‘Where is she?’ Blood rushed to the queen’s face and she seized the knife and stepped forward, jabbing it towards him. ‘You let her go?’ A whirl of emotions gripped her and for the first time she saw fear in the huntsman’s face. She liked it. ‘Was it her beauty? Is that what stopped you? Was her beauty worth your own precious life?’ He stepped backwards slightly and her angry glare darted at the vast doors beyond which slammed immediately shut.

‘Very nice, Lilith dear,’ her great-grandmother said, approvingly.

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he said.

‘Why?’ The dark snakes in her soul writhed. ‘Because I don’t have her charm? Her beauty? Because I’m filled with poison?’ Her words were the dry hiss of a trapped animal. Fear was eating at her anger. If Snow White was still alive then where was she? Already sending messages to her father? Was the executioner’s block all her own future now held? The people wouldn’t mourn their cold, unfriendly queen. Would the king call her a witch for real and burn her? Were the flames that haunted her finally going to claim her?

‘Did she give herself to you to set her free?’

A nerve twitched in his cheek as the arrow of truth in her words struck home. Her anger burned brighter, a white heat that could turn a city to dust.

‘You think you’re such a righteous man,’ she sneered, not caring that it made her ugly. ‘You’re not. You’re nothing but a mouse.’ She spat the last word out and a jolt of energy shot through her arm.

The huntsman vanished.

For a moment she couldn’t understand what had happened, and then, as her great-grandmother cackled and clapped applause, she heard the tiniest of squeaks. A small brown field mouse was scurrying across the floor.

‘Much better!’ the crone said. ‘A mouse. Very good. A fitting punishment for a double-crossing huntsman. Let’s see how he survives the forest now.’ She snapped her fingers and the mouse was gone. Lilith stared at the empty patch of floor and then looked over at her great-grandmother. The old woman was smiling.

‘Don’t worry, dear. He’ll be back one day.’ She patted the throne. ‘Have a sit down.’ Lilith did as she was told and the old woman looked into the pouch once again. ‘Cutting out a heart. I do sympathise with the sentiment, but death is so . . .’ she paused. ‘Final. No magic can change it.’

Lilith looked at her great-grandmother and thought of all the small bones that littered her garden. ‘And you should know.’

‘I only want what’s best for you, dear. Don’t be irritable. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘What am I going to do?’ She just wanted to cry.