Cinderella and the Colonel

by Shea, K. M.

  There was a bang, and a cloud of smoke encased Sybilla.

  “Drat! I forgot about that,” Sybilla coughed from inside the cloud. “Where are you, mice? Oof!”

  When the smoke rolled away, four horses, outfitted in black harnesses, were lined up in front of Sybilla. The horses twitched their noses a little too often, and their fur was the same shiny, well-kept, velvet brown as the four mice, but they took to their new bodies quite well.

  “Magic,” Cinderella gulped.

  “Sybilla’s magic,” Angelique was quick to add.

  “Yoo-hoo! Yes, you two! I need a footman and a driver. What say you?” Sybilla called out to the two nearest goats.

  The goats chewed mouthfuls of grass and looked unimpressed.

  “How is that for gratuity? Is anyone else more prone to honor than these two pigs?” Sybilla called to the rest of the herd.

  An ancient, shriveled buck goat Cinderella kept because she didn’t have the heart to see him slain approached Sybilla with one of the year’s baby goats—a doeling.

  The doeling pranced and jumped, leaping over the back of the old goat, who baaed at Sybilla before knocking the doeling in the head with his horns.

  “Thank you very much. I assure you the mice won’t be much trouble. I’ve already given them directions,” Sybilla said. “Now, be men!”

  Nothing happened.

  “Herm. That was embarrassing,” Sybilla said as the goat baaed at her. “I beg your pardon. Be a man and a girl!”

  There was another explosion of smoke. When it cleared, an elderly driver dressed smartly in white and gray stood with a young girl who wore gray breeches, a white shirt, and a white hat.

  “Very good; you both look grand. If you would stand with the horses, please. Now, a carriage. Duchess Lacreux, have you any pots or apple baskets?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Never mind. I see a pumpkin patch yonder. It is the wrong season, but with luck, that will make the pumpkin more cooperative,” Sybilla said, striding off towards a field.

  She returned some minutes later, a suspiciously round carriage plated in gold rolling after her. The mice-horses arranged themselves in front of the carriage—their harnesses curling into place by magic—while the goat driver climbed into place.

  The goat footgirl opened the door of the round carriage, revealing an inside of orange satin.

  “I could not get it to entirely agree with me, but no one will see the interior anyway,” Sybilla grudgingly said. “Now, dearie, I am sorry to say it, but this magic will only work until midnight. The mice need to be home by then, and I must confess I need to leave the Werra city limit, and once I do, my magic will cease functioning.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Angelique frowned. “I, too, must be leaving.”

  “Off to see that Arcainian princess?”

  “Yes. If she can overtake Clotilde, it would be wisest to make our move as swiftly as possible.”

  “Smart.”

  “Perhaps,” Angelique said before turning her attention to Cinderella. “I will stay in the area with Sybilla until midnight, but on a night as suitable as this for my mount, I really should ride. When I fall out of range, my magic will fade as well. I apologize, but I cannot stay longer.”

  “There is nothing to apologize for. I cannot repay you for this,” Cinderella said, gesturing to her clothes and the carriage.

  “It was our delight,” Angelique said. “I wish you all the luck I can spare.”

  Cinderella shakily smiled. “Thank you.”

  Sybilla narrowed her eyes at Cinderella. “Do not be afraid, dearie. Your good cheer has more power than you know. Even your animals know you labor for them. Now, run along. You are fashionably late, but you haven’t much time to spare.”

  “Thank you,” Cinderella said, accepting the goat-footgirl’s help into the round carriage. The door closed after her, and Cinderella barely had enough time to push aside an orange, velvet curtain to wave at the magical women before the carriage jolted forward.

  Dazed, Cinderella sat back into the satin covered bench. “I’m going to the Victory Ball to speak to Queen Freja,” she said.

  Her heart pounded in her throat, and Cinderella’s mind buzzed. What should she say? What could she say? No one would mistake her for an Erlauf lady, but did everyone know of her brilliant red hair?

  “I won’t say my name. Not yet. Even if someone in the court does know of my red hair, they must also know I chopped it. Perhaps they will think I wore a wig as part of the masquerade. I don’t think anyone will correctly guess who I am. I haven’t even met any Erlauf nobility besides when I was presented to Queen Freja as the new duchess.”

  Chapter 15

  Cinderella felt ill-prepared when the carriage entered Werra. In less time than Cinderella would have liked, the mice-horses pranced to a stop in front of the palace, which glowed with the setting sun.

  The carriage door opened, and the goat girl helped Cinderella exit the pumpkin.

  The palace entrance was lined with soldiers and guards. Cinderella looked for familiar faces among the men—although she didn’t see any—as she climbed the stairs. They did not blink or even acknowledge her presence. They stood stiffly, their swords unsheathed but lowered.

  Cowed by the silence and swords, Cinderella followed the burgundy runner rugs that lined the floor and led the way to the ballroom.

  As the palace—and thus the ballroom—were built and designed by Trieux, the architecture was over the top with extravagance.

  The ballroom was two levels—the main floor housed swirling dancers and an orchestra. The second floor was nothing more than a balcony that edged the perimeter of the room, although it held over a hundred guests who strolled, murmured, and admired the views from the full-length windows. On both floors, there were patios and terraces made of the finest white marble that allowed attendees to enjoy the cool evening air and afforded them a lovely outlook of the royal gardens.

  The ceiling was vaulted and covered with ornate Trieux murals—typically hunting scenes, the Trieux unicorn rearing beautifully, and meadow scenes. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling like glittering webs, and the floor was Trieux blue, made to compliment the night sky and set off the white marble.

  The biggest feat of the room was the throne. The Trieux throne was a monstrosity of white and blue marble, set off by Trieux lavender cushions. The throne was placed on a platform created by the merging of three staircases. Two of the staircases cascaded down from the second floor, and the biggest rose up from the first floor to support the smaller two.

  Chandeliers, blue curtains, and candelabras were arranged around and below the staircases to make the throne look as if it were rising up out of the stars.

  Before Cinderella always thought it was beautiful imagery. Now, a member of the working class and responsible for the livelihood of all her employees, she felt the throne—beautiful as it was—was a tacky show of poor spending.

  Queen Freja stood on the platform, some paces in front of the throne as if to distance herself from it.

  The two Erlauf Princes stood at the base of the stairs that breeched the first level, standing in a military style and speaking to those who shuffled forward in the long line, waiting to speak to the queen. The consort was nowhere to be seen.

  Cinderella considered joining the line until she caught whiff of the refreshments. “Food,” Cinderella said, abandoning her goal and following her nose.

  Tables of food were laid out in a connecting room. There was stuffed cabbage, five kinds of smoked sausage, poppy seed rolls, crepes stuffed with nuts and chocolate sauce, chilled cherry soup, sweet plum dumplings, and many more traditional Erlauf dishes Cinderella did not have a hope of recognizing.

  There were also tables of wines, brandies, and beer to consume, as well. None of the food or drinks bore even the vaguest hint of Trieux influence.

  Cinderella bit her lip before she sampled a piece of sausage. It was fantastic. So fantastic that Cinderella gather
ed the courage to try the dishes she did not know. She nibbled on the delicious food, wondering if she could smuggle some home, when she grew aware of someone standing next to her.

  A young man dressed in the uniform of a Major bowed when Cinderella finally looked at him. “If you would pleasure me with a dance, Lady,” he said, extending his hand.

  Cinderella stared at the soldier.

  This wasn’t part of her plan.

  Besides Friedrich, she was used to being ignored by males from Erlauf. Why was he asking her to dance? Did she look pitiful?

  Cinderella looked nervously around and swallowed the last bit of food she was chewing—an excellent sampling of cheese. “Of course,” she said, taking his hand and allowing herself to be led back to the ballroom and to the dance floor.

  Cinderella tried to study her new companion—wondering if he was one of Friedrich’s men and, thus, had recognized her—but his mask covered at least half his face.

  The Major swept her into the dance—which was, surprisingly, a dance Cinderella recognized as originating in Loire. It was simple, thank goodness. All Cinderella had to do was hold her dress with one hand and the Major’s shoulder with the other.

  The Major was a competent dancer. He swept Cinderella across the floor, keeping time with the other dancers.

  Attempting conversation seemed awkward, so Cinderella allowed herself to be silently guided along. When the song finished, she dipped in an elegant curtsey.

  “Thank you for the dance,” Cinderella said.

  “Thank you, Lady,” the major said, bowing over Cinderella’s gloved hand and kissing her knuckles.

  After Cinderella reclaimed her hand she muttered, “Perhaps I have not given Friedrich enough credit. Maybe all Erlauf men are the grabbing type.”

  She directed her attention to the line of those waiting to address Queen Freja. The queue curled around the stairs. “Still too long, back to the refreshments,” Cinderella said.

  When she turned around, she nearly smacked into an elegantly dressed male.

  “I apologize. I did not look to see where I was going,” she said.

  “No harm done,” the man—he was perhaps a decade older than Cinderella—said, straightening his jacket. “Skirts, I have been told, could almost be considered a weapon. Would you care to dance?”

  “Certainly, thank you,” Cinderella said, once again allowing herself to be pulled into a dance.

  Her second time on the dance floor was slightly more difficult, as it was an Erlauf dance Cinderella rarely took part of. She did not mind the lack of conversation as she focused on moving her feet.

  The beat was faster, and by the end of the song, Cinderella knew she was flushed.

  “Thank you, Lady, for the wonderful dance. You are very skilled,” Cinderella’s partner said when it was over.

  “You are too kind,” Cinderella said, breathing heavily. “But I thank you for the compliment, and for the dance,” she curtsied.

  “The pleasure was all mine,” the man said, kissing Cinderella’s knuckles like her previous partner.

  Glad she was wearing gloves, Cinderella glanced at the line to the throne—it was still long—before she slipped through the crowd, making her way towards a patio.

  “Lady, I beg you to forgive my impertinence, but would you grant me the pleasure of dancing with me?”

  Cinderella almost ignored the request—he couldn’t possibly be talking to her—before she realized she was the only one standing near the man—a middle-aged soldier. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. It was difficult to guess thanks to his half mask. His uniform was…different.

  Cinderella couldn’t put her finger on it, but the cut of his jacket was unusual, and he wore no identifying badges or medals.

  “Of course,” Cinderella said, allowing herself to be led back to the dancers and musicians.

  “What do you think of the ball?” her companion asked.

  “It is lovely,” Cinderella said.

  “What do you enjoy most? The dancing?”

  “The food. It is exquisite,” Cinderella said with feeling.

  Cinderella’s dance partner released a bark of laughter, drawing glances from some of their fellow dancers.

  “I am glad to hear you think so,” the man said.

  Cinderella noticed that as they swept past a group of soldiers, the men saluted.

  Am I dancing with a general?

  “The music is skillfully played, of course, and everyone is dressed beautifully,” Cinderella added, slightly insulted by the humor he found in her choice.

  “And what of the venue?”

  “No one can say the Trieux Palace is not grand.”

  “And the throne?”

  Cinderella was silent for a few beats. “It is mostly an eyesore,” she admitted.

  The solider—or in all likelihood, officer—smiled at Cinderella. “It is certainly gaudy. You could feed an army for at least a few months with the funds that monstrosity cost.”

  “Or you could buy a year’s supply of seed and hay. Perhaps more,” Cinderella said almost dreamily.

  “You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” Cinderella’s dance companion said, his voice colored with approval.

  “Thank you, sir. I would like to think I do.”

  They chatted for a few minutes more, until the dance was over and they parted ways.

  “Thank you for the splendid dance, sir.”

  “No, thank you, Mademoiselle. You have done me a great service,” the officer said. He bowed over Cinderella’s hand but did not touch it with his lips. He clicked his heels, nodded at her, and disappeared in the crush of the crowd.

  Encouraged by the fun, Cinderella once again tried to fight her way to the refreshments. Halfway there, another young man found her and begged her for a dance.

  This pattern continued for some time. Cinderella could scarcely understand her popularity among the men—masked and parading around with the fair skin of a Trieux lady as she was—but she rarely had a moment alone and did not have time to grab more than a few morsels from the refreshments before a new man would request her to dance with them.

  After hours of dancing, Cinderella was hot and thirsty. She stole off to the refreshments, doing her best to dart behind ladies with large skirts and men of immense bulk. When she reached the tables of food, she greedily took several pieces of sausage—having discovered she had a fondness for it—and approached the table awash with drinks.

  She stood there, trying to decide between a wine or an odd, sweet-smelling juice, when she heard male voices strolling in her direction.

  “—barely made it back in time for the ball. My valet was dumping water on my head to get the goblin slime out of my hair as we rode back.”

  “How many goblins were there?”

  “Three packs—which was an unexpected surprise. We thought there would only be one.”

  “Did you lose any men?”

  “No. Several were badly wounded though. We left them at the Semonè fortification for medical attention.”

  Cinderella chewed her snacks and considered the voices and the implications of their conversation. Goblins moved in packs, but typically the packs didn’t group up together due to the petty natures of the creatures. Furthermore, the last time goblins were seen in Trieux was over a century ago. The black mage hadn’t lied. Darkness was coming. Wondering who would discuss such a thing at a ball, Cinderella risked a glance over her shoulder and choked on her sausage.

  Colonel Merrich and Lord Diederick—both mask-less and grim faced—strolled in her direction, heading for the drinks.

  “That was smart of you.”

  “Indeed. So, what have I missed? Have any fist-fights broken out?” Colonel Merrich asked.

  “The hour is not nearly late enough, and no one has had enough to drink, yet,” Lord Diederick said.

  Cinderella thumped herself on the chest as discreetly as possible to clear her throat before she snatched up a gl
ass of the unidentifiable juice, glided—even when hiding, it was not good for a lady to scurry—behind a support pillar, and faced the entrance to the ballroom.

  “Have the mothers of eligible daughters hounded you all night?” Colonel Merrich asked, selecting a brandy.

  “Not so much. I suspect they were combing the crowds for you. An army officer is a better prize than a lord, after all,” Lord Diederick said.

  Cinderella peeked around the pillar. She needed to get out of the room without drawing their notice (as they were quite possibly the only two beings in the room capable of recognizing her) and, more importantly, she needed to find out what hour it was. Balls could continue until the wee hours of the morning, but Cinderella only had until midnight, and she still hadn’t talked to Queen Freja.

  “If you are so jealous of my status, you should have ditched the books in school and joined the Army with Friedrich and me.”

  Content they were absorbed in their conversation, Cinderella started for the door.

  At that moment, a young man Cinderella recognized because he had already danced with her three times that evening and complimented her loudly during every dance, entered the refreshments room. He looked back and forth through the room, searching for someone.

  Cinderella slid behind a woman wearing an elaborate mask and headdress designed to look like a sun. She couldn’t catch the man’s eye, or he would loudly greet her, drawing attention to them.

  She could still hear the men talking from her new position. “I pride myself that I will never sink so low as to be jealous of you.” Lord Diederick said. “I am not in my position for the glory, but the power. I have no use for social niceties, but having an entire financial administration at my beck and call? That is what I live for.”

  “Mmm,” Colonel Merrich said, drinking his Brandy. “You always were stiff-necked.”

  “I will remember your words the next time I approve your payroll.”

  Cinderella gawked at the pair for the moment. Lord Diederick was in an administrative position? Why in the blazes was he her finance contact at the palace?