Cinder-Ugly

by Laura Strickland

  He kissed my hand, not the back, as always at leaving, but the palm this time, pressing his lips deep. “There. That is my heart. In your keeping.”

  My legs trembled beneath me. He pulled me into his arms. For several moments he just held me, our hearts beating against one another. I could smell the warmth of him—so much like sunshine—and I absorbed the exquisite sensation of touching him.

  Then I felt his lips at my ear.

  “Cindra, may I kiss you?”

  My lips parted in surprise. “You’re a Prince. And I…”

  “I’ll take that for a yes.”

  As our first kiss, it proved astounding. I’d never imagined such warmth, such comfort, such claiming. I’d never imagined, either, the sensations that rushed through me, primal and powerful.

  Gently, gently he bestowed the caress. Then we gazed into one another’s eyes.

  Looking into Rupert’s eyes felt like gazing into the sea—wide, deep, and limitless—even though I’d never seen the sea, except for an illustration on the printed page.

  “Will you be here for me, Cindra? Here, whenever I can come?”

  I nodded. “I promise I will.”

  ****

  But he did not come the next day, though a bouquet did arrive, seven tiny, perfect red roses. No note. I did not know what to think until Robin returned home and came straight to me.

  “Sister, the King died last night.”

  “Rupert’s father?” The King meant little to me, beyond that.

  Robin nodded gravely. “He passed in the wee hours of the morning, just slipped away. It has been much expected, but a heavy burden, for all that.”

  “Rupert will not be able to get away and come here.”

  “No. The funeral has been long planned and will take place tomorrow.”

  Donella came to sit next to me. “Cindra, dear, will you want to attend?”

  Horror flooded through me, closely followed by a rush of compassion. Of course I wanted to support Rupert. But…

  “Everyone will be there,” I whispered.

  “Well, that’s just it. It’s a state funeral—everyone will be there. Even foreign dignitaries are coming.”

  “Father? Mother?”

  Robin looked grim. “Even if she has to drag herself from her bed.”

  I hesitated. “She’s still ill?”

  “I suspect it’s more a matter of vanity than anything else at this point. Father says she lies in a darkened room all day. But yes, if you go, you’ll have to face her. All of them.”

  I sucked in a breath. Rupert depended on me. He would want me there. How could I let him down? But could I do this impossible thing?

  “I think,” Robin confirmed, “it would mean a great deal to the Prince, seeing you there.”

  Rupert pressing his lips—his heart—into my hand. I must show him he hadn’t misplaced it.

  “Very well. I will accompany the two of you.”

  Donella immediately snapped to life. “Come, we will select a gown and decide how you should wear your hair. I suspect we can lend you a measure of style.”

  I doubted it. But I imagined us sitting somewhere near the back, lost in the crowd. If Rupert caught a glimpse of me, it would be enough.

  Things did not work out quite that way.

  ****

  On the day of the funeral, Donella dressed me in a gown of purple so deep it looked nearly black, decorated all over with bobbles of jet, and a matching cape. From somewhere she produced a black hat with a brim that tipped up on one side and down on the other, half obscuring my face. Beneath this she twisted my hair, all upswept.

  I’d never before worn a hat and found I liked it. I felt concealed, masked, and that allowed me to hold my head higher.

  If my face was crooked, at least part of it now also lay hidden.

  “You look very well,” Donella assured me.

  The funeral commenced in late afternoon. Amazingly, flowers arrived that morning—not a bouquet but a little posy in a worked silver clasp that Donella insisted on pinning at my breast.

  “There. It matches your gown. And it shows he’s thinking of you amid all this madness.”

  The scale of the madness I never imagined till we arrived at the cathedral. A mass of carriages blocked the road—we could not get near and like hundreds of others had to walk the last of the distance.

  For one such as I, unused to appearing in public, the crush of bodies and sheer numbers seemed overwhelming. I shrank close to Robin’s side and clutched his arm, but save for a few nods and curious glances, no one paid us much attention. All eyes focused on the cathedral and the figures inside—foreign ministers, even a neighboring King, and of course our royal family, which apparently included a number of Rupert’s young cousins.

  It must have taken well over an hour to wend our way inside. Between my fear and a general sense of panic, I nearly fainted several times.

  We had no sooner reached the back of the nave than a man flagged Robin down.

  “Master Bulgar, please to come with me.”

  Robin shot a desperate look at us, his charges.

  The man waved a hand. “You and those with you.”

  We went. The man guided us through the tight press of bodies, telling us as he led the way, “The Prince bade me watch for you. We have places for special guests up front.”

  Up front? Oh, no! I tried to draw back, but flight had become doubly impossible. The crowd closed behind us like a brick wall.

  Up ahead, though, I saw the bishop, clad all in white, and another member of the clergy—no, two. A number of dignitaries and—oh, there was the Queen, dressed all in black and looking pale enough to swoon. A grand bier holding what must be the King’s coffin. And—oh, Rupert!

  It seemed so strange seeing him here. All our time together had been spent in the garden—my world. Now we were in his.

  The seats that had been saved for us were in the second row back. But before we could reach them, Rupert looked round and saw us.

  His face lit. He gestured to us, and Robin changed course immediately. Rupert was, after all, his liege—and now his King.

  That realization hit me in the gut. Yet Rupert’s gaze reached for me, full of gladness and what might be relief. He barely glanced at Robin or Donella.

  “You came. I scarcely dared hope you would.”

  He held his hand out to me. Robin passed my fingers into Rupert’s possession. Rupert drew me to his side, our palms fused. Robin and Donella went away to their seats.

  I stood.

  I confess I did not comprehend the significance of Rupert’s action then. But he’d claimed me before thousands of eyes—before a kingdom—and kept me at his side on this most significant occasion.

  The Queen gave me a startled glance. I doubted, in her extremity, she recognized me as the clumsy maid who’d showered her with jam tarts, but she at least grasped the meaning behind my presence. She raked her son with her gaze but said nothing.

  As for me—pinned there before all those eyes—I wanted to fall through the floor of the raised apron where we stood, wanted to turn into mist and dissipate. But Rupert’s touch captured and upheld me. His desire for my presence gave me strength enough to straighten my spine and lift my head high, knees locked.

  Because I could feel his need—all throughout that endless, formal ceremony while he said farewell to his father and assumed responsibilities I could not even imagine.

  And I knew I could no longer, in truth, claim I meant nothing to anyone.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Everyone is talking about you,” Donella told me eagerly the next morning. “Wondering and speculating over the identity of the elegant woman the Prince kept at his side throughout yesterday’s service.”

  Elegant? Surely she must be massaging the truth. I’d managed to stand tall and keep from shaming Rupert by passing out during that long time until he at last released my hand and went to the head of the bier, where he led his father’s coffin out of the nave to bur
ial in a vault deep below the castle. I’d lost track of him then, and we’d left for our carriage soon after.

  Reaction had truly hit me when I awoke this morning. Now I sat at breakfast with Donella, Robin already having gone to the castle. Wrapped in my shabby robe there, I felt anything but elegant.

  Donella poured tea from the pot. “It seems no one recognized you. Not too surprising, really, since you’ve been more or less retired from the world most of your life—and speculation runs rife.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “No fewer than three friends have stopped by already this morning, folks who saw you with us. I, of course, told them nothing.”

  I pulled the shawl collar of the robe closer around my throat and shivered a little. I didn’t know how I’d managed to endure all those stares yesterday, but I could still feel Rupert’s hand pressed to mine.

  “Of course”—Donella smiled a little less exuberantly—“your family knows the truth. I suppose they may talk—or brag.”

  Brag? About me? I shuddered, recalling the terrible moment when, leaving for our carriage, we’d come face to face with them. They’d been in a pew near the back of the cathedral, and I don’t know if even they had recognized me before then. Robin, of course, stopped to greet them, and they all turned their eyes on me. Mother…

  Mother had looked dreadful, pale and weak, her face mostly hidden behind a black veil. Only her fine clothing seemed the same.

  Now, she personified elegance.

  My father, seeing me, seemed too startled to speak. Both my sisters stared with sharp eyes. Mother swayed where she stood.

  Donella had swept me past them, leaving Robin to catch up with us after speaking with Father.

  “I daresay,” Donella added darkly now, “they never expected this development.”

  I wanted to ask her opinion of just what had happened yesterday, snag her arm and make her deliberate the significance of Rupert anchoring me to his side that way. But in my heart, I already knew. In that one movement he’d progressed from casual, secret meetings in Donella’s garden to a virtual public declaration.

  Now people speculated about me. And when they discerned my identity—as surely they must—a whole new humiliation would start. For people would mercilessly examine everything about me, from my limp hair to my misshapen face.

  I could not endure that. I wanted to run away—far away—and hide myself in some far country. In a cave, in a tomb.

  As I’d hidden all my life.

  Donella pushed the tea cup toward me and eyed me speculatively. “Drink. You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we hear from your family sooner rather than later. They may even come calling.”

  “God, no!”

  “My money is on your sisters showing up first.”

  “I will not see them. Donella, say I won’t have to.”

  “You needn’t see anyone you don’t wish, my dear. It will give me great pleasure to turn them away. What is it Robin says they used to call you?”

  “Cinder-Ugly. Because I worked among the cinders in the kitchen and I am…”

  “Cows! I wonder what they think now. You know, I believe we need to order you a whole crop of hats. The one you wore yesterday was ever so becoming. It will be part of your style—a hat for every occasion.”

  “Style? I have no style.”

  “You most certainly do. Regal, people are saying. Understated elegance.”

  So understated it didn’t actually exist.

  “I will send for the milliner directly after breakfast.”

  We were interrupted at that point by one of the maids, who entered the room bearing a bouquet of flowers, this one large and magnificent. The blooms, all purple, matched the gown I’d worn yesterday, and their heady fragrance preceded them.

  “For you, miss.”

  She set it on the table in front of me. I opened the snowy white envelope set among the stems.

  Thank you. I hope to call on you later today. Many demands. Please await me.

  That was all—no name. No need for one. My poor heart, struggling in my chest, took flight like an injured bird.

  I could not do this thing.

  For his sake, I must.

  ****

  He never came till nightfall, when Robin brought him. The two arrived quietly, without fanfare, and Robin escorted him through the house to the garden where I waited.

  Robin left him there, and Rupert came to me alone. I got to my feet and met him with hands outstretched.

  Donella had insisted on dressing me in one of my finer gowns and twisting my hair up on the back of my head. Now, in the soft dark, I wasn’t sure Rupert could see me very clearly. He seized my hands, though, and pulled me directly into his arms. For several moments he just held me, and I felt the tension drain out of him.

  “How are you?” I murmured.

  “Better. Better now.”

  And suddenly nothing else mattered—not the staring eyes or the feeling of exposure or the rampant speculation. Only that we stood here together and he wanted to be with me.

  He released me at last, put his finger beneath my chin, and tipped my face upward. He gazed into my eyes before he kissed me softly, softly, a quest containing no demand. My heart opened within me. I caught his face between my hands and kissed him in return—a comfort and a pledge.

  “My God, what a day,” he groaned. “I feel like the sky has fallen on my head. All I could think about was coming here to be with you.”

  “Here—sit.” I pulled him down on the bench. “Would you like some refreshment? Shall I send for the maid?”

  He clasped my fingers more tightly. “I have all I need now.”

  “How is your mother?”

  “Prostrate. She has taken to her bed and refuses to see anyone, not even her maid.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “There are matters of state that must be resolved, documents she must sign. Plus—I do not doubt we will soon be at war.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing but my father’s presence, and the treaty he had with King Ortis, has kept Ortis from attacking before now. With Father dead, Ortis will declare the treaty broken. You notice, he did not send so much as one representative to the funeral.”

  I had not noticed much.

  “But—but, war,” I stammered.

  “I called up the army early this morning, and I’ve sent runners to outlying areas, advising our folk to come and take refuge in the city. If Ortis attacks, he’ll come with fire, pike, and sword.”

  “Surely not.”

  Rupert raised our linked fingers and caressed my cheek. “He has already extended his borders northward. The sea lies to the east. And we are a wealthy, if small, plum.”

  “Can our army successfully repel him?”

  “You want the truth? I don’t know. If it comes to that, it will require every man. Your father. Your brother. Myself included.”

  “You?” My heart sank violently. “But you’re the Prin—King!”

  “And not the man to send others out to die in my stead. Among the many things I learned away at my education was warfare. I’m prepared, I think.”

  I drew a painful breath.

  He spoke before I could. “Cindra, I’m so glad I had the hours here with you, in the peace of this place, to carry with me now.” He traced my palm with his finger. “You know you hold my heart. Dare I hope for yours in return?”

  I swallowed convulsively before I said, “It is not much of a prize—damaged and shuttered and kept closed far too long.”

  “It is as beautiful as this garden, and the one place I want to be.”

  “Then I gift it, gladly, into your keeping.”

  He kissed me again, and this time I tasted fire along with the devotion.

  Ruefully he said, “Among the many matters of state is that of securing the succession. I’ve been harangued by my advisors all morning about what will happen should I fall in battle without leaving an heir.”

  �
�Fall in battle?”

  “It will be Ortis’s main goal. With me out of the way, the kingdom will stand defenseless. Oh, there are my cousins, but they’re young and not fit to lead. My advisors say I should wed before I ride out.”

  He slid from the bench to the ground, onto his knees, and still holding my hands. I could no longer see his face clearly for the twilight, but I felt his gaze engage mine.

  “Cindra—I have come ill prepared. I have no ring with which to beguile you. In truth, I have little to offer you save duties you likely do not want and a dangerous, uncertain future. But I love you—you must know by now how much I love you. And, war or peace, whatever lies ahead, I want you to be my wife.”

  “Me?” I gasped. “Me, of all women?”

  “Of all women.”

  “But there are hundreds, thousands better suited.”

  “Only one I want.”

  “I’m—I’m not capable. Rupert, I might as well have spent my life in a cloister for all I know of the world or matters of state.”

  “I know. I know how hard it will be for you. I’m sorry, but I need you. And I hoped—I hoped love might be enough to make you countenance the impossible.”

  Was it? My heart had never loved. Not till now. And the contents of a lifetime’s longing were poised to shower upon him.

  But could I face it? The scrutiny, the public appearances, the sneers and the derision?

  Was I capable of such self-sacrifice even for him?

  Could I refuse? He knelt before me, hands clutching mine so hard it hurt, his gaze imploring.

  “Be my strength, Cindra,” he whispered. “Be my peace in this world.”

  And I whispered in return, “I will.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  War broke out on the afternoon of our wedding day. I’d begged for a small, private ceremony and Rupert agreed, saying we could hold a state celebration later when—if—the crisis passed. Now did not seem the proper time for it, with disaster on the horizon and Rupert’s father scarcely in his tomb.

  We were joined in the cathedral by the bishop, with but three witnesses—Robin, Donella, and the Queen. Somehow, what took place was kept under wraps.

  I wore a gown of ivory silk, the same Donella had worn, since we had no time to have one made, and Rupert his dress uniform, the one with all the golden braid. To say truly, I barely noticed.