A Heart of Snow ✓

Epilogue: Confessions & Fairytales

I have penned this story so that the truth may be known. I plan to hide it away and pass it down to you, my eldest child, so that you may not make the same mistakes I did. I beg you, learn where I failed because a day does not pass that I do not think of Reth. I've run through that coronation day so many times, thought through the execution of that next morning, examined the politics and the courtiers of the time, explored all the possible what-ifs. I don't know what would have happened if I'd picked a different path. I don't know what I might have lost, nor do I know which path I should have picked. All I know is that whatever I did, it should not have ended in Reth's death, and that is a tragedy I will carry with me to the grave.

I can't help but wonder how else our story could have ended.

At first, his loss was a regret so heavy, I could only bear it by numbly wearing the mask of a queen during the days and sobbing into my sheets during the nights. I told myself I didn't deserve to feel this way, didn't deserve to feel anything. I tried to freeze my heart, to put it all behind me, and to be detached and practical.

I am forever grateful that I failed.

I would have been less human otherwise. It is a gross understatement to say that letting Reth die was the crowning disgrace of my life, the worst mistake I ever made, and the single thing I would change if I was ever offered the chance. Everyone is selfish, but that single act made me wretched. Detestable. Evil.

I am an evil queen.

I am, and all the good things I've done for the country cannot purify the blood on my hands. Despite that, I still must try. I told myself he was dying for Kylosia, and if absolutely nothing good comes of that, I could not bear it. Nothing I do will ever be enough, but some good, at least, is better than evil mounted on evil.

Because yes, I say he died for his country, but when I am honest with myself, I know he died on the altar of my fear. In the twenty years since his death, I have learned many things. If you take nothing else from reading this story, hear this and hear it well: fear does not lessen what is necessary nor does duty dictate what is right. Fear should push us to do what is necessary and duty should push us to do what is right. That, my dearheart, is the difference between good and evil. And though I am trying so hard to be good, I know my heart has long been tainted black. You, though, you have a chance. I cannot urge you enough to take it.

I thought if Reth didn't die that I might lose the throne. Now, I would easily give up the throne for the chance to save him.

I thought Kylosia needed me. Now, I know what they needed was a leader who valued her citizens above all else—no exceptions.

I thought doing the wrong thing would eventually lead to greater rights. Now, I know life does not abide those rules.

Still, time moves on. I am learning, changing. Trying. Kylosia prospers, perhaps in spite of me. I married my cousin, the prince, and now the people have all sorts of fables about what happened twenty years ago. Their stories range from close to what I told the court to wild stories about magic, tiny men, and happy endings. You never know what might be different when they tell one, but there are some general similarities. For instance, I, ironically, am almost always the victim. My step-mother is almost always the villain. Strangely, though, it is Reth whose role holds the most variability. A simple huntsman, the Wicked Queen's right-hand man, a traitor, a savior, a coward, a castle-gates-stormer.

Out of all the fairy-tales, I like the ones best where he's a hero.