Shattered Snow first hit the shelves in January 2019. It was my debut novel—a time-traveling, fairy-tale retelling that blended historical fiction with the magic of Snow White. And now, after getting all of my rights back, I finally get to make a change that I’ve wanted to make since the very beginning.
Shattered Snow gets a brand-new prologue from Margaretha's point of view.
When I first wrote Shattered Snow, it opened with a young Margaretha von Waldeck, hearing a story about her mother sewing by the window. It was a quiet, intimate scene—one that I loved—but my editors at the time thought it started the novel off too slowly. And honestly? They had a point. This is a time-travel adventure, after all! So, we bumped Margaretha's opening to chapter 4. But over the years, one thing kept nagging at me: This book needed a stronger opening with Snow White herself.
So, to celebrate this second edition, Shattered Snow is getting a brand-new prologue! This time, we step directly into Margaretha’s world, where a chilling winter night sets the stage for her dismal fate. It’s a scene that was alluded to throughout the book, but never shown... The dismal end of her original timeline.
And because I love my readers (seriously, you guys are the best), I’m sharing the new prologue with you right here! Whether you’ve read Shattered Snow before or are just discovering it now, I hope you enjoy this new beginning.
Without further ado, here is the updated prologue of Shattered Snow…
Coudenburg Palace, Brussels, Duchy of Brabant, Holy Roman Empire
24 December 1554
Margaretha stopped outside the dining hall door and adjusted her gown. The fitted bodice was tighter than she liked and her seamstress had insisted her low neckline was a necessity. They hadn’t considered her nerves on a night like this, or that she might prefer a dress to hide behind.
She took a deep breath, as far her bodice would allow, then stepped inside. The glow of countless candles illuminated the vast hall from the chandeliers overhead. Warm tapestries lined the walls, depicting courtly histories and epic stories. Music and chatter filled every corner. But it was the scent of spiced drinks, savory roast meats, and warm sweet bread that almost convinced Margaretha the room was welcoming.
One glance from the king, and the illusion was shattered. His eyes were narrowed, lips drawn tight, as if she had just ruined his evening. Margaretha lifted her chin and waited for an attendant to lead her to her seat. The servants placed her in the furthest reaches of the room, most certainly at His Majesty’s request.
From here, she could barely see the king’s magnificent banquet table. She didn’t have to search to feel Philip’s gaze on her. The prince of Spain didn’t attempt to hide his fascination. Margaretha’s mouth ran dry. She wished he were more discreet. The prince was ignorant of the trail of eyes that followed his gaze. Pretending not to notice him, Margaretha took her seat.
She pasted on a thin smile as a servant brought out the first course. A thin broth. She tried to keep her hand steady as she lifted her spoon.
The prince’s chamberlain cleared his throat behind her, startling her. “Lady von Waldeck, His Highness, Prince Philip, extends his warmest wishes for a joyous Christmas Eve.”
He laid a small platter covered by a handkerchief beside her. The prince’s own initials were embroidered in the corner. Margaretha’s heart stopped.
Philip had brazenly moved from staring from afar to offering her gifts in public. She felt heat rising to her cheeks. Too many eyes were on her. She couldn’t refuse his gift, could she? What happened to one who rejected a prince’s advances? What happened to their family?
With perfect posture, Margaretha slid the handkerchief off the platter, revealing a small leather-bound book. She picked it up.
“Das Buch der Liebe” by Georg Wickram.
Margaretha quickly hid the book in her lap and nodded at the chamberlain. “Please tell his Majesty that I am grateful.”
The chamberlain bowed and stepped back. Margaretha’s heart pounded. She looked up at the dais and saw the king glaring down at her.
She wished above all else that she could run.
Servants brought around the second course to her table; suckling pig with roasted apples and spiced honey. Margaretha picked around the edges of her food, taking just enough bites of apple to dissuade anyone from questioning her health. The fruit was bitter. She shifted against the hard wooden seat.
It was true, she had come to Brussels in search of a husband. Anything to get away from her stepmother’s control. And while Philip was handsome, kind, and according to the book resting on her lap, genuinely romantic, he could never be hers. The alliance between a small duchy in German and the kingdom of Spain was useless to the king. And yet the prince persisted against his father’s wishes.
She was stuck with attention from a man she couldn’t pursue, while every other suitor stayed at a distance, so as not to upset their dignitary. Perhaps she ought to return home. Her loving father would likely be thrilled for her return. But her step-mother, Katherina, had made it clear she wasn’t welcome.
Margaretha winced, feeling as if a rock had been placed inside her stomach. Curse this dress. She took another bite of apple, hoping it would help. A trickle of sweat ran down her neck. The room grew too hot. The king’s glare burned like a hot knife on her skin. She looked at him and found his gaze fixed on her. Instead of his normal, stern displeasure, he seemed smug. Satisfied. Was he happy at her discomfort?
It was growing difficult to breathe. Her heartbeat leapt, unnaturally struggling to maintain itself. She could sit here no longer.
Grasping the book in her hands, Margaretha excused herself and fled from the hall. She heard Philip call out for her, but she continued. Staggering into the corridor, a wave of dizziness rushed over her. A large mirror reached from the ceiling to the floor, making the room seem like it stretched on into eternity. Her face reflected back to her, blanched white.
Something was wrong. She couldn’t think clearly. Where was her room?
She stumbled and fell, her hands pressed against the cold marble floor.
A servant knelt beside her. “Milady. Are you alright? Someone, bring the salts!”
She felt a hand on her forehead and looked up at the mirror.
Beyond the glass, she swore she could see the face of a man staring back at her. A man with dark hair and penetrating eyes who studied her with a look of sympathy and curiosity. And as the world slowed around her, she felt herself reaching out to him. Somehow sure that he meant her no harm.
“Help me,” she asked the specter.
She fell to the floor; the bitter taste of apple was the last thing she felt before her breath grew cold on her lips.
Leave a comment and tell me what you think about this new addition to Shattered Snow! I'd love to know your thoughts!
-Rachel
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