Prequel to a Snow Storm

When I was ten years old, my father gave me a magic mirror.

"For a princess must, by necessity, trust no one but herself," he warned. "This mirror has no interests of its own, and will therefore give you sound counsel. It will also give you someone to tell your secrets to, to keep you from being too lonely on the high path of your destiny."

I did not want to believe my father that a princess could trust no one- but I knew he was right. I had once had a best friend, a pretty girl from amongst the staff. Our friendship was secret, of course- our stations must never be seen to fraternize- but we loved one another dearly. At least, I loved her, until the day I heard her telling stories about me to Cook in exchange for a few tarts. So even at the age of ten, I had experience with betrayal, and I accepted my father's gift for the great boon it was.

At first it was difficult to talk to the face in the mirror- she looked exactly like me, so how could she possibly be any wiser? But time and again, she would give me information or advice that would turn out to be very valuable, indeed. It was she who pointed out to me the power held by the women of the court- power over powerful men, power that resided in their beauty. And when I confessed to her that I, too, longed for such power, she smiled a wicked grin and told me if I would listen to her she would ensure that I was the fairest in the land.

The mirror gave me complicated recipes for potions to use on my hair and skin, to become soft and fragrant. She told me I must give up the sweets I loved, and breads, and yes, even the meats- I must eat only fruits and vegetables, and those sparingly, for at eleven I was too full of baby fat to ever be appealing to a man. She told me how to instruct my women to sew special clothes for me, clothes that would be tight in all the right places, and padded in others. She taught me ways to look, ways to laugh, how to pitch my voice. She told me it did not matter that my brother would inherit my father's throne- for we would find me one of my own.

When I was fourteen the monarch of a powerful neighboring kingdom finally come out of mourning for his dead wife, and announced that he would be holding a ball, to mark the occasion. The mirror hissed with glee at this, for she said that the occasion would really be about him looking over the available royal daughters- of whom I was most decidedly one. He would be in the market for a new mate.

"Am I ready?" I asked nervously, my hands running over the jutting bones of my hips. I felt I was still too rounded in the belly, but a corset could hide that, as well as make the most of my budding breasts.

"My lady you are the fairest in the land," she replied, and her eyes narrowed like a cat who has been at the cream. "And you will certainly be the youngest, which can only be to our advantage. They say this king likes them tender- his dead wife was getting a bit long in the tooth for him, already midway into her twenties. They say her death might not have been an accident..."

"Why would I want to marry such a horrible man?" I cried.

"Because, you idiot girl, he is powerful- which means you will be powerful. And you will not be so stupid as the former queen, to lose your figure to childbirth and let your face fall to ruin. With my help you will remain the fairest in the land, and his eye will never wander."

And then the mirror instructed me on how best to dress, how best to do my face, what jewelry to wear, what scents to apply. I saw my reflection in one of the non-magic mirrors, and it took my breath away- no, he would not be able to resist me.

And he did not.

We were married shortly thereafter (for the mirror was absolutely adamant that I not let him touch me beyond a kiss to the hand, and the man was so hot for me he could not bear a long engagement) and it wasn't until we had exchanged vows that a member of our household introduced me to his daughter.

She was perhaps four years younger than I- about the same age I was when I received the mirror, but far lovelier than I had been at that age. For some unknown reason this disturbed me, but I pushed it from my mind. After all, the mirror continued to reassure me that I remained the fairest in the land, as did the lust in my husband's eyes.

But then came the day, six years later, when I came across him watching her from a distance, and I recognized the look on his face. I remembered the rumors of his past wife's demise... remembered his preference for the young, for the tender (and our white-skinned daughter exemplified both). I watched him watching her with heat in his eyes, and my blood ran cold.