Once Upon A Time
Once upon a time, in a distant kingdom, as the clock struck midnight just outside the king’s bedchamber, our tale began. The palace physicians, their faces heavy with sorrow, delivered the grim news.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. We did everything we could, but we couldn’t stop the queen’s bleeding.”
The king remained silent. Every sound around him was nothing more than a distant murmur. What words could possibly answer such news?
"Forgive us, sire. We did everything that could be done.”
"Did she suffer much?”
“No, sire. She drifted off as if into sleep. She neither cried nor groaned.”
"And the child?”
“A girl... She lives, Your Majesty.”
A woman stepped out of the king’s chamber, cradling a child wrapped in the finest fabrics. The baby was asleep. To the king, everything that was happening felt like a dream he could not wake up from. The midwife placed the child into his arms.
"This... is so pale.”
After a brief silence, the physicians hesitated before responding.
"We believe it is her mother’s illness, sire. Anemia.”
"Leave me.”
As the stone walls of the palace trembled under the whisper of the wind slicing through the night, the king gazed at the tiny body in his hands. The child seemed lost in slumber, her pale skin nearly translucent under the dim candlelight.
When the door closed softly behind him, he was left alone. The silent footsteps of the departing physicians and midwives did little to lighten the weight that had settled over him. The king studied the little girl’s face. He had to give her a name, yet the words caught in his throat. His wife… She had left behind a princess for him.
Footsteps emerging from the depths of the night interrupted the king’s thoughts. The grand vizier entered, bowing his head before speaking.
“My condolences, Your Majesty. I do not wish to disturb your mourning, but… A kingdom without a male heir cannot survive for long. You must have a successor.”
The king turned to his vizier. His voice was as calm as ever, but something within him had broken.
"Don’t you think it’s a little too soon?”
The grand vizier lowered his gaze. ”It is not too soon for your enemies, Your Majesty.”
And that was when the king understood. His queen was gone, but the games around the throne were only just beginning. And the tiny baby in his arms… The queen had given him a daughter he would love more than his own life, yet he needed a son.
As countless thoughts collided and scattered in his mind, the baby stirred slightly, her tiny fingers reaching into the air. The king took her hand in his palm.
“Her skin... It’s just like snow,” he murmured involuntarily.
And so, the tale began.
Years passed, and the seasons changed countless times in the kingdom. The baby who once toddled through the cold stone corridors of the palace had grown into a young woman. Snow White… She lived up to her name, with porcelain-like pale skin and long, silky dark hair. Those who saw her were captivated not only by her beauty but also by her grace. From childhood, she had been kind, thoughtful, and dignified. Anyone who watched her tending to flowers in the palace gardens or playing with the children among the common folk believed she would one day make a great queen.
Snow White’s greatest fortune was not only her father’s love but also the fairness and kindness of her stepmother. Unlike the wicked stepmothers told in fairy tales, the queen truly cared for her, educating her and raising her as a royal heir. Among the people, she was known for her wisdom and sense of justice. Since the day she ascended the throne, she had worked to protect the kingdom’s interests and had proven herself as a ruler alongside the king. Her reign was not secured by beauty or noble birth alone, but by her intellect and determination.
Yet, no matter how powerful she was, an unshakable void gnawed at her heart. For years, she had tried to bear an heir, but no effort bore fruit. The palace physicians had prescribed countless herbal mixtures, remedies, and prayers—yet none had worked. It was not just a personal struggle but a matter of the kingdom’s survival. Snow White was beautiful, intelligent, and beloved by the people, but… she was a woman. Without a male heir, the future of the kingdom would always remain uncertain.
Each day, the queen awoke with hope, only to bury her disappointment deep inside as the months passed. But this morning was different. When she opened her eyes, she felt a strange sensation in her stomach. Reaching for the silver pitcher on the bedside table, she barely lifted it before nausea surged within her. She quickly rose, attempting to reach the window for fresh air, but her vision blurred, and she took deep, steadying breaths.
This feeling…
She had never experienced it before, but she understood immediately. A flicker of hope sparked inside her, filling the years of emptiness with sudden joy. Without hesitation, she called for her attendant.
“Summon the physicians,” she said, her voice trembling. “Immediately.”
As the door swung shut, a shadow passed over the queen’s face. If her suspicion was correct, it was not only her own fate that would change—but the fate of the entire kingdom.
When the physicians arrived, they measured the queen’s pulse, examined her face carefully, and conducted a thorough assessment. It was the best news they had encountered in years; after a long period of waiting, the queen was finally with child.
“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” said the elderly chief physician, his eyes almost welling up with emotion. “Everything looks good. If you take care, it is very likely you will have a healthy birth.”
The kingdom’s most learned seers were also summoned. Under the flickering candlelight, ancient tomes were opened, stars were charted, and after long moments of silence, they finally spoke.
“It will be a boy.”
“He will be strong, like his father.”
“A just ruler he shall be.”
The queen closed her eyes. Those words washed away years of anxiety in an instant. Now, the future of the kingdom seemed much more secure.
The news spread quickly from the palace to the entire realm. Barrels were opened in the town squares, torches were lit, and poets and musicians sang praises of the unborn prince. The people, having waited so long for an heir, were filled with hope. Yet, no matter how joyous the celebrations were, storms still brewed in the depths of the kingdom.
In recent years, unrest had been steadily growing across the land. The whispers about the throne’s lack of an heir had turned into open discussions. Even within the palace, some nobles hoped to see Snow White ascend the throne one day, while others argued that a woman ruler would weaken the kingdom. The queen’s pregnancy quelled these debates for a time, but it did not silence them completely.
Meanwhile, trouble had begun to rise in the outer provinces, particularly in the eastern territories. Intelligence reaching the palace suggested that powerful clans in those regions were growing increasingly resentful of the central authority. These families, who had ruled their lands for centuries, were openly resisting the king’s heavy taxation and appointed governors. But the greatest threat was not coming from the east alone.
In the recently conquered lands, the people had begun to fight for their lost freedoms. Those unwilling to live under the kingdom’s rule stirred rebellion, launching attacks in the dead of night, only to blend back into the populace by day. The army had been sent to suppress these uprisings numerous times, but each effort had only resulted in more bloodshed.
The most dangerous of the rumors spoke of these clans and rebels forming a secret council. According to whispers, this council was not only uniting the unrest in the borderlands but also gathering the dissatisfied within the palace itself. Some even claimed that its members had already infiltrated the highest ranks of the court. This fear was feeding the king’s paranoia, making him see betrayal in every conversation.
As the queen gazed out of the great hall’s window, she could see the distant glow of the festivities. Yet, an unease settled in her chest.
When the celebrations ended, the shadows would begin to move once more.
And this time, the whispers might not remain mere rumors.
In recent days, things were not going well in the kingdom. Rumors of rebellion in the eastern provinces were growing. The king was preoccupied, lost in thought. Yet, he had been unable to refuse the insistence of his old friend and grand vizier, Malter. A hunt, Malter had suggested, would clear his mind, allowing him a brief escape from the burdens that weighed heavily on him. The vizier had personally arranged everything—the finest riders were chosen, the route carefully mapped. “Your Majesty, this hunt will do you good,” Malter had assured him. “It will clear your thoughts and perhaps help you see things more clearly.”
And so, there they were. As they moved through the dense oaks, the hooves of their horses lightly sank into the damp earth. The morning chill had not yet lifted, and a thin mist lingered above the ground. Royal guards rode ahead and behind them, while the king and the vizier rode side by side, discussing the excitement of the hunt. But the king’s mind remained in the palace. With the birth of his son drawing near, his unease only grew. The future of the throne, the rising threat of rebellion—each day, it felt as if there were fewer and fewer people he could truly trust.
Lost in his thoughts, he barely registered the sharp whistle of an arrow slicing through the air. A cry rang out. One of the leading guards collapsed to the ground, an arrow lodged in his throat. A moment later, another soldier was thrown from his horse, impaled by a spear.
Shouts of battle erupted from the depths of the forest.
The king instinctively drew his sword. As he turned, he saw that most of his men had already fallen or were engaged in combat.
“Ambush!” he bellowed. “Form a defensive line!”
But his guards had been too scattered. The ambush was perfectly executed—archers hidden in the trees, spearmen blocking all escape routes. The king pulled his reins, steering his horse toward a safer position, when he noticed something that sent a chill down his spine.
Malter had drawn his sword. But not to defend.
“Vizier?” the king asked, breathless.
Malter locked eyes with him. “I came here to show you a truth you refuse to see, Your Majesty.”
The king’s expression hardened. “What nonsense is this?”
Malter tightened his grip on his sword. “You thought you were uniting this kingdom, but you have only accelerated its collapse. You crushed the eastern peoples, burned and pillaged the lands you conquered. Now, they rise against you. And I did not come here to persuade you, but to pass judgment.”
The king’s face turned to stone. “You… You are one of them. But why, Malter?”
Malter tilted his head slightly. “I saw the truths you refused to acknowledge. You think this kingdom belongs to you, but it belongs to its people—the nobles, the clans, those who deserve their freedom.”
Fury flashed in the king’s eyes. With a swift motion, he dismounted his horse and planted his feet firmly on the damp ground. He raised his sword, pointing it directly at Malter.
“The people?” he spat. “Those you call ‘the people’ have spilled blood along my roads, slaughtered my men, burned my fields! You so-called defenders of justice will never understand what it takes to rule a kingdom!”
Malter hesitated for a brief moment. There was something unyielding in the king’s gaze—an unshakable resolve, the conviction of a true ruler. But it was too late.
A few meters away, one of the rebel leaders silently pulled back his bowstring.
“You’ve spoken enough, Malter,” a cold voice said.
Malter took a deep breath. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”
The arrow flew. The king staggered back as it pierced his shoulder. A second arrow buried itself in his stomach. His eyes widened, a choked sound escaping his lips. His legs trembled, and he dropped to his knees. The sounds of battle blurred into a distant hum.
Malter knelt before him. “I did not want to see you like this, Your Majesty.”
Blood trickled from the king’s lips as he swayed. He wanted to call him a traitor, to curse his name, but all that escaped was a whisper softer than breath.
Malter said nothing. He only watched as the last glimmer of light faded from the king’s eyes.
