The Poisoned Princess: A Snow White Retelling (The Skazka Fairy Tales)
The Poisoned Princess: Chapter 18

DIMITRI

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. When I woke up this morning, I was ready to keep my distance, at least, until I figured out exactly what to do about my feelings for her or how they’re playing a part into the plans we so carefully crafted a year ago. Not that anything has been going according to plan anyway. Especially not since she showed up.

Now, as I run my fingers through her hair while I pour the water over her scalp, I think that I may never get over her. I should’ve kept my distance. When everything comes to light—if we have to use her—she might not forgive me.

I watch as she closes her eyes, sighing a little. Taking one of the bars of soap, I lather up my palms before returning my focus to her. Even though I was just touching her, I hesitate. Volunteering to do this was automatic, but I’m in so much trouble.

Slowly, I reach down, running my fingers through her strands, gently massaging the soapy mixture into her scalp. She sighs again, and the sound goes straight to my gut. I take my time separating each strand, moving slowly and meticulously throughout. She’s washed her hair since she’s been here, but it’s always been a quick rinse and then it goes back in a braid. I untangle it as carefully as I can, separating the locks as I soap them up.

Once I’ve soaped up her head, I go back to her scalp and massage it gently. She makes a tiny noise at the back of her throat and my hands shake. I remove them, reaching for the ladle I grabbed from the kitchen and use it to pour water gently over her head. I work in silence, keeping my knees behind her back and the towel unmoving at her neck. Even though I’ve seen her every day for weeks now, she looks different to me somehow. Maybe it’s seeing her completely relaxed and trusting. Maybe it’s seeing her as the princess.

Trust. That’s the part that really gets me. Right now, we’re not fighting, and she’s not tense around me. She’s letting me do this for her, and it fills my heart to the brim. Once the water starts to run clear, I take her hair into my hands and squeeze it a few times.

“Sit up, carefully,” I say, leaning over her a little so I can help guide her. Her eyes spring open, clashing with mine, and I’m lost in her all over again. It’s like I went from zero to a hundred in a span of a second, and I can’t seem to slow down, regardless of whether I’m trying to or not. But I don’t want to try. I want to soak up every single moment with her.

With my arm behind her back, I help her sit up, then I reach for a towel to squeeze more water out of her hair. She sits completely still for a moment, letting me dry her hair, before she jumps a little in her seat, turning to me.

“I can do that,” she says, reaching for the towel. Our fingers graze, and I fight the urge to capture her hand in mine and hold on. Instead, I let go of the towel and move away to clean up the supplies.

Ivanka stands, as she continues to dry her hair, running her own fingers in the same pathway mine took just moments before. My hands tingle, as if remembering the sensation. I wonder if I’ll be able to look at her the same way ever again.

“Let me help,” she says, reaching for the now half-empty bucket, but I wave her off.

“And get your freshly washed hair dirty? After I worked so hard!” I look at her in mock shock before I grab the other towel I used and one of the stools. “There’s water left in there, if you’d like to wash up.” I don’t wait for a response, leaving the bathroom before I do something foolish…like kiss her.

Stepping back outside, I clean up what I’ve used, washing the towel and hanging it to dry. I can feel myself spinning out, but I have no idea how to rein in my emotions. The idea that I was jealous of her fiancé—who is actually me—almost makes me laugh. Her letters were always nice, but they only gave me glimpses into the kind of a person she is. Now, meeting her face to face, I’m not sure if I can simply marry her just to get the queen off the throne. I want more than an arranged marriage, but there is no way of knowing if she’ll even have me after she learns of my deception. I’ve never felt like this before and the newness of it is as exciting as it is scary. It’s also something I have to control because it won’t do anyone any good if I completely lose it. But the more I fight against it, the more I also feel like I’m making a mistake—one I may never recover from.

When the cottage door opens, I don’t get up from my seat near the fire. Ivanka steps out, her hair still wet from the wash, and her skin is glowing.

My mouth nearly falls open as she comes out, wearing the new loose-fitting shirt I brought her, tucked into a pair of trousers with her sleeves rolled up to the elbow. I clear my throat as it goes dry. She’s a vision in simple clothes, and a tentative smile graces her lips as she looks at me.

“Thank you for these. They feel a little strange, but I like them.” She tugs at the side of her trousers and my eyes do another quick sweep of her before landing back on her face.

“They suit you,” I say, before clearing my throat again. Maybe I should go drink some water. I seem to be parched all of a sudden.

“I think they do as well.” Ivanka grins, doing a little spin. Now I think I might be choking on nothing as I take her in.

“Thank you for helping me in there,” she says. “I don’t think—I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone do that for me before.”

That surprises me. As a princess, she should’ve had people washing her hair her whole life. But things are definitely not how I pictured them when it comes to the princess of Korolevstvo Tsvetov. Her letters make more sense now.

“I’m ready for more lessons, if you’re up for it,” she says, before I can dive deeper into that train of thought. I look at her in confusion before it dawns on me.

“You want to train?”

“Well, you said you’d teach me. You don’t have to. I can wait until the other men return—”

“It’s fine—”

“Really, you don’t—”

“I want to teach you.” The words burst out of me as I’m possessed by whatever spirit causes mischief in people’s lives.

“Okay, please teach me.”

I glance up at her, finding her eyes on me, and I’m mesmerized all over again. I really am in trouble, aren’t I?

IVANKA

A smarter move would’ve been to stay inside and enjoy my freshly washed hair and clean clothes. Instead, Dimitri leads me to the side of the house because I’m not smart when it comes to him. I follow him to the area with the barrels of water and the garden. It’s a bit more shaded from the afternoon sun, and there’s an open space where we practiced last time.

I braid my hair, tying it with a small string I pulled from Igor’s box of needles and threads, and turn to face Dimitri. He’s staring again, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t come to appreciate it. The dynamic between us is constantly changing, and I’m having a difficult time keeping up. Only now I’m feeling things with a new intensity, and I’m terrified that it’s all in my head. After all, no matter how many lessons on body language and comprehension I may have had, I’ve never been in this situation before. I’m not sure if I can trust myself or my feelings at this point.

Plus, there’s that whole arranged marriage bit that I keep forgetting about. As I was getting dressed, I took out the last letter I’ve been carrying around and read it over it again. When the prince and I were writing letters to each other, I had convinced myself that I would be fine with a business-like relationship. But now, being around Dimitri, I’m not sure if that’s true anymore. Not when I know what it feels like to be cradled in the safety of his arms or pampered with the gentleness of his fingertips. It makes me feel like I’m failing the prince somehow, or maybe even failing my kingdom. Not that I have any promise that Dimitri would even want me in that way. Everything about this is conflicting, and no matter how much I want to have an answer, I can’t seem to figure one out.

“What do you remember from our last lesson?” Dimitri asks and I force myself to focus.

“No fists, just open palm attacks.”

He nods. “Good, you were listening.”

“I do that on occasion.” I smile at him and see the side of his mouth twitch. It makes me even more determined to get him to share that smile with me.

“We’ll start small. I’ll come at you, and you try to dodge. If you’re ever in a situation where someone is coming after you, the first thing you should do is?”

“Scream?”

“Run.” His voice is firm as he holds my gaze. “If you have a chance to run away, take it. It’s not the coward’s way out. It’s how you survive.”

“But what if it’s one of those magical creatures you’re so concerned with?”

“Then definitely scream and run. Better yet, don’t wander into the forest after dark.”

“Isn’t the whole point of this training so I can?”

“Nyet!” Dimitri’s sharp denial makes me freeze, and I watch him take a deep breath, as if he needs to calm himself. “The point of this is so you’re not unprepared. But this definitely doesn’t give you free access to the forest after dark.”

I watch him for a moment, studying his features. What I see there is concern. And it’s directed at me. Every time he lets me glimpse his protective nature, it makes my head spin. He’s ridiculously handsome, but that hero streak he carries within himself makes him blindly beautiful.

And I am definitely not focusing on the lesson. I raise my chin a little, meeting his gaze head on. Those lips twitch again, and then he’s coming at me.

I think I have time to dodge, but he’s on me in mere seconds, arms wrapped around my torso, my front pinned to his. I gasp as our chests collide, glancing up at him in shock.

“That’s not how you dodge,” he says, his voice a little rough around the edges.

“I wasn’t ready.”

“An attacker is not going to wait for you to be ready.”

“I guess,” I say and then I raise my knee, slamming it into his groin. Except it doesn’t connect, because he releases me at the same time and blocks my knee with the palms of his hands as he moves back.

“How did you know?” I ask.

“You telegraph your thoughts, Highness.”

“I do not.”

“You do.” He shakes his head a little, but he seems lighter somehow. There are times where I can read him perfectly, and times when I’m completely flabbergasted. This is a different version of Dimitri. A little more playful and a whole lot more endearing.

“Now let’s see if you can attack. I’ll guide you through it, don’t worry.” He takes a fighting stance, but doesn’t lift his arms in front of him like I expect him to. “Make sure your feet are always planted. You don’t want someone to catch you off balance.”

I mirror his stance, spreading my legs at shoulder width and turning a little.

“Don’t lock your knees.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Your whole body is so stiff I think if the wind blows a little too hard, you’ll fall right over.”

“Hey!” I forget the stance, standing up straight before placing my hands on my hips. “I’ve never done this before. Shouldn’t my body be tense if it’s preparing for battle?”

“Are you preparing for battle?”

“With you, always.”

His laugh takes me by surprise. It’s rich and full and sounds like it comes straight from his soul. I’ve heard him laugh before with the other men, but never quite like this. This laugh is exclusively mine. And I will remember it for as long as I live because it has been engraved into my very being.

“Well, Highness, let’s see if we can change that.” Dimitri says, coming to stand right behind me. Suddenly, I can feel a new kind of tension all over my body at his proximity. He seems oblivious to me trying to remember how to breathe, as he places his hands on my waist.

“Here, turn a little and then spread your feet apart.” His foot touches the inside of mine, as he taps it to the left, and then the other to the right. He then takes my shoulders and rotates them back a little.

“If you scrunch your shoulders forward, you’ll lose your balance. Even if you’re getting ready to run away, you need to stay on your feet. If you absolutely must strike, do so with an open palm and aim for the bottom of the chin or the nose. Hitting someone in the chest won’t do much. It’s too big of a target. Go for something vulnerable. Like eyes. But most importantly, always follow through. Don’t hold back.”

All of this is spoken over my shoulder and into my ear, and it’s very difficult not to have a physical reaction to his proximity. I think he feels it too because he stops talking and stands perfectly still, as if letting me be the one to make the next move.

So I do the only thing I can think of. I twist around and push him away from me, so I can run. I take him by surprise, and he loses his footing, but he’s also quicker than I am. His arms snake out around me, yanking me to him as he falls so I land squarely on top of him.

This feels familiar and somehow exactly right. I stare into his face and feel the slight tightening of his hands on my waist as if he wants to bring me even closer. My hand seems to move on its own as it reaches up to push the hair out of his eyes. His breath hitches, those blue eyes holding me captive, and I don’t miss the way his heart beats wildly against his chest, the rhythm matching my own.

Very slowly—almost in slow motion—one of his arms slides up my back and toward my neck. His eyes flicker down briefly before coming to rest on mine once more. I’m too afraid to move, too afraid to shatter whatever fragile thing is happening here. But that’s when I hear the growl coming from the woods beside us.

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