oaf Plump, couldn't watch her become the wife of the most infernal man, condemned to a life of misery and appalling table manners.

And so the Huntsman had deemed it wise to leave the castle, before he could carry out his urge to violently shake the counselors and squeeze Marquis Plump's flabby throat until the man keeled over. He trudged to the edge of the Dark Forest, gloomy and disappointed. The forest was not full of horrors as during Ravenna's reign, but people still avoided going there, the old fears deeply ingrained and whispered in front of hearths during stormy nights. However, the forest's dreary look suited Eric perfectly, and without a second thought he entered the forest, wanting solitude and quiet and to be far away from any heartless queens and their stupid wedding plans.

But the loneliness of the bare trees only highlighted his own desolation, and the cheerless cry of the birds reminded him of the chatter of his queen's magpies. And as the night grew old and was ready to let the first rays of morning light peek through its fading black, Eric sighed and turned towards home. He hadn't taken any provisions or any of his possessions with him; he had never really thought to stay gone for long. Someone would have to watch the queen's wellbeing and make sure her future husband would treat her with according respect and reverence and not make any untoward and improper advances.

However, the Huntsman had scarcely taken a few steps, when an old man appeared from behind a tall, twisted tree. His back was stooped and he leaned heavily on a walking stick that was really just a sturdy branch. The man didn't look very dangerous, in fact he looked like a strong breeze might knock him over, but Eric knew not all were what they seemed and so he stepped closer cautiously.

"Are you lost, old man?" The Huntsman asked, curious despite himself.

"Lost eh? The way is clear enough, if you could but see," the old man cackled.

Right, it would be that kind of talk. Eric sighed. He really had no time for nonsense; if Snow discovered he had left the castle amid the ridiculous betrothal news, there surely would be hell to pay. For now that Eric really thought of it, he had a hard time believing that the queen would consent to marry Marquis Plump of all people. And if she had – well, Eric could certainly knock some sense into her.

"I'm going back to the castle; you are welcome to follow," Eric said, not really wanting to leave an old man, crazy or not, alone in the middle of the Dark Forest.

"Welcome, yes, you are very welcome!" The old man exclaimed. "I'll give you a great gift!"

Growing impatient, Eric shook his head and started to leave, but suddenly there was a bright flash that blinded him, and a thunderous roar that deafened him, and something horrible that shook and rattled his bones and tore at his skin and made him howl from deep unimaginable pain.

When it was all over, he lay on the ground, panting. Everything seemed fundamentally different, sharper and crisper and fiercer. Eric tried to draw air, to cough, but all that came out of him was a high whine. Alarmed, he tried to stand up, and found out that he could – but on four legs.

For the most annoying, inconvenient thing had happened: he had been turned into a wolf.

-o-