by Shea, K. M.
The young man/dancing enthusiast gave one last look around the room before he left. His exit was not a moment too soon, for Colonel Merrich and Lord Diederick started to turn their backs to the alcoholic drinks and face in Cinderella’s direction.
Still carrying her drink, Cinderella cut in front of a couple and minced out of the room. Once in the ballroom, she downed her juice to moisten her dry mouth. “I can’t believe I escaped that,” she said before setting her empty goblet on a tray.
A nearby bell tower started to ring, and Cinderella listened to the tolls as she moved to join the reception line.
Cinderella winced when the tolls stopped. It was eleven. Thankfully the line to see Queen Freja was shortening—it started at the base of the stairs where the princes stood rather than winding around behind them—but depending how long it took, she may not have time to speak to the queen before midnight came.
Cinderella started estimating how long it would take her to reach the front of the line, counting on her fingers.
“Is something wrong, Mademoiselle?” asked a muffled voice.
The voice sounded familiar, so Cinderella automatically raised her eyes.
A young man dressed in black with a gray mask that covered his entire face addressed her. A crown was perched on his head. It was smaller and less ornate than the queen’s, and was made of copper or bronze and had only a large ruby surrounded by polished beads of onyx to decorate it.
The air left Cinderella’s lungs as she realized she was addressing one of the Erlauf princes, and she had no idea what either of them were named. “Prince…”
“Cristoph. The older one,” the prince said, his voice sounded amused rather than offended.
“Prince Cristoph,” Cinderella awkwardly repeated. “I thank you for the attention, but I am fine. I was merely taking note of the hour.”
“You were wondering if the wait was worth it to meet Mother?” the prince said. His mask had no opening for his mouth, and the eyeholes were covered with white netting, so Cinderella could see no part of his face. As such, it was hard for Cinderella to tell if he was being sarcastic or not because the mask muffled his voice and made him sound flat. Additionally, he seemed to be speaking oddly, as if he were pitching his voice extra low.
“I am sure Her Majesty Queen Freja is worth a wait of any length,” Cinderella firmly said. “But I am not certain I can stay long enough to speak to her.”
“Then speak with me, and when you return home, you can report to your family that you did speak to a member of royalty,” Prince Cristoph said.
Cinderella considered the offer.
He’s not the queen. But I suppose speaking to the Crown Prince is an excellent start.
“Very well, if you are not opposed to spending some of your time on me.”
“Not at all,” Prince Cristoph said before directing Cinderella out of the line.
The second prince—who wore clothes and a mask identical to Prince Cristoph’s—watched them leave, his face trained in their direction.
“Was there anything you wished to discuss with my mother?” Prince Cristoph asked.
“Yes, actually,” Cinderella said as she strolled with the prince.
People cleared the way for them, opening up a walking path wherever Cristoph went. Oddly enough, considering the way men had been kissing her hand and taking up her arm with no hesitation, the Prince did not lay so much as a finger on Cinderella, nor did he offer his arm as they walked.
“Did you wish to scold her over the rising taxes?” Prince Cristoph asked.
Cinderella frowned. “I would not be so rude and poor mannered to address that topic, Your Highness.”
“Then what did you plan to discuss with her?”
“Trieux.”
Prince Cristoph stopped walking for a brief moment. “I see. And what are your concerns?”
Cinderella took a deep breath and tried to calm her fluttering heart. “I feel the attitude of Erlauf and the remaining Trieux citizens must be addressed. The people are locked in a struggle against each other, and it is not good for a country—even one as strong as Erlauf—to have a portion of it divided.”
“You think Queen Freja should reestablish a Trieux government?”
“Stars above, no.” Cinderella said.
“Why not?”
Cinderella paused for a moment, composing her reply. Well, he hasn’t made fun of me yet, she thought.
“It has come to my attention that Erlauf is under attack, not by another country, but by sheer evil. Trieux cannot stand against an enemy of that caliber. Releasing Trieux will only bring waste to the land,” Cinderella said.
“That sounds melodramatic.”
“Of this I am aware, but it cannot be denied.”
“What proof do you have of this supposed evil?”
Cinderella grimly considered the question. She had great proof—her own experience, and Friedrich’s words. But she would like to avoid identifying herself. Taking a chance, Cinderella said, “It is no used to pretend otherwise, Your Highness. I have heard of the various attacks against the Erlauf Royal family.”
Prince Cristoph neither confirmed nor denied Cinderella’s accusation. “What do you propose?”
This was it!
“The separation between those of Erlauf and those of Trieux must be done away with. It is more an operation of attitude than action, but to succeed Queen Freja will need to make a conscious effort,” Cinderella said.
“You expect her to heal the divide with kindness?”
“Hate cannot drive out hate,” Cinderella said, echoing Friedrich. “As long as hate is shared, Trieux and Erlauf will be in an eternal struggle.”
Prince Cristoph was silent. “I would not argue that,” he finally said. “But it seems our lovely Queen will be footing the bill for this forgiveness you desire.”
“Not so,” Cinderella said. “I know people of influence among Trieux. They will do their best to offer forgiveness on their side, as well,” Cinderella said.
She knew Julien was already on her side; Marie and her husband would be easy to sway—there was something to be said about being a merchant who was more interested in profits than bad blood among nobles. Perhaps the Girards could be convinced, and if they were, the Delattre’s would not be far behind. Also, Cinderella had a strange inkling that the half-deaf Lord Leroy might agree with her without any sort of persuasion at all.
“Would the lady care for a dance?” Prince Cristoph asked, shattering Cinderella’s thoughts. “We can still converse as we dance. Your conversation intrigues me.”
“Very well,” Cinderella said.
Prince Cristoph bowed before he approached the orchestra and spoke to them. They abruptly ended the slow song they played, and switched to a different tune.
“Have you ever danced an Erlauf circle?” Prince Cristoph asked.
“Yes,” Cinderella said, slow to commit. It was a dance that required absolutely no touching, although the dancers were still organized into couples. They moved around each other in a circular pattern, sliding close but never touching.
Cinderella’s Father once told her the dance was meant to mimic the movements of the Erlauf Calvary with the horses sliding forward and backward in matched patterns.
“So what does this forgiveness look like?” Prince Cristoph asked after he found a spot on the dance floor and lined up across from Cinderella.
“Like love,” Cinderella said.
Prince Cristoph almost missed the musical cue to step around Cinderella. “What does that mean?”
“It means Trieux nobles and shopkeepers hire people from Erlauf who immigrated to Werra. It means Erlauf soldiers are gentle with people from Trieux and do not treat them with suspicion,” Cinderella said as she and the prince side-stepped each other. “Erlauf citizens can share their knowledge of flower farming, and the Trieux vendors in the market could teach Erlauf folk how to barter.”
“This forgiveness of yours does not sound like the standard f
orgive and forget arrangement,” Prince Cristoph said as he bowed to Cinderella and she curtsied in tune with the music.
“Forgetting is not at all what forgiveness means. Forgiveness, in the case of our country, is forging ahead together. People from Trieux should intertwine with people from Erlauf. The Erlauf Royal Family should acknowledge they are in what once was Trieux. If they are seen eating a Trieux dish, or using a Trieux word to describe something, I can guarantee Trieux citizens will ponder what goods and crops they can sell that people from Erlauf would like,” Cinderella said, her shoulder almost brushing the prince’s.
“In other words, we should make an effort to adopt Trieux customs and culture into our lives?” Prince Cristoph asked.
“In a way, yes. Right now our countries are saturated with bitterness. If we try being a little less selfish, I think the bitterness can be purged,” Cinderella said, ducking under Prince Cristoph’s arm.
“I see. And you are willing to make some of the sacrifices you mentioned?” Prince Cristoph asked, stepping back with Cinderella before they came together again.
“Of course, or I wouldn’t have the nerve to make these suggestions,” Cinderella said.
“I fear there is too much bad blood between Trieux Nobles and Erlauf Nobles for friendship,” Prince Cristoph said.
Cinderella twirled, her skirts swishing around her. “Perhaps. But there is something you must understand. The hearts of the Trieux commoners are ripe for the taking. For the most part, the upper class did a poor job caring for them. There were some exceptions, but I do not think any of the common class has strong feelings for Trieux nobility. If you can win over the entire commoner class, the remaining nobles and what few Trieux government officials are still alive will have no choice but to follow.”
“I see,” Prince Cristoph said, clapping twice, in synch with the male dancers.
“Additionally, you underestimate the next generation of Trieux nobles,” Cinderella said, side-stepping Prince Cristoph again. “Several of the houses have young lords and ladies who are poised to take over their parents’ titles. They do not have the same grudges and stubbornness of their parents. You might be able to win them over, if you strike soon,” Cinderella said.
“Your thoughts intrigue me,” Prince Cristoph said as the dance came to an end.
“But you do not support them?”
“I never said that. I am merely withholding judgment. It is warm in here; shall we continue the conversation outside?”
“As you wish, your Highness,” Cinderella said.
Prince Cristoph led Cinderella through the crowd—which opened up before him like magic—and out to a balcony.
It was of Trieux design, so naturally the balcony was beautiful. There was a white fountain placed perfectly so when silver moonlight struck the trickling water, the surface glowed. Sculpted, well-trimmed plants—the only sign of the Erlauf takeover, Cinderella suspected—made a stark contrast of green among the white balcony, fountain, and benches.
There were three soldiers on the balcony, but as soon as they saw Prince Cristoph, they leaped to their feet, bowed, and made a speedy exit.
“Your argument is well thought out,” Prince Cristoph said when they were alone.
Cinderella left him at the fountain and seated herself on a nearby bench, sighing in relief. The glass slippers were comfortable, but her feet ached from all the dancing. She hadn’t danced this must since her dance instructor declared her accomplished at age fourteen.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Cinderella said, smoothing her dress over the bench.
“But why such passion?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Prince Cristoph gestured widely. “Why subject yourself to such cares and worries? You are a beautiful woman. You could marry and wash your hands of the affair, forgetting the matter. You do not have to save Erlauf.”
As tired as she was, the Prince’s words propelled Cinderella into standing. “First of all, I resent the idea that if a woman marries, her lot in life is to be empty-headed and pampered.”
“I did not say that,” Prince Cristoph said.
“You implied if I married, things like the country would no longer worry me. Why wouldn’t they? No one is bothering themselves to address this issue. Marriage would not change that, nor would it blind me to the truth that there is much work to be done, and everyone is too selfish to compromise or give up any comforts to see this situation changed,” Cinderella said, her voice hot and angry.
“Make no mistake, whether you and your great mother decide to help me or not, I will face this problem even if I must go at it alone,” Cinderella said, clenching her hands into fists.
Prince Cristoph pushed off from his perch on the fountain. “Your passion gives you much credit,” he said, stepping close to Cinderella. “And your dedication is admirable. I apologize for any offense my thoughtless words gave.”
Her temper cooling, Cinderella shook her head. “I am afraid, Your Highness. If we don’t make amends, will Erlauf survive?”
Prince Cristoph extended a hand towards Cinderella’s face. “We will—,” he cut himself off when Cinderella jerked away before he could graze her cheek with his fingers.
“I apologize again for my apparently offensive act,” Prince Cristoph said, his words slow and carefully pronounced.
“Oh, it isn’t—you misunderstood,” Cinderella said, clasping her hands in front of her. “It’s only…,” she trailed off, aware that she was starting to blush.
“You already have a man you care for?” Prince Cristoph guessed.
Startled, Cinderella fixed her eyes on his mask. It was to her shame, but he was right. Before she pulled away she hadn’t thought of her marriage prospects, as was her usual concern, but of the disappointed face Friedrich was sure to give her.
“How did you know?” she said, her eyes wide.
“Just a guess,” Prince Cristoph said, his voice cool. “A Trieux nobleman, I assume? Together you would have a better chance of molding the minds of Trieux commoners.”
“What? How would—what time is it?” Cinderella said, her heart freezing over when she realized she did not know the hour.
“I am not certain. So he is from Trieux?”
“Where can I find a clock?” Cinderella asked.
“What?”
“A clock! Where can I find a clock?”
“There is one above the ballroom entrance, but—,”
Cinderella was already scurrying into the hot ballroom. She covered her mouth to hold in a shriek when she saw the time—she had fifteen minutes before the magic would fade. In that time she needed to leave the palace, and get out of Werra!
Cinderella ran back to the threshold of the balcony and curtsied. “I thank you for your time, Prince Cristoph, you have been most gracious,” Cinderella before she turned on her heels and ran.
“Mademoiselle, wait! Mademoiselle,” Prince Cristoph shouted.
Cinderella ignored the calls and slipped her way out of the ballroom, apologizing to anyone she ran into in her hurry.
“My lady!”
Cinderella fled the ballroom and ran down the hallway. She was shocked when she heard the prince call to her. “Can’t you wait, Mademoiselle!”
She just reached the palace entrance when she heard the Prince order “Wait, stop her!”
Cinderella gave up running like a lady. She picked up her skirts and ran down the long line of stairs where her carriage waited.
The walkway was lined with soldiers, who started to move towards her, but as soon as Cinderella gathered up her skirts they lunged backwards, as if she had hit them, and avoided looking at her.
At the bottom stairs Cinderella’s mice-horses neighed to her and twitched their noses twice as fast as usual. The carriage driver baaed at her, and the goat-footgirl had the carriage door open. The orange interior of the carriage glowed in the night.
Cinderella was almost clear. She picked up her pace, but one of her glass slippers slipped
and skid out from underneath her. Cinderella fell into a soldier, who steadied her by her waist before practically pushing her away from him.
In the bustle, Cinderella’s foot slipped from a glass slipper, but Cinderella was too terrified to care.
“Go, go, go!” she shouted to her unusual attendants before stuffing herself into the carriage.
The goat-footgirl had just enough time to leap into place behind the carriage before the horses took off, jostling and bouncing the round carriage.
Cinderella stuck her head out of the window to see Prince Cristoph claiming her abandoned glass slipper and shouting at the soldiers.
One of the mice-horses let out a shrill neigh—which sounded suspiciously like a squeak, and Cinderella looked ahead to see patrolling squads convening in their pathway.
“Don’t stop,” Cinderella shouted to the goat-driver.
The horses bolted down a side street, the sudden turn knocking Cinderella back into the carriage. “We’re taking a different route! The mice won’t know how to get back, and won’t be able to slip out,” Cinderella winced.
Soldiers shouted; whistles were blown, and Cinderella’s carriage rolled on.
One soldier leaped onto the carriage and managed to cling to the door before the goat-footgirl kicked him in the face, dislodging him with great effectiveness.
The soldiers seemed unwilling to use weapons against Cinderella, her attendants, and her great round carriage, but they showed an unfortunate deftness in building barricades out of crates and barrels.
“No, not that way,” Cinderella cried when the mice-horses took another turn that faced them in the direction of the palace. She leaned out of the window to direct her brave steeds and driver. “Quick, take the side street on the left—the one that has the empty beer keg by it—yes!” Cinderella said before pulling herself back in the carriage, for it was a tight squeeze, and in several spots the carriage grazed the alley walls.
“As soon as the alley opens into a main road, take a left—perfect!” Cinderella said. “Now RUN!”
Soldiers on foot pursued them, but thankfully none were mounted. Yet.
Cinderella’s heart thundered in relief when she saw the city gates. “We’re almost there! We can lose them in the woods and fields!” Cinderella told her mice-horses and goat-attendants.
