The first thing the queen did was take her knife from him. The blade was still bloody and sticky to the touch. For a moment she felt faint and swayed on her feet. Flashes of imagined scenes hit her in a wave; Snow White bleeding to death in the forest, her eyes widening as the metal cut into her chest, the huntsman’s hand pulling her warm, dead flesh apart to find the trophy that would secure his own freedom.

She stared at the weapon. What had she done? The stark reality of it was like ice in her veins and she tightened her grip on the hilt to stop her hand trembling so obviously. ‘Did she suffer?’

‘No,’ the huntsman answered levelly. He looked so calm. Was he as much of a monster as she? She drew herself up tall and haughty; playing the part that was becoming her. What was done was done and there was no magic that could undo it. She really was the wicked queen now. It was time to live up to that.

‘Where did you put her body?’ She took the filthy knife and resheathed it, not wanting to look too long on the blood that coated it.

‘Ender’s Pit,’ he said and then handed her the pouch. It was heavier than she’d expected. A butcher’s wrap of meat like those she’d carried for her mother when she was small. Blood seeped out through the roughly sewn edges. She didn’t open it. She didn’t want to see.

‘And now if I can have my slippers I’ll be on my way. A deal’s a deal and I have unfinished business elsewhere.’ He didn’t let his eyes, deep and unfathomable, drop from hers. He was rough and handsome and arrogant, this travelling stranger, and she detested him. She wanted to sink the knife into his neck and be done with the whole damned business.

‘Of course.’ Around them, the walls blackened further and the red jagged lines sprouted new crimson branches. This room was her forest of magic and as her heart hardened, her power grew stronger. Her lips tightened into a smile that was as sharp as the murderous blade. It was for the best. All of it was.

‘Are these what he wants, dear?’ The familiar voice cracked like dry forest twigs under children’s running feet. ‘They’re very pretty. In fact, I’m very impressed with your entire collection. You’ve done well.’