Darcy’s laughter rang through the hall. “Henry? He doesn’t have the courage. He doesn’t even have the courage to stand by you now.”
“What exactly are you trying to do?” King Cygnus asked, stepping back.
“I’m gaining what I deserve and giving Marius what he deserves.”
“And you think you can just take this”—Cygnus gestured towards the throne—“with a little bit of magic in your veins?” The king barked a laugh that was perhaps not as confident as he would have liked.
Darcy’s smile disappeared. He leaned forward in his new throne. “Don’t underestimate me, Father. What do you think I’ve been studying so hard all these years? Why do I pore over books late into the night? Magic. You wouldn’t believe how many books are about magic: how to use it, how to gain it, how to hurt people with it—”
“You’ll suffer for this, Darcy,” Cygnus said, raising a warning fist. “And the worst suffering will come, not from others, but from yourself. Through your actions you will reject all the love and friendship that has been offered to you. In the end you will die friendless, lonely, and unhappy. Power is not everything, Darcy. Think carefully.”
“I have thought carefully for twelve years,” Darcy hissed. “But apparently you never noticed. Have you ever been in your dungeons, Father? I think you should have a look.”
Cygnus’s eyes widened and he stretched out his arms to Darcy; but chains had already wound their way around his body. The next moment he disappeared.
“Councilors,” Darcy announced, turning to the remaining men cowering on the floor. “Send out an edict that King Darcy will be crowned tomorrow. Oh, and don’t forget to mention Marius’s banishment. If you can’t manage that, I’m sure I can find some brainless and adoring underlings to replace you.” Darcy smiled. “You may grovel and kiss your new king’s hand, if you like.”
Darcy’s triumphant face stared back at the group gathered around the mirror. Rosalind backed away.
“Where did my father go?” Henry cried, turning to Ophelia.
“Darcy must have magically transported him to the dungeon,” she whispered, her hands clasped to her cheeks. “I didn’t know he had magic.” She lowered her hands for a moment and sighed. “You must admit, though, he looks rather classy on a throne . . . and burning the map was a clever bit of magic. Even I can’t do something like that.”
Rosalind groaned and plopped down into Ophelia’s chair. “You’ve got to be joking,” she moaned. “You’re sweet on Darcy! How can you even like him?”
Ophelia blinked several times before responding softly, “I don’t know.”
But Henry marched towards the door. “I’m not going to stand here doing nothing,” he announced. “I’ll hopefully see you all at the palace.” He drew the pistol out of his pocket and paused for a moment, weighing it in his hand. His mouth set in a grim line. “I never thought I’d use this on my own brother.”
“Please,” Evelyn said, grabbing his arm, “Don’t go. You saw what he did to those council members—and he wasn’t even trying! He’s too powerful.”
“She’s right,” Rosalind agreed, rubbing her face. “Don’t waste your life, Henry.”
“But we must do something,” he persisted. “We can’t step aside and let him take over the kingdom without a fight!” Henry looked to Ophelia. “I may not be able to do anything, but you can. You have magic.”
Three hopeful pairs of eyes turned to her. Ophelia backed away.
“I can’t!” she cried. “I just can’t.”
Rosalind’s eyes narrowed. “But surely there’s a way to stop him. Can’t you just take away his magic?”
Ophelia bit her lip. “Yes, but you don’t understand. If I take his magic, I lose everything too!”
“But we’re talking about an entire city of people who are going to suffer from that deranged man’s rule,” Rosalind retorted.
“He’s not deranged,” Ophelia snapped. “He’s just . . . jealous. And maybe a little obsessed.”
Evelyn cocked her head. “What do you mean by saying you’ll lose everything? You’d be helping Arcadia.”
“Taking magic is illegal for fairy godmothers,” Ophelia replied slowly. “It’s stealing of the highest form. I’d be removed from the program.”
“Removed?” Henry repeated.
“I’d lose my powers, my memories . . . my name . . .”
“Your name?” Rosalind’s face screwed up in a confused look. “That’s odd.”
“When a girl becomes a fairy godmother, she chooses a new name; it’s a symbol of letting go of her old life,” Ophelia explained. “But don’t you see? I’d lose everything! My father is poor; he makes carts for a living. Nobody buys carts now that there are steam carriages! But as long as I am a fairy godmother, he receives a little money to support himself. If I am removed . . .” Ophelia buried her face in her hands. “I just can’t.”
Henry let out a slow sigh. “I understand,” he said quietly. “So we’ll leave you in peace. Come on, Roz; don’t argue.”
“I can do something for you, though,” Ophelia called as the three started to leave. “Save you some time. I can teleport you to the palace.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn said, giving her a wide smile. Rosalind only glowered.
As he felt himself begin to melt away, Henry shot one last look at Ophelia. “Please,” he mouthed. “For Darcy’s sake.”
Ophelia looked away, tears glimmering in her eyes.
16
Darcy’s eyes snapped open; he sat up in the throne. Three bedraggled figures stood before him, all giving him their best impressions of a murderous glare. Only Rosalind succeeded, but Henry was doing surprisingly well.
“Interesting,” Darcy said. “Have you come for my coronation? You probably didn’t hear the good news: It’s tomorrow. How unfortunate that I’ll have to get rid of you before then.”
Rosalind marched up to the throne. “Let Marius go right now,” she snarled. “Or else!”
Darcy laughed. “Or else what? You’ll give me the evil eye? That seems to be the only thing you can do.” He flicked his hand, and she flew back, crumpling onto the marble floor. Evelyn screamed.
“Who’s next?” Darcy called, smiling cheerfully at Evelyn and Henry. Evelyn had caught hold of Henry’s arm, and both stared up at Darcy, unable to mask their fear. “I’ll look forward to getting rid of you, Miss Evelyn. You’ve caused me more problems than I thought you capable of.”
Henry stepped in front of her. “Please, Darcy,” he started.
“You’ve come to beg?” Darcy put on an expression of mock sorrow. “How . . . what’s the word? Adorable. Of course I hardly expected any better from you.”
Henry’s jaw set. “You’re making a mistake. Think about what you’re doing—”
“Father said the same thing,” Darcy mused. “Keep this up, Henry, and I might let you stay alive. But only to be my dinnertime entertainment. You’d make a good dog. You beg just like one.” His eyes widened in cruel delight. “How hard will you plead for your beloved cinder-girl, I wonder?”
He raised his arm, but Henry was faster. His hand whipped the gun from his pocket, and a loud bang followed. Darcy slid from the throne, clutching his arm. A cry escaped his lips, rendering him momentarily inarticulate. Then he gathered himself together, his teeth clenched in a facsimile of a smile. “You dared to shoot me?” he growled, staring at his now-bloody shirt sleeve.
“I will do it again,” Henry hissed, cocking and pointing the pistol at Darcy once more.
Darcy raised his head and laughed, his face contorted in a strange mixture of agony and delight. The lights in the throne room flickered and flared from his power. “You do have some spark, Henry. And I thought you were incorruptible. Let’s see how far you’re willing to go.” Darcy staggered to his feet, taking his hand off his blood-soaked shirt. “Come, little brother,” he spat. “Let’s play.”
A poof interrupted them as a figure materialized in front of Henry.
“Um. Let’s not,” spoke a hesitant voice.
Darcy’s cold eyes shifted to the glimmering, slender little form. “Ophelia,” he growled. “What are you doing?”
She steadied herself, her hands out on either side. Then she looked at Darcy and lifted her trembling chin. “What do you think?”
Darcy laughed again and paced towards her. “Well, let’s see: You’re betraying my trust, acting very stupid, and protecting the most pathetic pair of people in this entire kingdom.” He shook his head and sighed. “You, of all people. I thought I could trust you. Yet again, I am disappointed.” He lifted his hand to blast her against the wall, but she grabbed it.
“What are you doing?” he hissed. His eyes narrowed.
“I think you know,” Ophelia answered, raising her chin.
Darcy tried to wrench his hand from her grasp. “You wouldn’t dare. You know what will happen.”
“I see you’ve done your homework,” she replied simply. And she closed her eyes. As the veins in Darcy’s arm began to glow, he let out a scream of pain.
“Please!” he howled. “Stop! I have worked all my life for this. Take my power and I am nothing. I thought you cared for me!”
“I do care,” Ophelia whispered. “That’s why I’m doing this.” Though he desperately thrashed and twisted his arm to break her grasp, her seemingly delicate fingers held on with astonishing strength.
Darcy began to crumple to the ground. Ophelia knelt in front of him, still holding his hand firmly. She looked to Evelyn and Henry and called, “Goodbye.” Gazing down at Darcy, she smiled sadly. “At least I won’t remember you.”
A bright light flashed through the throne room; the palace shook. Henry and Evelyn staggered back, barely able to support each other.
When the light faded, Ophelia was gone.
17
“Rosalind.”
There was that voice again. That persistent, annoying voice. Rosalind’s head throbbed enough without someone talking at her. The voice sounded familiar, and Rosalind had a nagging suspicion that she should recognize it. Her eyelids cracked open for just a second. Obnoxious amounts of sunlight surrounded her. She let her eyes close again.
Someone shook her gently.
“Roz, please. You’ve been out cold for a day already!”
Rosalind sighed. “I don’t want to wake up,” she mumbled. “Go away.”
“Don’t order me around, young lady. You’re in my palace,” the voice replied. It was a deep voice and a little uncertain, but there was a familiar teasing undercurrent to it.
Rosalind’s eyes flew open and she stared up at Marius. “You’re safe!” she cried, a smile lighting up her face.
“Glad you care,” Marius replied with his usual cocky grin. “I was beginning to wonder if Henry had forgotten about Father and me in the dungeon.”
“What happened?” Rosalind asked. She looked around and found that she lay in her own bed, clad in a modest dressing gown. Embarrassed that Marius should see her at such a disadvantage, she tried to sit up and take charge of the situation. Her head strongly objected to this move, however. She groaned, closing her eyes.
“Whoa, stay calm,” Marius said, gently taking her shoulder and pushing her back down. “It all turned out fine. Well, except for Darcy. And that fairy godmother. She vanished.”
Rosalind settled back into her pillows. Then she raised an eyebrow at Marius. “Vanished?”
He shrugged. “According to Henry and Evelyn. Did you know they’re engaged? Mother thinks it would be splendid if we have a double wedding.”
Rosalind opened her mouth to make a quick, sarcastic reply. Then she saw the look on Marius’s face and thought better of it. Suddenly feeling shy—an odd sensation for her—she studied her hands, twisting the edge of her quilt. “Do you actually want to marry me?”
Marius looked down at his own hands, twiddling them nervously. “If you will actually have me. Look, I understand if you’re upset about Henry and Evelyn, but if you’ll give me a chance—”
Dropping the quilt, Rosalind reached out and took his hand. “You’re the crown prince, Marius. Why on earth would I prefer Henry?”
Lighting up, he clasped her hand tightly in both of his. “I’ll get a ring later and make it official.”
“So, what happened to Darcy?”
Marius’s smile disappeared. “About him . . . I’m sorry for what happened to you. I should’ve known Darcy had a trick up his sleeve. Did he hurt you?”
“Aside from bashing my head on the floor, you mean? No, but I would love to break his nose for locking you up.”
“Well, you can’t, unless you want to travel a hundred miles south of here to a pokey little island in the middle of a stormy lake.” Marius grinned. “Father set Darcy up in a nice little castle there. With many of his finest guards, of course.”
“Sounds cozy. How long will he be there?”
“Oh, until he learns to behave. But, knowing Darcy, that may never happen. Father’s pretty upset over the whole ordeal.” Marius sighed. “And I was pretty upset when I found you unconscious on the floor in the throne room.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Do you know what Henry said? ‘Oh, I forgot about her.’” A look of gleeful delight passed over Marius’s face. “I didn’t know Henry had it in him to be so un-thoughtful! I almost applauded him, but I was too busy making sure you were still alive.”
“Henry has a lot of things in him that I never noticed,” Rosalind said with a laugh. “I think he’s grown . . . maybe Evelyn’s had an effect on him.”
“They both want to have an effect on the kingdom; Henry’s lobbying to improve the situation for cinder-girls in the factories. They’ll now be paid better wages and sign no binding lifetime contracts.”
“And what does your father think of this?”
“Considering that Henry helped defeat Darcy, I think Father is willing to do pretty much anything for him. Sadly, I missed out on the opportunity to show my bravery and earn rewards.” Marius sighed dramatically.
“And what brave act would you have done?” Rosalind asked with a smirk.
“Given Darcy a fabulous look of disdain?”
“Surely that would’ve crushed his self-esteem, seeing how much more stylish I am,” Marius replied with a toss of his handsome head. “No, it was kinder of me to spare him such pain. He is still my brother, you know.”
Rosalind grinned back at him. “And you’re not disappointed about Evelyn?”
Marius gave her hand a squeeze. “She is nice, but not my type. You were right about something, Roz. It does take more than one dance to find your soul-mate.”
“What does it take?”
“In my case it took a scheming brother, a stubborn young lady, an exploding steam carriage, and a bit of broken glass.” He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks for being stubborn, Roz.”
“I would smack you if you weren’t kissing me,” she replied.
“Then I’ll kiss you again. I’d prefer that you not bruise my beautiful face.”
Epilogue
Every day Darcy sat by the window, picking at his food and muttering. The servants hated him. He hated them. He was above them, but they were practically his guards while he rotted in his overdressed dungeon. A beautiful island in a lake, his father had said. Darcy scowled. Though the castle was impressive in size, most of the rooms wallowed in dust and disrepair. Darcy had servants to clean his apartments, but most days he would allow them in only to deliver his food. A few chairs in the room were missing legs from being hurled against the wall. The remnants of last night’s china lay in a shattered heap in a corner. His bed could boast no better state: The snagged silk coverlets might have been the scene of a particularly violent goose fight, judging by the amount of down floating in the air.
Eventually Darcy would run out of furniture and chinaware to vent his anger upon. He clenched his teeth. A lifetime of this misery was going to drive him insane.
A timid rap on the door startle
d him from his thoughts. The servants usually didn’t dare knock. They were in the habit of leaving his food on a tray outside the door and sneaking away to avoid his wrath.
“Go away,” Darcy snarled, his nails digging into the arms of his chair. “I don’t want anything my father has sent.”
“It isn’t anything from your father, Your Highness,” a small voice replied. “It’s . . . a visitor.”
Darcy stood up quickly and turned to the door. “A visitor?” Other than the servants, he had seen no other human being in these last three weeks. For a moment something inside him yearned. Was it loneliness? Darcy clenched his teeth and shoved the feeling deep down. No. He didn’t need companionship. He wasn’t that weak.
“I don’t want to see anyone,” Darcy growled. “Send him away.”
“I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn’t leave,” the servant replied nervously. “She . . . um, insisted on coming in.”
When Darcy heard the door creak open, he prepared to give the servant a good tongue-lashing. But the strange figure in the doorway caught him off-guard.
An old woman tottered past the servant, entered the room, and gave Darcy an almost toothless smile. She surveyed her surroundings with one sweeping glance. The destruction only seemed to amuse her.
“Accept my humble gift, Prince,” she wheezed. From beneath her dark cloak she withdrew something.
“A rose?” Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Why would I want a stupid flower?”
“All I ask is to stay the night, and then I’ll be on my way.” The woman stretched out her hand. The flower didn’t even look fresh. The tips of the petals were shriveled and turning black. “Will you take it?”
Darcy laughed bitterly. “You can take your rose and your ugly face somewhere else, old crone. The home of a prince is no place for the likes of you.” He turned his back on her and stalked to the window. “Leave me in peace.”
The old woman’s tone changed to disappointment mixed with disapproval. “Is that so, Darcy? Appearances are not always what they seem. The exterior is weak and temporary; true beauty can exist only on the inside.”
Five Glass Slippers: A Collection of Cinderella Stories Page 15
