Bonded: Three Fairy Tales, One Bond

by Michelle Davidson Argyle

  “What has this time been for me, My Queen?” she asked, using the highest address she could. “A test? That isn’t fair. I came from a low station into a high one, and you expect me to understand everything so soon? I’ve showed promise as a ruler, just as your husband has pointed out.” She gritted her teeth, tensing her jaw against Marion’s palms. Anger bubbled inside her at the lopsided situation, at what was expected of her so quickly. The salty stench of Marion’s breath made her angrier, the way she had glanced at the bed, at her very presence in the room where Cinderella had been most intimate with Rowland. “This is my room now,” she said with a low growl in her throat. “My relationship with Rowland here is none of your business.”

  Marion lowered her hands from Cinderella’s face. Her face glowed in the sunlight. Her lips smiled. “That is what I like to see. Some fire.”

  Swallowing a lump in her throat, Cinderella stepped back.

  “Your instruction will begin tomorrow.” Marion turned and headed for the door to the outer chamber. “Christina,” she said without turning around, “don’t ever call me ‘My Queen’ again.”

  Cinderella watched her leave and turned to face the vanity. She brushed her fingers across the white flower that had long since shriveled into a corpse, closing in on itself for want of nourishment. That was how she felt with Rowland, she decided. Magic was not nourishment for love. It could not replace what she wanted—something real and alive.

  “Thank you for holding still,” she whispered to the bird still on her shoulder. She swept her hair aside and there was a sudden fluttering, black feathers exploding around her, and then nothing. Sunlight drifted through the room and the air settled around her as she turned in circles, looking, calling out, “Bird? Where did you go? Bird?”

  “I’m here.” It sounded louder than before, a woman’s voice, not a silky bird whisper.

  With a gasp, Cinderella turned to the voice. It came from the windowsill near her vanity. There sat a tiny creature she knew at once as a sprite. She was intricate in every way except for a pair of abnormally large eyes set in her slender face. Her hair was white, her legs long and thin. She was completely naked except for a few strands of silver thread wound around her chest and hips. Two wings, thick and waxy, fell open behind her back. There was nothing glittery about her as Cinderella had expected. If she hadn’t spoken, she would have blended in with the stone windowsill and Cinderella would have thought the bird gone forever.

  “Sorry for the disguise,” the sprite said with an annoyed laugh. “It’s not wise to show myself before many here in the castle. I’ve not been able to attract your attention at the windows, so the next best place I found was the kitchen. You’re always in the kitchen.”

  “I didn’t know sprites could change form.”

  “If the need arises, yes. Eolande has sent me to give you the blood spell.”

  “Oh.” She turned toward her trunk. “I have the fur shoes, but nothing else.”

  “All in your own time. Now, sit.” The sprite’s voice was more demanding than Marion’s, but Cinderella felt more inclined to obey this tiny creature than anyone else. She sat down at the vanity and picked up the white flower. “Do you have a name?”

  “We don’t have names, or I suppose nothing you could pronounce!” Her giggles were like crystal shattering across stone. They continued for several seconds until Cinderella, flustered at being the cause for so much laughter, asked, “Do you speak with Amie, my lady’s maid? She has had others of your kind visit her.”

  The laughing stopped abruptly. “We know Amie, yes.” Her nose wrinkled between her huge eyes. “Amie is... you should be cautious around Amie.”

  “What?” The flower fell from Cinderella’s fingers, landing on the stones, a crushed white scar against drab gray.

  “It’s a simple warning,” said the sprite and tossed her hair. “I’ve only come to give you the blood spell. I hope you have a good memory.”

  Freshly bathed, Cinderella stood straight and tall as Amie and the other servants powdered her skin and pulled her corset strings tight. They worked quietly, their fingers touching her as little as possible, as if they knew something was different, as if they knew magic now belonged to her. It was something that had frightened her since the moment she had met the stranger. She was frightened that his magical presence might rub off on her, like dust on a butterfly’s wings, and Rose would be able to feel his influence and banish Cinderella from ever entering the forest again.

  The sprite’s magic still felt strong in the room, and between the pull, tug, pull, tug, pull, tug of the corset strings, she recited the blood spell in her mind. The words were easy to remember, and she would have to say them aloud when it came time to mix the blood with wine and then drink it in one gulp, burn the shoes, crush the jewel. These thoughts made her wince with every yank at her back, yet nothing was as strong as her need to hear the stranger’s voice again.

  When she was ready, Amie walked by her side. Two guards followed behind them. The halls were empty, and as they neared the banquet hall, the sounds of laughter and voices echoed off the walls. The smell of food was heavy, and despite her best efforts, Cinderella’s stomach growled. She had not eaten since breakfast.

  Trying to hide the embarrassing sounds, she said to Amie in the most matter-of-fact voice she could, “I saw a sprite this morning.”

  “Oh!” Amie stopped in her tracks. The guards almost ran into them, but stumbled backward. “What did it look like?”

  “White hair, no clothing, waxy wings.”

  “Yes, a winter sprite.” She smiled and gave Cinderella a brief hug. “You are blessed. It is good fortune to see a winter sprite—they are the most elusive.”

  “I think you told me that before, but Amie, there was something she said that bothers me.”

  “Yes?”

  Cinderella looked into Amie’s large, dark eyes and tried to read anything there that might merit a warning, but then her stomach growled again and she said, “Oh, never mind,” and continued walking to the banquet hall.

  Every time she entered the ballroom, she relived the first time. That night, her feet had felt weightless stuffed inside the magic shoes, and dancing had come easily. Even when her legs grew tired, her feet kept moving, gliding past Rose’s glaring eyes until Rowland spotted her and took her into his arms for a dance. He didn’t let her go until he led her outside and she looked up at the moon hanging in a jet-black sky. He turned to her after they ambled along a frozen path in the garden. “Where did you come from?” he asked. “It’s as if you’ve opened my eyes to something—what, I don’t know. Who are you?” He pressed his hands to hers.

  When she explained that she was the daughter of the late Sir Samuel Plimmswood, who died when she was eight years old, he tightened his hold on her hands and apologized for being so forward, for touching her at all, for bringing her outside unaccompanied. “But I can’t help it,” he said with a desperate look. “How have we not met before?”

  Shivering, she lifted her eyes to the bare trees, their smooth bark glowing bright under the moon. She explained there was much work to do at home and she had never stepped foot inside the castle before. She had never thought she would have the honor to meet him. Then he had kissed her and she knew Eolande’s spell was sealed, that his heart belonged to her forever.

  Even now, as she stepped into the ballroom the evening of his birthday, her arm wrapped around his, she felt the connection to him that the kiss had secured. Eolande had warned her it was a connection that could not be broken easily, even if Cinderella never learned to love him.

  She had thought she would.

  Now she wondered why she hadn’t asked Eolande about the stranger when the spell was performed, but Eolande had distracted her with promises of Rowland’s undying love, something solid and certain. The stranger had been gone for two years—much too long for Cinderella to believe he was anything but a dream vanished to dust.

  Rowland guided her into the dancing line, and as s
he stood across from him, she clasped his hand and they moved in harmony with the rest of the couples. She felt everyone watching her, and her cheeks turned hot. “Has your birthday been a good one?” she asked.

  “Yes, very. It has been nice to see Geoffrey, and you are breathtaking.” He smiled and discreetly looked her up and down as he let her go to take another woman’s hand. When they rejoined he said, “You always wear the shells in your hair to these dances. I’m happy you like them. I made a fool of myself deciding on such a gift.”

  “I love them.” She smiled and felt his solid form brush against hers. She wanted to know how many of his words were unaffected by the magic, if when he made love to her he was truly loving her, if leaving him for the stranger was something she might regret. It was the first time the thought had crossed her mind—that she might regret the passion boiling beneath her skin every time she thought of the stranger. It didn’t seem fair that she could so easily leave Rowland, but she didn’t know if she could live the rest of her life inside a lie. She tried to shake the thoughts away by focusing on something else, and glanced at Geoffrey and his fiancée dancing down the line.

  Cinderella had spoken with the couple briefly at dinner in the banquet hall. Cecily was a woman who attracted attention with her bright red hair and dark eyes and a voice so elegantly gentle it floated above the chatter around them. Geoffrey had not taken his attention off Cecily during the entire meal, stuffing meat and olives and buttery desserts into his mouth as she picked at the tiny pearls sewn to the sleeve of her gown. She had spoken at length of how the marriage would solve problems between their lands, acting as if marrying Geoffrey was a noble, diplomatic act and nothing more.

  It was only near the end of the meal that Cinderella’s hope of finding a couple in love was rekindled. Cecily, still picking at the pearls, had looked up from her sleeve as Geoffrey took a sip of wine. The spark in her eyes was quick but hot and contradicted her cool attitude toward him. Cinderella guessed it was love. It was more than lust, more than passion, and although it seemed premature, she had seen the same look in the stranger’s eyes right before he had kissed her. The memory of that look was what had started every doubt for Rowland in her heart.

  When she felt too warm, she excused herself from Rowland and walked to one of the open windows. She looked down at the moat that had started to thaw. In the moonlight, she could make out deep cracks along the surface, and she imagined the fish underneath, how cold they must feel—if they felt coldness at all. Sometimes she wondered if she had become numb to certain elements too.

  She took a deep breath of the air that sifted over the crowds of warm bodies moving and talking and drinking from silver wine goblets. She watched Geoffrey and Cecily, how closely their bodies pressed to each other whenever a dance allowed them to come into contact, the playful smiles on their lips. She stepped away from the window and made her way around the ballroom, looking for Isabel. The young woman was nowhere in sight, not even near William, who was seated in a corner with several other men. Keeping close to the walls and darkened shadows where nobody looked, Cinderella left the ballroom.

  It didn’t take long for her to find Isabel’s chamber. She lodged with three other servants, the beds crammed against the wall away from the windows, dark cloth hanging over them to keep in what warmth there was. When she entered, Isabel was the only servant present, seated at a small desk, a feathered quill in her hand as she scratched across a scroll of paper.

  “Your Highness!” she exclaimed, looking up. “I didn’t expect to see you this evening.”

  Cinderella smiled as Isabel stood and curtseyed and then blushed as she looked around the darkened room. “I’m sorry for the mess. Agnes and Katherine are always making a clutter.”

  “I don’t mind.” To show that she didn’t, Cinderella stepped in farther and sat on the edge of a bed, her dress covering an empty dish and goblet on the floor. “I have a favor to ask.”

  Staring at her with widened eyes, Isabel sat back down in her chair. “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “I need you to get me whatever it was you put in the guard’s drink.”

  Isabel’s face drained of color. “You need to get into the prison again? I told you, Your Highness, I cannot risk that. It isn’t safe, and William has already discovered you were there. I can only thank the heavens he doesn’t know it was me who—”

  “I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Cinderella interrupted. “I simply need the drug or whatever you used to put the guard to sleep. Where can I get it?”

  Isabel looked as if she might topple off the chair any moment, and stumbled over her words as she said, “I get it from a peddler in town, but it’s expensive and I—”

  “I can give you the money.”

  “Oh, no, Your Highness. I believe I have a small bit of the powder left.” She cleared her throat. “You’re not going to use it on the guard again, are you? I mean, you’re the princess. I can’t tell you what to do, but I don’t think it would be wise—after such a short amount of time—to—”

  Cinderella stood, towering over Isabel. “That’s not my intention.” She touched Isabel’s shoulder and smiled. “No one will connect you to this, I promise.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” She stood and slid past Cinderella. “Let me get it for you.” As she rummaged through a small trunk near her bed, Cinderella tried to remain calm. The food she had eaten at the banquet sat like a stone in her stomach. Her corset pressed against her ribs as she peered down at Isabel’s letter.

  Dear Mother, Father is doing all right. They feed him daily, and I have managed to get permission for him to have a cell to himself so that he is not harmed by the other men. Many of them have fingernails so long that when they stretch their hands through the bars, they scratch at my skirts as I pass by. Sometimes I am given permission to take Father extra food and clean clothes—something none of the other prisoners are allowed. I will not tell you how I am able to see Father so often, but know that I am well taken care of....

  “Here it is.” Isabel stood and held out a small cloth bag tied with a leather string.

  It weighed nothing in Cinderella’s hand and she fought the urge to embrace Isabel in thanks. Instead, she said, “I’ll repay you somehow.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that.” She glanced at the door. “Do you know what time it is? Is the ball coming to an end?”

  “I think it may go a few more hours, but I’ll retire soon.” Cinderella lifted the bag. “How do I use this?”

  “Only a pinch in a glass of wine. The effects last for several hours and the person will wake thinking they drank too much. Tell me, do you know if His Majesty has retired? He wished to see me this evening.”

  “Does he see you every evening?” Cinderella covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

  “Yes, most evenings, in his private chambers.”

  She could see why William had chosen Isabel as a mistress. Her flawless skin and silky hair created an air of perfection about her. She imagined William taking great pleasure in ordering her around, using her imprisoned father to keep her in his clutches. Cinderella’s curiosity nagged. “Marion doesn’t mind? Does she know?”

  “Of course she does. Her Majesty knows almost everything that happens in this castle, whether you want her to or not.” Isabel nodded at the bag dangling from Cinderella’s fingers. “Be careful, Your Highness.”

  For the next few days, Cinderella kept her eye on Geoffrey and Cecily. They rode with her and Rowland to the sea cliffs the morning after the ball, Cecily’s red hair whipping back and forth in the breeze. She and Geoffrey were more intimate when they weren’t surrounded by people. Cecily giggled and batted her eyelashes and pecked little kisses on Geoffrey’s face.

  They all walked along the cliffs after dismounting their horses. Rowland took Cinderella’s hand and said, “They’re lucky the arrangement has turned out in their favor.”

  “Yes, lucky,” Cinderella replied. She watched Cecily’s brocaded
dress swell in the wind like a large mushroom. The more she watched them, the more she saw how passionate they felt about each other. She had to be sure. The sprite had warned her that if she collected blood from a couple who was not truly in love, the results would be disastrous when she performed the spell.

  “How disastrous?” Cinderella had asked. The sprite only shook her head as fear filled her eyes.

  “Even for humans,” she answered, “love is often a choice, and you must be certain the blood you collect is bonded by that choice or your heart and others may suffer terribly. You may be punished as Amie has been.”

  “Amie? Punished? What are you talking about?”

  The sprite had refused to tell her any more. Frightened by thoughts of the spell going wrong, Cinderella waited. Many guests were staying for the week, and another ball was planned the evening before their departure. Cinderella was sure she would have her mind made up by then. She was right. By the time preparations for the next ball were being made, many of the guests, even Marion herself, spoke of Geoffrey and Cecily’s affection and how the match could not have been more favorable. The land they would unite with their marriage would also tie together two families that heavily influenced political decisions. The match promised more peace.

  “The rest of the hot water will be here in a moment,” Amie said as she unlaced Cinderella’s gown.

  “Thank you.” They were in the bathing room where a copper tub sat on a fur rug. Two girls sprinkled salts and oil and rose petals into the steaming water. Another girl stepped into the room with a pitcher of water and poured it into the tub. She curtseyed to Cinderella and left the room.

  “You’ve been quiet this evening,” Cinderella said as Amie untied her gown and then her corset. “Is something wrong?”

  “I am only tired. When I am not with you, I spend every spare moment attending to the guests.”

  “Then I’ll require you to stay with me more often and leave the attending to the other servants. You can rest per my orders.”