Meeting Snow White
The prince carried that glass coffin with him wherever he went.
Well, no, his servants bore that burden.
The 400-pound coffin was brought everywhere, from his dinners to his recitals. Everyone adores the charming prince so he could get away with a lot, but this was pushing it.
At last, upon the third night when the prince left dinner to wash up, someone said something.
“It’s a casket! A FUCKING DEAD BODY!”
Several shushed him for fear the prince would overhear, though the servant stood from his seat.
With a furious look, he gestures wildly to the casket that displays the princess. Or, the supposed princess, anyway. The lady inside is indeed beautiful. Her elegance, even while dead, rivals that of actual princesses.
Though, the servant says, “For all we know, she’s a concubine!”
“We know, we know! But what can we do? The prince has... strange habits, but—”
“He’s a fucking psycho!" he says, hissing. “Why do we have to lug this corpse around?”
To everyone’s horror, he lifts the princess from the casket. He props her up on her feet, though she only falls back into his arms. “See what I mean? What is he even going to do with her!? He only stares at her all day!”
“Can’t even fuck her!” He hits her on the back of the head. She falls to the marble floor, a resounding thud lurching everyone’s hearts.
Then, a cough.
At first weak, but then sputtering, thunderous coughing in the silent hall. Nobody breathes. They watch dumbstruck as the girl rises to her feet. Her pale face has become flushed from the coughing fit, her dry lips smacking together.
She turns to the servant who hit her. “Can I have a glass of water?”
The servant, mouth agape, points a shaking finger at her. “You— you— you are—”
“Ah, yes.” She drops a curtsy, head bowed. “I have yet to thank my savior. Thank you for waking me. Though,” she says, rising, “There was no need. I ate that apple on purpose.”
His eyes dart to where she’d been lying, to a sizable apple chunk. The fateful poisoned apple that caused her doom. It has been in her throat all this time, and now, now that it dislodged, she is alive?!
Just then, the doors reopened.
“Now, dear princess, it is time—”
The prince falls short of words when he sees his “dear princess” alive and well. His adoring gaze narrows, flicking between the open coffin, the princess, the apple chunk, and the pointing servant.
A vacant calm falls over him.
The servant sits in a cold sweat in the prince’s chambers, victim to his laughter. The princess, sitting beside the prince, is equally confused. She hasn’t spoken since the prince discovered her un-dead body.
Rather than doing away with his head as he woefully imagined, the prince brought them to his chambers. Though, the burst of inane laughter is making any gratitude difficult.
Finally, the prince calms down, wiping at his eyes. “You must be thinking, ‘Oh no! What’s going to happen to me now that I’ve revived the princess?! Is he going to kill me?’”
Yep, about right.
Chuckling, he says, “Worry not. Why would I kill the savior of my dear princess?”
“I can think of no reason, your highness.”
“What is your name?”
“Demetrius, your highness.”
“Please,” he says, waving a hand. “Drop the formalities. We may as well be brothers! Call me Charming.”
Demetrius looks at him with raised brows. Truth be told he nor any of his associates knew the prince’s real name. They all thought ‘Prince Charming’ was an alias.
The prince levels his gaze with a bright smile, pitifully honest.
To think, it’s his real name...
A muffled laugh.
Demetrius looks to the princess, though her expression is blank. Scooting forward, the prince takes her chin in hand and turns her towards him, smiling more gently. That soft look, the dazed look in his eyes, the unconditional adoration...
Demetrius tries very hard not to gag.
“My dear, you may not remember me. I’m the one who found you in the woods, lying in that glass coffin. From the moment I laid eyes on you, my heart has desired no other. Pray tell, what is your name?”
He can’t contain his disgust, bile rising as he turns his head. Thankfully, the prince is too distracted to take notice.
“Snow White,” the prince sighs, the words rolling off his tongue like honey. He descends upon a knee, his burning gaze fixated on her alone. “Snow White, would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”
You’re the prince. You’re young, handsome, and rich, Demetrius thinks. She couldn’t refuse even if she wanted to.
Yet, much to the surprise of everyone in the room, the princess not only refuses, but she hitches her skirt and kicks him in the head. The prince falls to the ground unconscious. Then she turns to Demetrius.
“Are you coming or what?”
Demetrius looks up at the glaring princess, then to the unconscious prince who just confessed his love. Then to the princess, who may or may not have killed said prince.
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