Spare & Heir Preview

 **This is an unedited preview of a new fantasy romance book. It's a retelling of Snow White, but chronicles what happens after she's woken up by the prince. I can guarantee there will be changes to these two chapters, as they have not yet been edited. Enjoy this early preview and thank you for being a dedicated reader! I appreciate you! - Chrissy**

THE EVERLOVE CHRONICLES BOOK ONE

SPARE & HEIR by Chrissy Q Martin 

A SNOW WHITE RETELLING

CHAPTER ONE

LEO

It always ends with a sword at the neck.

My neck.

My attacker swiftly knocks the sword out of my hand and then holds his to my throat. The silver blade gleams in the sunshine of the courtyard. One small movement and the edge will touch my skin. I’m afraid to breathe for fear my attacker will press the sword to my neck, but it’s also hard to catch a breath under his weight. Dust glints in the air and settles back to the ground after being stirred up in the shortest battle ever. On my back in the dirt, sweat trickles down my forehead and obscures my vision. I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and wait for the inevitable.

“You lose!” Emeric huffs. His mint sweetened breath washes over my face and my stomach lurches. Bile riles in my throat as Emeric slams my chest with a hard palm. “Again.”

I open my eyes. My older brother removes the dull edged practice sword from my neck and pushes himself up. Standing over me, he looks every bit like a future king, regal and imposing. In contrast, I’m covered in dirt and in a fetal position on the ground.

“That’s enough for today.” Emeric frowns and extends a hand to me in a swift movement.

“Fine,” I reply with a surly downturn of my lips.

I grab Emeric’s hand and allow myself to be lifted to my feet even though I’d rather stay in the dirt on my back. Nearly every muscle in my body hurts from the short scrimmage with Emeric. It never takes him long to disarm me and today it was exceptionally short. This time it took less than a minute, and Emeric still looks as if he’s dressed for a royal ball. There’s not a speck of sweat or dirt on him.  

“Leo.” Emeric thrusts my training sword at me. “You need to think what your opponent is going to do before he does it.”

Emeric snatches a cloth from an attendant and wipes invisible sweat his forehead. His strands of black curly hair remain dry and fall into place as if he hasn’t fought.

“How am I supposed to know what my opponent is going to do if I don’t even know what I’m going to do?” I rotate my left shoulder in a small circle. The joint clicks and pops, the result of an old injury. It wasn’t a battle won injury, but rather the result of horsing around with my best friend and falling out of a tree.

“You have to be quick to think.” Emeric tosses his used cloth at me. It hits my chest and flutters to the ground as Emeric shakes his head. “Use your senses, gauge your surroundings, read the face.”

“I’m trying.” I bend to pick up the cloth. My face is red from exertion and my mortification only adds to it. I’m not quick to pick up on things.

“You’re not trying hard enough,” Emeric reprimands.

“You could have gone a little easier on me today,” I say. An attendant takes the training sword from my hand. “It is my birthday.”

Emeric hands his sword to the attendant. “Your birthday is the reason you need to work harder.” His voice is gruff, and he avoids eye contact with me. “There isn’t much time left.”

“Not much time left for what?” I demand. Rather than using Emeric’s cloth, I use the back of my hand to wipe sweat from my forehead and push my straight dark brown hair out of my face. It hangs limp and ragged like my body. “I get my quest tonight. If you haven’t trained me by now, it’s not going to happen.”

“It’ll be a miracle if you don’t fail.” Emeric spits out.

“Failure is one thing I excel at,” I mutter.

I’ve never been exactly successful at anything, especially when compared to Emeric. And lately my older brother has been pushing me harder than ever before. He often erupts in frustration at my inadequacies. I can’t run fast enough in armor, jump my horse well enough, win a sword duel, shoot an arrow precisely, or complete any assignment to the level Emeric requires.

“What if the whole kingdom was depending on you?” Emeric shouted when I missed the target three times in a row during an archery lesson the day before.

“It’s a good thing the kingdom has you,” I retorted back.

I’m tired of Emeric’s criticism. He’s the heir to the throne, and I’m only the spare. It doesn’t matter if I can sway a foreign kingdom to my side or whether I can hit an apple on a fence with an arrow. Emeric’s actions are the ones which will count for something. And I’m glad of it.

I don’t want to oversee a kingdom. Reluctant to make even the smallest of decisions, I’m happy to leave the inheritance of the country and kingdom to Emeric. I won’t be planning any murder attempts to take over the throne. A solitary life is not out of the question, and I’d consider myself lucky if I can find a lesser royal from another country to marry me. There are no princesses knocking on my door offering their hand in marriage. Emeric is the one they all want. Even the castle workers look through me to Emeric. I’m invisible unless needed, and I have never been needed.

“What if I needed you to save my life?” Emeric asks quietly, and for a brief moment I glimpse the soft side he used to show. But it’s a side which rarely appears since he returned from his quest.

“You don’t need me,” I huff and roll my dark brown eyes. My eyes are nearly as black as Emeric’s, but his have a harder edge. “You’ve never needed me and are capable of saving yourself.”

“You’re eighteen today,” Emeric says as we enter a dark interior hallway of the stone castle. The Swendale castle was built as a tall rectangular keep for defense, though it’s been centuries since it was under attack. “You need to be ready for your quest.”

“I’m ready,” I snap.

Eighteen years behind Swendale walls has made me more than ready. I’m ready to get away from the castle and have an adventure with my best friend, Jude. Royal protocol dictates a prince or princess of Swendale can’t leave the country until they receive a quest on their eighteenth birthday. I have only learned of the outside world through map, books, my tutors, and what snippets of gossip I hear from others. My father grew up in another country, but hasn’t left Swendale since he married my mother. Once a royal in Swendale, you stay a royal in Swendale, but I can’t wait to leave.

“Your quest is not going to be what you think.” Emeric says. We enter the kitchen busy with preparations for my birthday supper. Savory smells dance in my nostrils and make my mouth water.

“Of course I don’t know,” I say. “That’s the point. I’m not to find out until it’s delivered.”

“It’s not going to be as exciting as you think. You don’t know what you’re getting into.” Emeric’s hands tighten into fists at his side and then loosen.

“I only know I’ll be getting away from here.”

“You have no idea.” Emeric swipes a red apple from a basket on a table as we pass. The kitchen workers smile at Emeric when he takes food. I only get a displeased look when I do the same thing.

“You won’t give me an idea,” I say. “You won’t tell me about your quest.”

“What do you not understand about the word forbidden?” Emeric looks at the shiny red flesh of the apple and rubs it on the front of his shirt. He didn’t get the shirt dirty while dueling with me.

“I’ll find out tonight,” I say and exhale as some tension leaves my wiry body. “Finally.”

“You have no idea.” Emeric shakes his head and there’s a crunching sound as he bites into the apple. He chews and observes the kitchen workers as they make preparations for my birthday celebration. “The kingdom has no idea.”

Emeric is twenty, nearly twenty-one, and completed his quest over two years ago. We were close until his eighteenth birthday. As close as an heir and a spare can be. After Emeric returned from his quest he became more aloof, more cynical – and more harsh. He only pays attention to me when it comes to my studies or training, and then he berates me.

“They’re not supposed to have an idea,” I say. “Like you said, it’s forbidden to talk about a quest. The quest is mine alone.”

“That’s what you think,” Emeric says. “A solo quest is a fairy tale.”

“Isn’t that what I’m getting tonight?” I demand. “A quest from a fairy?”

Emeric scoffs and heads for the stairs to the royal living quarters. He looks over his shoulder. “Don’t be late to the gate ceremony.”

I grit my teeth and push murderous thoughts out of my head. Killing Emeric would only lead to me being the heir, and I don’t want that.

***

I glance at the sky. Is it too much to hope a dragon will appear and put an end to the endless pageantry and pomp of dedicating a new castle gate?

I can hope for one, but there have been no reports of a live dragon in my lifetime. The last time a dragon was spotted in Swendale was nearly two hundred years ago, around the time the Swen royal family was gifted with fairy quests. It’s an unspoken family secret the first quest was to vanquish dragons from our land. The Swen royal family has also had a long rule without threat because it’s believed dragons will attack this land unless a Swen is on the throne.

My lips quirk to the side and I shift my position as I gaze at the crowd across the moat. My required royal attire is uncomfortable but it’s even more unnerving to stand in front of the dozens of villagers and castle workers have gathered on the dirt road and grassy plains to watch the dedication of the new castle gate. The old wooden gate is being replaced with one of iron.

My family waits in the gatehouse, under the arched stone entrance leading into the castle. Emeric stands front and center, outside the castle walls, but separated from the people by the bridge over the moat.

Dressed in his royal uniform, Emeric looks the part of a king, or a king in training. He has our father’s black hair and a handful of his dark skin. Emeric wears his curly hair on the longer side and always has a shade of facial hair which earns many comments from our mother. She doesn’t approve of the rugged look, but the young women of the kingdom obviously admire of the way the facial scruff shadows Emeric’s handsome features. They also admire his muscular form and deep voice which often spews ridiculously flirty lines I could never utter without a laugh.

I stare at the back of Emeric’s legs and hope to avoid any stares from villagers or castle workers. But there isn’t a need to worry because people’s eyes are always on Emeric. I pale in comparison. Literally and figurately. I’m a blending of our parents with dark brown hair that refuses to obey and skin the color of milky tea. Next to Emeric, I’m a scrawny looking kid. And even if I’m eighteen, I’m still treated like a kid.

“This bridge marks a new era in the future of Swendale,” Emeric says in a loud, booming voice.

Young village girls swoon where they stand. They can’t keep their eyes off Emeric as I lift mine to the sky. The day is sunny and promising as spring is now upon us. There are no clouds and only small sparrows dot the sky with their flurry of motion. Where are dragons when you need them? They’re stuck in the stories of the past. Much like our kingdom.

“While iron gates are meant for defense, we have no need of them in Swendale,” Emeric continues.

“Why is the gate iron?” Adette leans in and whispers to me. Her golden-brown wavy hair brushes against my shoulder. “Fairies hate iron. Is this a good idea?”

I shrug my shoulders. I don’t know as much about fairies as Adette does, but I do know a fairy will make an appearance at my birthday party tonight and present me with a quest. I hope Emeric didn’t persuade our parents to put in an iron gate to keep me from getting my quest. I wouldn’t put it past him to do it.

“This strong iron gate will last generations,” Emeric continues with his speech. “Closed, this gate is made to withstand the strongest of armies, but we have no need for that.”

Emeric pauses, his throat seems to catch on the words, and I notice. Emeric’s back is all I can see from where my vantage point, but I catch the nervous hesitation no one else does.

“We leave our gate open to all our people, open to all the possibilities of the future, and…”

Emeric is nervous. He’s been growing more and more nervous lately, but I thought it was because of my failures as he trained me. Emeric is a natural at giving speeches and persuading people to his side and the gate ceremony should be an easy task for him. Father and Mother have put Emeric in charge of a vast number of castle duties since he returned from his quest. Most of the duties involve lording over me.

I lean forward and try to assess what would make Emeric nervous. The new metal gate looks imposing where it’s lifted high. The previous wooden gate was never lowered, and I don’t understand the reasoning behind the metal gate. As Emeric said, there has been no need for defense in centuries. Besides a castle gate, the entire country of Swendale is surrounded by a rock wall. In some areas the rock wall is a low fence and in others it’s higher than a person. In addition, our borders are defined by rivers on all sides.

“And…” Emeric’s voice cracks again. “Most of all open to the present and those who will grace us with their presence.”

I roll my eyes at the speech. It sounds ridiculous, and I’m sure Father had something to do with it. He has a way of sweet-talking people which Emeric inherited, and I have a lack of. I prefer to keep quiet and observe. And I observe something is not quite right with this ceremony, but I’m not sure what. I shuffle my feet and kick at the dirt.

“Today we lift the gate for the first time,” Emeric continues. “And leave it open.”

A small cloud of dust rises from my feet and my father aims a quick frown my direction. He shouldn’t have chosen to have the gate dedication ceremony on my birthday if he didn’t want me kicking dirt. Couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow?

“And as it is his birthday, Prince Leopold will have the honor of lowering the gate for the first time,” Emeric says.

I freeze on the other side of the castle entrance from Emeric. No one told me about this. This isn’t part of the plan. Emeric is supposed make the announcement and a guard will drop the gate and then lift it again. Why wasn’t I informed of this? Is this another plot of Emeric’s to push me into royal duty and embarrass me?

Emeric beckons for me to come forward, but I don’t want to venture from my safe corner to be out in front of everyone and I hesitate.

“Go on, Leo,” Adette whispers. My sister turns and faces me, a smile plastered on her fair face. She grabs my wrist and tries to pull me forward. “You need to go up there. You can’t let Em do all the stuff.”

“Carmichael,” my mother turns a worried face to my father. “Is this a wise idea?”

“Adelinde,” my father says in his deep voice. “He’ll be leaving on his quest soon. He can do this.” Father turns to me. “Go on, son.”

Unsure, I walk the worn stone path in the gatehouse. I brave a glance back at my parents. My mother, Queen Adelinde, grips Father’s arm tight. Her face is taut and shows a trace of concern even though she gives me an encouraging smile. Father wears a straight face. I set my sights forward and head to my older brother. Emeric smiles, but it’s forced and unnatural, the smile of a taskmaster waiting to punish.

I pass under the stone arch of the gatehouse and step outside of the castle walls to stand next to Emeric. We smile at the crowd and take in their cheers. We’re the heir and the spare, royal princes from a long line of Swenish rulers, and beloved by the people of Swendale. At least, it’s a lie I can tell myself to feel confident. The crowd cheers again when Emeric announces I’ll drop the metal gate for the first time.

“Don’t mess this up,” Emeric hisses at me through the noise of the onlookers.

Sweat trickles down the back of my neck and builds up under my thick royal uniform. Trying to act confident, when I don’t feel it, I stride back to the gatehouse where the mechanism is located. It would have been wise to pay attention the day before when I accompanied Father and Emeric to confer with the gate engineers. My attentions were elsewhere that day, and now, I regret not listening to their instruction. I stare at the mechanism with no idea what to do.

“Quickly!” Emeric’s harsh voice reaches me. He waves at the crowd with a smile, but turns back to me with a frown. “Now!”

Now would be a good time for a dragon to show up, but even then, Emeric would take care of the dragon and I would be left in the dust. I reach out my hand, the new mechanism not yet worn by time or touch. Mustering all my strength, I tug on the mechanism which unwinds the great coil of chain to drop the gate.

“No! That’s not how it works!” Emeric’s warning comes too late.

The gate drops, but not without leaving me hanging from the ceiling of the alcove, a chain wrapped around my legs. I’m usually the cause of a disaster, and an unfortunate blemish to my family’s royal image.

CHAPTER TWO

EIRA

The old woman holds an apple to me. Unblemished by insects or bruises, the shiny red apple looks perfect. I haven’t had an apple in a long time and my mouth immediately salivates. An image of an orchard outside castle walls flits through my brain. How long has it been?

“No, I shouldn’t take it.” I shake my head politely. “Thank you.”

The woman is bent over, her back hunched from years of hard labor. Her long fingers are wrinkled, and the knuckles swollen with age. Those curled fingers clasp the round apple and thrust it at me.

“Then share it with me,” the old woman intones in a slow voice which crackles with each word.

Again, I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

The miners have repeatedly warned me about trusting strangers, but this little old woman looks harmless. A dirty white crocheted shawl falls over her stooped shoulders, a faded gray dress covers her contorted body, and a colorful scarf drapes over her face. Glimpses of wrinkled skin peek out from beneath the scarf. The scarf she wears gives me a moment of pause, but it’s not the same one I’ve seen before when an attempt was made on my life.

“A beautiful young lady like you should eat an apple,” the woman croaks.

It doesn’t feel right to take a perfect apple from this woman when there are so many others need. Even in the vast reaches of the kingdom, stories filter in about the hunger and hard times others are encountering near the capital. It’s hard to believe Montagnia could have fallen apart in the past few years. How can there be starving children? The king would give his life before he let that happen.

A heavy cloth knapsack sits behind the door, shielded from the old woman’s view. It’s packed with my few things. I arrived with very little, and I will leave with very little. And I have to leave soon before my resolve fails me. It’s time to be brave and return. Even if my return means my death.

“Now, dearie,” the woman says.

A flash of metal brings my attention back to the old woman. A gleaming silver knife is in her other hand.

I inhale sharply, and memories of previous attempts on my life flood my mind. My heart starts to pound in my chest and my stomach falls. Then I remind myself it’s only a memory. Memories have no power over me. I survived before, and I will survive again.

“Please,” I beg with a furtive glance at my packed bag. I can’t die yet. I need to get home first. “I…”

Wide eyed, I watch the knife in the old woman’s hand pierce the red skin of the apple. It’s foolish of me to think this old woman intends to harm me. She looks so frail and I don’t know how she cuts through the apple’s skin. My mouth waters as the wrinkled hand cuts off a slice of the juicy apple.

“Here, take it,” the old woman croaks. She holds the apple slice out to me.

I know I shouldn’t take the apple, but I’m cognizant of hurting the old woman’s feelings. The miners will never let me hear the end of it if something happens. But what harm can come from an old woman and an apple?

“Is it poisoned?” I ask, mostly in jest.

 I have never heard of a poisoned apple. Worms in apples are common, but never poison. Meals can be poisoned as they’re prepared, but it would be difficult to poison an apple.

“I’ll take a bite from the other end,” the old woman says. “To ease your troubled mind.” She bites into the side of the apple with the flesh intact.

I gaze at the slice in front of me. The woman continues to hold it out on the tip of the knife. It looks perfect with juicy firm flesh and a shiny red peel. The woman chews her piece and nods expectantly at me.

“Go on,” she encourages. “It’s good.”

I reach my hand out, slow as if I’m touching the needle of a spinning wheel to see how sharp it is, but I jerk my hand back before it touches the apple.

“I shouldn’t,” I say. “I’m not supposed to take things from strangers.”

“But I’m not a stranger.” The old woman smiles. A piece of apple flesh sticks to a tooth tilted at an angle in the front of her mouth. It looks like a red cape covering the darkened tooth.

“You’re not?” I don’t recognize the woman from the mines or the nearby village of Balsam Creek.

The miners live on the outskirts of the kingdom, in the far foothills of the Knoller mountains, which divide this kingdom from its northern neighbors. The distance from the capital and bustling cities of Montagnia keep most visitors away from Balsam Creek. It’s only miners and their families who live here. Occasionally traveling peddlers pass through, but they’re never as old as this woman.

“I’ve known you since you were a wee babe,” the old woman says.

“You know me?” My round eyes widen. Only one hunter knows I’m still alive. The rest of the kingdom is in the dark and thinks I’m dead. Even my father believes his only child is dead. And I don’t even know if he’s still alive, which is one reason I need to risk my life and return.

“Ahh.” The old woman nods slowly. She keeps the knife with the apple extended out. “I was there eighteen years ago when your mother gave birth, Snow.”

My hands fly to my chest. This woman knows me. She knows the name I was called before I ran and let go of my past. But a past is hard to let go of, which is why my bag is packed.

“You knew my mother?” I ask.

“Ahh, yes.” The woman again gestures for me to take the apple. “Such a fair woman.”

At the news this woman knew my mother, I eagerly grab the slice from the point of the knife. It’s been so long since I tasted an apple. So long since I heard of my mother. So long since I heard my real name.

“Happy birthday, fair Snow,” the old woman says, her eyes on the apple in my fingers.

Snow. Snow White Mascen.

The woman’s face changes from expectation to excitement as I bring the apple to my lips. It warms my heart to know I can bring happiness to this woman, if only by eating a slice of apple. It assures me everything is going to be alright. I’m making the right decision to return.

I bite into the apple. It’s sweet and tangy on my tongue with a slight almost undetectable bitter taste.

The scarf falls from the old woman’s head. Her face erupts into a satisfied smile, but why does it look evil? My eyes flit to hers. The old woman’s eyes! They’re surrounded by wrinkles and hooded lids, but I know those eyes.

Startled, I swallow hard, even before I have a chance to chew the slice. Those eyes have haunted me in other forms. They’re the eyes of a killer. My hands clutch my throat and fear swamps my body at the thought she’ll succeed this time. I reach out to grab the woman as the apple chunk lodges in my throat. She steps back with an evil cackle as I stumble to the floor. I grasp my throat again, desperate for help, but I can’t even call out. On my knees, I look up to the old woman, startled by her changing appearance. Her wrinkled skin sheds away while the evil eyes remain the same. I try to grasp the hem of my stepmother’s dress, but then everything goes black.