Charm

by Pinborough, Sarah

  The slipper.

  The girl wanted the slipper. Lilith had frozen at that and for a moment all the servants in the castle had inadvertently shivered as if someone had walked over their graves. The huntsman said Cinderella hadn’t told him what her plan was, only that she’d found a secret room and the prince had the key to it. She’d smiled at that. It hadn’t taken the girl too long to realise that if you’re going to hunt for something hidden, you first look for someone who’s hiding something. Her charming prince hadn’t managed to love her for long, it seemed.

  She gave the huntsman the slipper and lifted the curse for long enough to send him back with it. He’d get twenty-four hours as a man; then he’d turn back into a mouse again forever. That, however, was his problem not hers.

  The minutes were ticking by eternally slowly. She wondered how far he’d got on his journey. She wondered what would happen when he gave her the slipper and Cinderella got into the locked room. Mainly she wondered if this could really be it. The end of her long search. Restless, she got to her feet and wandered into the warmer ante-chamber where all her treasures were laid out. She hoped for the comfort they normally brought her but felt nothing. In the far corner the cabinet door creaked open.

  ‘She truly is the most beautiful in all the land . . .’

  She didn’t bother trying to shut the thing up. It was pointless. Instead, she put down her wine glass and walked with more purpose than she had in a long time to the stairs leading down to the heart of the castle. She would wait for them at the edge of the kingdom. It would be safer that way, depending on the outcome, and it was time she got out into the world. And if the huntsman’s girl really had found the prize after all this time then she’d finish it once and for all.

  It was cold and crisp but, for the first time in a long time, the sun shone over the kingdom that day as the queen with no mercy rode into the forest.

  11

  ‘I can take care of myself . . .’

  It was late afternoon and Cinderella had just finished retracing her steps of the previous night, making small marks on the walls with a piece of chalk at regular intervals just to make sure she didn’t take a wrong turn later, when she bumped into Rose in the corridor at the base of the stairs.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ Rose said, frowning. ‘You missed lunch with father and mother. They’re worried about you.’ The wooden cane she’d been using had been replaced by a slender silver one but she was barely leaning on it at all. The king had sent for the finest shoe makers in the land and they had worked tirelessly to make her beautiful shoes that helped her balance. It didn’t stop Cinderella feeling guilty whenever she saw her. If she hadn’t been so selfish and stupid then it would be Rose preparing for a royal wedding, her family would be financially secure, and she herself would be free.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, trying to nonchalantly edge Rose away from the stairwell. ‘I forgot. How are they?’

  ‘They’re fine. Surprisingly so. I think what happened with my foot . . . well, it sobered mother up.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t get me wrong, she’s happy to be back at court, but I think she’s more excited about father setting up the newspaper again.’

  Cinderella smiled absently, but her mind was already racing ahead. What time would the huntsman be back? Would he have the slipper? But more and more her thoughts were filled with wanting to know exactly what the prince kept behind that locked door. ‘Oh,’ she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘I think Buttons is safe. He’s in the woods.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Rose’s eyes widened. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, my friend told me.’ Some kind of friend, Cinderella thought. She could still die of shame when she thought about what she’d done so brazenly in front of him. She could only hope that mice didn’t have very good eyesight. She began to walk away knowing that whatever secrets she was involved in she still had a teacher waiting for her in the music room who was determined to force a delicate melody from her fingers, which were proving remarkably defiant. After that it would be poetry recital practice. Both, she’d discovered, bored her to tears. Being a noble woman wasn’t quite the life of love and laughter she’d fantasised about.

  ‘Cinderella,’ Rose called after her, and she stopped and turned.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What is going on? I know all this wedding planning must be overwhelming for you, but what are you hiding from me?’ Rose had one hand on the hip of her plum dress. ‘I went into your room to find you and there was some blood on your rug. And you’ve been in my medical kit.’

  ‘Don’t go in my room!’ Cinderella snapped. Her skin burned. She hadn’t even checked the carpets for drops of the huntsman’s blood – she’d been too angry with him to think so practically. She’d need to find time to clean that up. The servants wouldn’t say anything, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  ‘I’m just worried,’ Rose recoiled slightly. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Cinderella said. She didn’t want to upset Rose. She’d done her enough harm already which she would never be able to put right. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I’m fine. I really am.’

  Rose said nothing but she still looked suspicious. Cinderella turned and headed fast down the corridor before any more questions came. She didn’t want to lie, not if she didn’t have to, but she didn’t want to involve Rose either. This was her problem, she was going to deal with it by herself and she’d do whatever it took to get into that room. She was marrying the man anyway, so she would have to do it at some point, and it wasn’t that long ago that she’d been desperate to be alone with him. Still, her stomach twisted nervously. It all sounded good in theory. But how would it go in practice? She pushed the worry out of her head. If the huntsman didn’t come back with the slipper then it would all amount to nothing in the end.

  He came as she was dressing for dinner. She’d styled her hair as she’d worn it for the Bride Ball, her face was powdered and painted and she was perfuming her skin when the knock on the door came. She pulled a robe on and opened it. There he was. Heat rushed to her face and her heart thumped. She lifted her chin. She had nothing to be ashamed of. He was the one who should be embarrassed.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ she asked, looking at the footman livery he was wearing.

  ‘Don’t worry, no one got hurt,’ he answered, stepping inside. ‘Men in taverns, however, should be more careful where they leave their uniforms when they get distracted by a warm body,’

  ‘Have you got it?’ she asked.

  He held up a small brown bag and flinched slightly. His injury was clearly still causing him a lot of pain and her heart softened slightly. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she nodded towards the chair. He did as he was told and she opened the bag and pulled the diamond shoe out.

  ‘You look like you’re getting ready to go into battle,’ he said, his eyes studying her.

  ‘Battle?’

  ‘All the war paint.’

  ‘Are you trying to insult me?’ Anger flared up in her stomach again. Why did she find him so confusing? He’d risked his life to save Buttons because she’d asked him to, and yet he could be so infuriating. She always felt so uncomfortable under his gaze. Why was that?

  ‘No, you look beautiful,’ he said. ‘I’m just curious about all this effort for dinner. And what you’re planning to do with that slipper.’

  Cinderella sat at her dressing table with her back to him. It was just easier that way.

  ‘I know where the second slipper is,’ she said, fixing a diamond necklace around her neck. ‘And I need to get the key.’

  ‘Which he keeps on a chain under his shirt,’ the huntsman said dryly.

  Cinderella’s back stiffened slightly. ‘That’s right.’

  There was a long pause. ‘I see,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll wait until he’s asleep and then steal it. We can get whatever’s in there and then we’re done.’ She skipped over the meat of her plan. Why did she suddenly f
eel awkward? And – if she was honest with herself – more than a little bit scared?

  ‘You’ve got it all figured out then,’ the huntsman said.

  ‘Yes.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Anyway, you should go. I need to get dressed.’

  Behind her, he pulled himself to his feet. ‘Why bother?’ he asked. ‘Clothes don’t seem to be part of your plan.’

  His words stung but she didn’t turn round as he limped towards the door.

  ‘But as long as you know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘It’s not my business.’

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ she snapped. Tears sprung to the back of her eyes suddenly and out of nowhere. How else did he expect her to get the key from the prince and then return it without it being noticed? And he was her husband-to-be. It was hardly . . . well, hardly like the things the girls in the taverns – girls the huntsman no doubt spent all his time with – did.

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said, and then the door closed behind him and he was gone. Cinderella stared at her reflection and her whole body trembled for several minutes; anger, unhappiness and something else she couldn’t quite figure out all roiling into a storm of emotion inside her.

  War paint. Maybe it was. She certainly didn’t recognise the woman staring back at her from the mirror. A lady of the court with tamed and lacquered hair and painted features. Still, she thought. Perhaps it was best to think of herself as someone else for this evening. It might work better that way. She peeled off her robe and pulled on a long green dress with a hem which reached the ground. It was perfect for disguising the fact that she would be wearing two different shoes.

  The warm slipper fitted her perfectly, just as she’d expected, and on her other foot she wore another with a similar heel. She was ready. Her heart beat fast in her chest. There was no going back now.

  Even though she was only wearing one magic slipper, she could see the effect over dinner. Instead of simply casting a bored eye over her before sitting down, this time the prince frowned slightly and then smiled, before coming round to her side of the table and pulling her chair out for her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  He leaned down and spoke softly into her ear, his breath tickling the back of her neck. ‘You look beautiful tonight.’

  She smiled and, when he sat down, lifted her glass to click against his but she only sipped at her drink, even though she longed for the bravery that came with wine. She needed to keep her wits about her for later. The prince, however, drank his.

  All through the meal he talked to her, attentive to her every need, asking about how her music lessons were coming and telling her how excited he was for the wedding to come quickly. It was all the conversation Cinderella had wished for when she first came to the castle but now, somehow, although she smiled and laughed in all the right places, it bored her. He bored her. She thought of the picture she’d kept on her wall in their old house, how she’d dreamed of meeting her handsome prince and falling in love, and now, as he talked of the hunt and his friends and various balls that were being arranged in their honour, she realised that his personality had about as much depth as that picture.

  The king and queen smiled approvingly – if not without a little surprise – at how engaged their son was with his ill-chosen bride and when the meal finally drew to a close the king suggested that perhaps the prince should walk Cinderella back to her apartments. The prince didn’t argue and the young couple left the dining room arm in arm.

  ‘I was wondering, your highness,’ Cinderella started, her heart racing so hard in her chest that she was sure he must be able to hear it, ‘if you still had my other shoe from the ball. I want to wear them with a new dress.’

  ‘Yes, of course I do,’ he said, looking down and smiling at her. ‘It’s in my apartments. We can go there now if you’d like.’

  Her stomach came up to her throat as she nodded. There was no turning back now. Why was she suddenly so nervous? He was handsome. She’d wanted him for such a long time. Maybe when she had the other shoe on, all the passion she’d felt at the ball would come back. Maybe if she kept the shoes on, he’d love her forever and she’d live happily ever after with a husband who adored her. It was an empty thought. Who really wanted an enchanted love? She hadn’t, even before the ball. She’d just presumed they’d fall in love if given the opportunity, as if love was something easy and took nothing but a pretty face and a longing for it to achieve. She realised she felt nothing for him and, in a way, that was worse than if she hated him.

  Her mismatched heels clicked down the corridor below her dress as they drew closer and closer to his rooms. His arm pulled her tighter to him; a rare gesture of affection. He was talking softly to her of their future, but it was drowned out by the hum of blood and the thumping of her heart.

  A footman with his back to them was polishing the silver arms of a decorative chair just past the prince’s door and she suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to talk to him if just to delay stepping inside. She bit the inside of her cheek instead. There was no point in delaying. She needed to get the key and discover the contents of that room. Delaying now wouldn’t prevent the inevitable. At least the prince was a little hazy from wine and if everything went well would soon be asleep.

  She took a deep breath and stood tall. She was no longer a foolish little girl. She was a woman and it was time to start behaving like one. She’d got herself into this – it was her responsibility to see it through.

  The effect was almost instant. He’d retrieved the shoe from the top of the wardrobe and as soon as she’d slipped it onto her other foot she saw the change in his expression. The lights were low in the room and his eyes glazed as he looked at her.

  ‘How could I have forgotten how beautiful you are?’ he said softly, more to himself than her as he walked towards her. Her heart thumped as his hand slid round her waist, his arm pulling her tight. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She lifted one hand and rested it on his arm. It was muscular and firm and his chest was broad and strong. He smelled of light cologne and body heat. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and the patch of skin she could see was pale and hair-free. Suddenly, she felt as if she might cry.

  ‘Oh, Cinderella,’ he breathed as he slid one hand into her hair and tilted her head back, exactly as the huntsman had done, but this time she felt nothing. His lips lowered to hers and kissed her, gently at first and then, as she felt him becoming aroused and pressing against her, with more urgency.

  Her spine stiffened. She waited for the rush of passion she’d felt before, but none came. Instead, she began to squirm in his arms, trying to twist her head away and break their embrace. He held her tighter, mistaking her movements for excitement. His breathing was coming hard and he was lost in his lust.

  ‘No, look . . .’ she started to say as he broke away for air, but then his mouth was on hers again, and one of his hands was tugging at the laces of her dress as he turned her around, moving them towards the bed.

  ‘No, we shouldn’t . . . I don’t—’

  He wasn’t listening to her as he pushed her backwards and started tugging at his trousers. He was murmuring under his breath, no doubt sweet nothings, but Cinderella didn’t want to hear them. She no longer cared about the key or the room upstairs, she just wanted to be free of his grip so she could run away and keep on running. She tried to push him off her but he grabbed her arms and held them down with one hand as his mouth moved down her neck and towards her breasts. His other hand reached under her skirt, and he groaned as his fingers felt their way up her leg.

  ‘No, please stop . . .’ Cinderella said again, aware that sobs were beginning to choke her throat. This wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t how she’d thought it would be. She desperately tried to free herself of the charmed shoes, but they were fixed tightly to her feet. She closed her eyes and tried to withdraw into herself as her body continued to struggle against him. His hand reached higher and higher, pushing her skirt up and . . .

&
nbsp; . . . and then the weight of him was gone as someone hauled him off the bed with a grunt and the prince cried out in surprise. Cinderella looked up dazed, her vision bleary.

  ‘How dare you!’ the prince hissed at the footman as the two men faced each other at the end of the bed.

  The footman punched him hard, sending the prince reeling.

  ‘Shit,’ the attacker said and winced, touching his side, before punching the recovering prince again and sending him to the floor clutching his mouth.

  Cinderella’s eyes widened. This was no ordinary footman. It was the huntsman. Her huntsman. She scrabbled to her feet and without even straightening her dress ran to him and flung her arms round his neck. He reeled back slightly and put one hand around her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking up at him. His skin was rough and he smelt of the forest and she felt a rush of warmth tingling through her body.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He looked down at her. ‘But just so you know, this plan stank.’

  ‘You!’ The prince was on his feet, his bottom lip was bleeding. ‘I thought you were dead.’ His face flushed as his passion mixed with anger.

  ‘You never bothered to find out,’ the huntsman said.

  Cinderella looked from one to the other. ‘You know each other?’

  ‘That’s a story for another time,’ the huntsman said. He pulled a knife out from under his jacket. ‘And now I think we’ll take that key around your neck.’

  ‘You’ll never get away with this,’ the prince hissed. He looked at Cinderella. ‘My darling, step away from him. I love you. I—’