by Shea, K. M.
“Why? You look pitiable to be certain, but you are by no means the only girl who has sold her hair in the past few months,” Marie said.
“Yes, but just before I left the market, a flock of Erlauf soldiers gawked at me,” Cinderella said, running her hand through her short locks.
Marie clicked her tongue. “Ruffians,” she said. “A gentleman would behave better.”
“How is business?” Cinderella asked, leaning against the hitching post.
“Well enough, I think. Armel has managed to come home at a decent hour these past few days, and he hasn’t mentioned moving to Loire for the past month,” Marie said.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“And how does your Aveyron fair?”
Cinderella shrugged. “We scrape by. All the farming changes have made it more profitable.”
“Then what drove you to beggar your hair?”
“Taxes, again,” Cinderella said, offering her palm to one of the horses. “With their cost, I can barely afford to pay Aveyron’s upkeep. I swear each month the tax burden grows heavier and heavier. If they don’t increase the tax on every servant per household, Queen Freja places a tax on every acre of farmable land or imposes a tax on glass windows.”
“And you won’t let any of your servants go?”
Cinderella shook her head. “No,” she said, her determination weighing the word down like steel and iron.
Marie sighed and dusted off her hands. “You have a hero complex, my darling Cinderella. Life would be so much easier for you if you were even a little bit selfish, like me.”
“You cannot fool me,” Cinderella said. “I recognize your shopkeeper. She was your nurse until you turned thirteen.”
Marie sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. With business improving, Armel hired more help, that’s all.”
“Of course,” Cinderella said. She slid her hand down the horse’s glossy neck before stepping back. “I need to get going.”
“You’re not going to stay for tea?”
Cinderella held up her basket. “I have work. I only stopped by to say hello and to check on my sign. Have there been any inquires?”
“A few. I left the names with my nurse; ask her for the list on your way out.”
“I cannot thank you enough.”
“It is the least I can do for you. It was good to see you, and your lack-luster haircut.”
“Take care, Marie.”
“Cinderella?”
Cinderella stopped at the doorframe and turned to face her friend.
“I, I would help you more, if I could.”
Cinderella smiled. “I know. Thank you.”
Marie mutely nodded.
“I will drop by again later this week. Until then,” Cinderella called as she disappeared inside.
Chapter 2
The following day, the Erlauf army officer showed up again at the chateau’s market stall shortly after Cinderella and Vitore finished unpacking the day’s produce.
“Mademoiselle,” the officer said, a mocking pitch colored his tone as he spoke the Trieux title.
Cinderella brushed her bangs from her eyes. “How can I help you, sir?”
The officer tilted his head as he studied Cinderella the way a fox studies a chicken. He glanced back at Vitore—who bustled behind Cinderella.
Vitore busied herself with arranging eggs in a basket, but Cinderella did not miss the way the maid/produce-seller quivered in fear.
“Sir,” Cinderella repeated.
“Another basket of carrots, if you would be so kind,” the officer said, his smirk cutting into his black eyepatch.
“Yes, sir,” Cinderella said, pouring a basket of carrots in a sack.
“The price is still ten copper coins?”
“Yes, sir,” Cinderella said. She handed the vegetables over after the officer placed a stack of coins on the rough, wooden counter.
“Until tomorrow, Mademoiselle,” the officer said, tipping the brim of his hat before turning to his soldiers.
Cinderella said nothing and watched him go.
“He’s a rake, that one is,” Vitore muttered.
“I wish he would buy his carrots someplace else,” Cinderella said, pinching a copper coin between her fingers. “But coin is coin, even if it comes from Erlauf.”
Cinderella was churning butter when Gilbert found her. It had been almost a week since the Erlauf officer became a consistent customer. Neither he, nor his soldiers, ever said much, but the officer’s gaze seemed to linger on Cinderella during the transaction.
“Vitore is right. He is a rogue. I’ll have to be careful with him,” Cinderella muttered as she thumped the churn, working out her aggression in the buttery milk.
“Mademoiselle?” Gilbert called. The land steward’s voice was muffled as he wandered through the section of the barn where the cows slept.
“In back, Gilbert.”
Gilbert followed Cinderella’s voice to her spot outside where she thumped the butter in the shade of an ancient tree.
“Mademoiselle, the newest tax regulations have been posted. Pierre was in the capital to collect Vitore’s empty baskets and copied them down. Would you like to look at them?”
Cinderella wiped sweat from her face with her apron. “Yes, please,” she said. “Would you tell Pierre he has my thanks?”
“Of course, Mademoiselle,” Gilbert said, passing a curl of birch bark to Cinderella. (Paper was expensive, after all.)
Cinderella was relieved to see the biggest tax increase was the one already imposed on carriages. It wouldn’t affect Aveyron. Cinderella had gotten rid of the carriage collection months ago, and the carriage horses were now used to pull loads of lumber and carts of produce.
The tax on income had decreased slightly, but there was an increase in landholding tax. She couldn’t be certain (as mathematics and finances were not her strong point), but Cinderella suspected there would be little change to Aveyron’s taxes. Perhaps a slight increase, but nothing unbearable.
“I need to ask Pierre,” Cinderella murmured.
“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle?” Gilbert said.
“Sorry,” Cinderella said, looking up from the birch bark. She had forgotten the steward was there. “If they can be spared, could you send a stable boy or kitchen girl to Lord and Lady Delattre to see if there will be a meeting? I imagine the other Trieux noble families will have something to say about this.”
“Right away, Mademoiselle.”
“Thank you, Gilbert,” Cinderella said, handing the land steward the birch bark before wiping her hands off on her rough dress. A callous on her hand snagged on the material.
“Of course, Mademoiselle,” Gilbert said.
Cinderella returned to the butter churn. “Aveyron doesn’t have any carriages left, but the other remaining noble families of Trieux do. Erlauf certainly knows how to kick us where it hurts.”
With all the riding horses sold and the carriage and work horses resting from a long day of work, Cinderella’s only available method of transportation was to walk to the Delattre estate. Thankfully, the Delattre estate was only a half-hour walk away, as it bordered Aveyron.
When Cinderella entered the magnificent manor, a maid took her cloak and showed her to one of the salons.
“Cinderella, darling. It is so good to see you,” Lady Delattre said, rising from the settee to embrace Cinderella.
Lady Delattre was an older woman with dove-gray hair and beautiful manners, as exemplified in the way she noted Cinderella’s shortened hair and plain day dress that was little better than a servant’s uniform, but said nothing. “Please, sit. We have a few moments to share between the two of us. How are you?”
“Well enough, thank you. How are you, Lady Delattre?”
“I am quite well, now that winter has left. The cold weather makes my old bones ache,” Lady Delattre said as she poured Cinderella a steaming cup of tea. “How is your step-mother?”
“I have not seen much o
f her,” Cinderella reported. “Nor of my step-sisters. They mostly keep to their rooms, and when they venture out, it is to visit friends from Erlauf,” Cinderella said, holding her tea for extra warmth.
Lady Delattre sniffed. “It’s a crime against goodness, what that woman does. I do not understand how she can live off you like a parasite. To think she refuses to help you pay the taxes you incur through Aveyron—the estate of the man she married.”
“She married Papa only because the Queen Freja ordered her to, and she does pay for her and her daughters’ living expenses,” Cinderella said.
“No woman should allow a child to take on the burdens you have, darling,” Lady Delattre said.
“I am seventeen,” Cinderella said.
Lady Delattre’s sharp features softened. “You are too kind to her, Cinderella.”
“Hardly—,” Cinderella started. She cut herself off when Lord Delattre—a rail-thin man who always wore solemn expressions—entered the salon with Lord and Lady Rosseux and their eldest son, Julien Rosseux.
“I am telling you, Delattre, they will see the end of us yet,” Lord Rosseux said, his face flushed. “They might not have killed and exiled us like they did to all other Trieux families of nobility, but that is only so they could slowly wring our wealth from us like a rag.”
“Lord Rosseux, there are ladies present,” Lady Delattre said.
“I beg your pardon,” Lord Rosseux said, throwing himself into an arm chair.
“Are the Girards, Feautres, and Leroys not coming tonight?” Lady Rosseux, as soft-spoken as her husband was loud, asked as she seated herself on a settee with her son.
“It was too far for the Girards to come at such short notice; the Feautres are indisposed, and the Leroys decided it was best not to come,” Lord Delattre said.
“You mean Erlauf’s dogs still watch us for any sign of rebellion,” Lord Rosseux said, covering his eyes. “A meeting of the only six remaining noble families of Trieux would be marked with suspicion, but a meeting between an eligible lady, her chaperon neighbors, and a family with a marriageable son would raise less interest.”
Julian, a handsome blonde who was a few months older than Cinderella, cleared his throat and blushed.
He and Cinderella looked in opposite directions and did not acknowledge Lord Rosseux’s observation.
“Lord Rosseux, I beg you to rein in your words. You have allowed your emotions to run freely,” Lady Delattre said.
“Of course I have. We’ll be forced to lay off more servants to make the tax.”
Cinderella took a sip of her tea—it was weak. Lady Delattre had probably used the leaves two or three times already. It was a handy way to save on what was becoming an expensive import.
“We will sell one of our carriages to minimize the effect of the tax,” Lord Delattre said.
“Some Erlauf scum will buy it,” Lord Rosseux grunted.
“What will you do, Lady Lacreux?” Julian asked. With his quiet temperament, he took after his mother more than his father.
Cinderella put her tea cup down. “It won’t affect Aveyron. I sold all our carriages sometime ago.”
“You persist in retaining all your servants?” Lady Delattre asked.
“Yes,” Cinderella said.
In a country that used to brim with lavishly dressed lords and ladies, only six families remained. The rest had been slaughtered in the takeover or exiled. The remaining nobles were left to face an enormous tax burden. Most of the families, like Rosseuxes, made the taxes by lowering the wages of their servants or dismissing them. Cinderella was an extreme opposite. She sold everything she could and kept all of Aveyron’s staff on. The Delattres held the medium ground, dismissing some of their servants and selling some of their possessions.
The taxes were harder on some families. The Delattres owned the least land and the smallest taxable income. Cinderella, on the other hand, possessed the largest estate and the highest title—Duchess. The taxes imposed on Aveyron were the highest in the country.
“Did you hear the Erlauf Queen gave the Lefebvre Estate to an Erlauf army officer?” Lord Delattre said.
“I did. Lefebvre must be rolling in his grave,” Lord Rosseux said. “The queen is taking her time in handing out the estates. They’ve been in royal possession for two, almost three years.”
“I imagine they’re trying to decide which of their army officers to plant where. Their country places the highest importance on military service. Even nobles are required to serve,” Lord Delattre said.
“Working, pah,” Lord Rosseux said.
“Aren’t most of the officers titled nobles?” Julien said.
“It is my understanding that officers are esteemed as highly as members of nobility—perhaps higher in social standing, if not economic. Most of the officers, I believe, are sons of noblemen,” Lord Delattre said.
“Giving out Trieux estates is a brilliant way to reward them, then. If officers are second or third sons, they won’t inherit a title or lands,” Julien said.
“Brilliant of the Erlauf Queen and her consort, yes,” Lord Delattre said. “But it saddens me to see my countrymen’s’ lands going to…,” he glanced at Lady Delattre and Cinderella and trailed off.
Cinderella smoothed her plain dress on her legs, and was surprised when Lady Delattre took her hand. “You look tired, darling,” the older woman whispered.
“I might be a little, but my work is not without its rewards,” Cinderella said.
“You will not let even a single servant go?”
“No.”
“You are just as stubborn as your father,” Lady Delattre said, shaking her head. “It is very noble of you, but what will you do when you marry? Julien and Marcus cannot afford Aveyron.”
Cinderella kept her face a smooth mask. When Cinderella’s father was alive, no one had dared to push the topic of Cinderella’s marriage. Now that he had been gone for over two years, Cinderella’s marriage seemed to be the only thing noblewomen could think of.
It wasn’t like the groom was going to be a surprise. Cinderella had two choices: Julien Rosseux or Marcus Girard—who was several years younger than her.
It was expected she would marry, and with taxes as high as they were, she would be forced to marry without a dowry. Her husband would take her to preserve Trieux nobility, not to inherit Aveyron, as had once been the reason for her popularity. When she married, it was likely that Aveyron and everything in it would have to be sold, for no one would want an estate of such monstrous size to care for in addition to their own.
Cinderella wished there was another way, but she couldn’t see it.
“Cinderella?”
Cinderella gave Lady Delattre her best smile. “I apologize; my thoughts clouded my mind for a moment. I do not know what I will do,” she said.
Lady Delattre sighed. “If only my Rodolf hadn’t died in the war,” she said, referring to her deceased son. He never would have been a candidate for Cinderella’s hand before—the Delattres weren’t of high enough standing to be joined to Cinderella’s family in the lavish times before the Erlauf invasion.
“I am sorry, Lady Delattre,” Cinderella said, resting her fingertips on the older woman’s hand.
Lady Delattre took a shuddering breath and bravely nodded.
When Cinderella removed her attention from her saddened hostess, she met Julien’s gaze.
The shy young man blushed and looked away.
Cinderella folded her hands together and returned her attention to Lord Delattre and Lord Rosseux’s conversation. She wouldn’t give up on Aveyron until she had exhausted all other options.
Julien and Marcus were nice enough, but Cinderella’s priority was Aveyron.
“You seem distracted today, Mademoiselle.”
Cinderella tore her gaze from the squad of patrolling soldiers. “I beg your pardon,” she said, setting the officer’s usual bag of carrots on the counter.
“There is nothing to pardon,” he said, coins clinking in
his hand. “It was merely an observation.”
Cinderella said nothing and held her hand out for the coins as the officer did not seem inclined to place them on the counter as usual.
The officer held Cinderella’s gaze, his mouth slanting in a smirk as he brushed his fingertips against her palm, touching her hand longer than necessary.
Cinderella jerked her hand back. “Thank you for your business,” she said, her tone as stiff as the set of her shoulders.
Three soldiers stood with the officer instead of his usual pack. One of them laughed at Cinderella’s reaction and nudged the officer.
The officer still smirked. “What is your name, Mademoiselle?”
Cinderella, in the process of sliding the coins in the money box, almost dropped the coins. “What?”
“Your name.”
Cinderella puffed up like an anxious cat. Behind her Vitore squealed and dropped a basket of winter potatoes. She could lie, but the farce wouldn’t last long. Hair as red as hers was rare, and everyone knew the produce stand belonged to Aveyron.
“Mademoiselle?” the officer said, his smile growing more crooked.
“Cinderella. My name is Cinderella,” she finally said.
The officer tipped the brim of his hat. “Until tomorrow, Cinderella.”
He left with his cronies, exiting the market the same way he entered.
“Mademoiselle,” Vitore said, hovering at Cinderella’s shoulder.
“I know,” Cinderella said, her heart icing over as the officer disappeared from view.
With his exit, market business resumed. The cobbler went back to mending a busted shoe; a baker once again shouted his list of baked goods, and even the meat chickens five stalls up started clucking again.
The tap of the cobbler’s hammer on the bottom of the shoe barely resumed before a mousy-looking woman scurried across the market. “Lady Lacreux, whatever will you do?” the mousy woman wailed.
“About what?” Cinderella said, checking on the potatoes Vitore had dropped.
“About the officer. You’ve caught his eye, mark my words. He’s going to try and seduce you,” the woman said, wringing her hands.
