Frederica Lends a Hand

Shortly after Sieur Robert took his leave, Cinderella summoned Lord Roux, the leader of the opposition, and invited him to take up the office of Premier and to form a government. Lord Roux, a middle-aged man with sunken cheeks and a rather nasal voice, told her that would endeavour to undertake to do so, which Cinderella took to be little more than a rather long-winded way of agreeing to her request. Nevertheless he refused to kiss hands, and not because he was afraid of catching her bug but because, as he informed her, he had not yet undertaken to form a government, only endeavoured to do so. Cinderella could only hope that his endeavours would prove successful, and that he would start to actually undertake soon.

But, after taking his leave, Cinderella heard nothing more from the man. Not that day, or the next day, or the day after. Not for the entire week, nor the week after that, and Cinderella's slightly impatient messages to him went unanswered. Cinderella could find nothing out about the delay, and found that this was an instant where her low reputation among the nobility hindered her: no one who might know what was causing the hold up would talk to her, and in the meantime Armorique was without a government. The life and ordinary business of the country continued, and Cinderella's own powers as Regent gave her some ability to act, but without a government the business of government, of necessity, ground to a halt.

And, with no government, there was no one to oversee the passage of Cinderella's law through the Assembly.

Nevertheless Cinderella did not despair of the situation. If there was one thing that she had learned in servitude it was patience, and the ability to keep going without succumbing to despair. It had been two weeks, it might turn into three or four. What was two weeks delay? What was a month? So long as it happened in the end - and Cinderella had no doubt that it would, and sooner rather than later – what did such a small delay matter? The prize, without a doubt, was worth waiting for.

The people were, perhaps, a little less willing to be patient than Cinderella was, but then perhaps it was her own fault for having told them what she planned to do. But then…she hadn't felt she had a lot of choice. She might be naïve, and ignorant, and inexperienced, but she wasn't a complete idiot: it had happened enough times to her by now that she could see that the Courier would find some way to make Sieur Robert's resignation look as though it was entirely her fault (and, as with Lucien's awful allegations, fresh details about which were being invented almost every other day, some of the details might even be true) and so she had sent for Monsieur Valis of the Gazette and told him everything: the news about her plan to abolish the duties not only on grain but on paper, sugar and coffee too had made the evening edition, and produced a great swell of support that had frankly staggered Cinderella. Great rallies were being held all across the city, every day in front of the palace there was a demonstration chanting her name, asking her to come out so that they could thank her, donations to the Princess' Fund had increased, even moreso after Cinderella made it known that if people wished to show their gratitude it was better that they make a small donation to the wellbeing of the soldiers than to tire themselves out in front of her gate.

Especially since she didn't go out to see them. She wanted to. She wanted to so very much to go out, to hear their voices up close, to speak to them, to address some of the rallies being held in her support. Perhaps it was vain of her, it was terribly vain of her, but with so many awful stories being written about her, with so many awful things being said about her, with Eugene away and his letters infrequent…it was nice to feel loved, if only as a symbol.

But Cinderella did not go. She was too unwell, Angelique would not permit it and all her other ladies agreed with her. And besides…as much as Cinderella craved the affection of the crowds, driven in some part by her vanity, that same vanity was reluctant to let them see her like this. When she felt better, perhaps.

Whenever that was. So far it almost seemed as though she was getting worse. Grace's family secret brought her some momentary relief, but the effect never lasted unfortunately. Everyday she woke up feeling worse than the day before, but also hopeful that her affliction must peak, if not today then soon…but it never did. Sometimes it took all her effort just to get up out of bed. Sometimes she feared her legs would not support her.

That was another reason why no longer went out to meet the people: she was afraid her own body would humiliate her if she did. Imagine if she fell, or collapsed as she had in her room…it would be inexcusable.

And yet there were signs that the public was starting to grow restless. They didn't understand the delay in what they had been promised, and Cinderella couldn't really explain the cause of it to them either. All she could do was use the Gazette to council patience, and make sure that people knew she hadn't given up and neither should they.

So things stood when Cinderella, trying to concentrate long enough to get through some military reports that she had to look at because there was no War Minister to see to them, was interrupted by Augustina coming up to her room.

Cinderella leaned forward to put the paperwork down on the low little table in front of her. "Augustina," she said, as she leaned back upon the settee. Cinderella plucked a white silk handkerchief from the pocket of her dressing gown and blew her nose before she continued. "Do you need something?" Her ladies-in-waiting tended to leave her alone when she was working, knowing that she appreciated the lack of distraction, but she made sure they knew that they could disturb her if there was a need for it. "Is everything alright?" Augustina was standing...awkwardly, or so it seemed to Cinderella. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her face was lowered towards the ground, she couldn't quite meet Cinderella's eyes; it was the sort of nervousness that Marinette might have exhibited once, but Augustina never did.

"I'm fine, I just..." Augustina hesitated for a moment, before she finally did meet Cinderella's gaze. "I'm sorry that this has to come now but I have to go."

"Go?" Cinderella repeated. "Go where?"

"Home."

"Home?" Cinderella repeated Augustina once again as though she were a trained parrot. "Oh dear, is your stepmother ill? Well of course you must go. How long do you expect to be gone?"

"I...I don't expect to return," Augustina said. "I'm leaving."

Cinderella was silent for a moment. "I see," she murmured. "Can I...can I ask why?" What did I do wrong?

Augustina turned her eyes downward for a moment. "It is...it's a matter of principle. Your actions, well-intentioned as they are, are an assault upon our values; I must stand with my class, I'm sorry. I cannot be a party to this."

Cinderella blinked. "I see," she said softly, or as softly as she could with a sore throat that seemed to be getting worse, not better. She felt a deep welling up of emptiness within her. It was true that she and Augustina had not enjoyed the closest of friendships in Cinderella's household, but Cinderella had nevertheless considered her a friend. She had given Cinderella some wise advice, and she had always been honest. She was being honest now, although it was a little harder to hear it in the present circumstances. Cinderella had considered her a friend...but she had driven her away nonetheless. "Is...is there nothing I can say to persuade you not to go?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Not even if your fears, everyone's fears about what this will mean turn out to be groundless?" Cinderella asked. "I...I have the figures somewhere showing-"

"This isn't about money," Augustina declared. "I've done the figures myself. My family keeps horses in three counties, and I estimate we shall save fifteen hundred a year by free trade."

Cinderella frowned. "Then why?"

"Because our standard is planted in the ground," Augustina said. "It may not be the best ground, or even very good ground; it may not be an attractive hill to die on, certainly it is not the right hill but it is our hill nonetheless and we must fight for it. As I said, it's a matter of principle. I can no more support this with my presence than...than you could not go forward with this now that you have the power."

Cinderella closed her eyes for a moment, and a deep sigh escaped her. "I...I suppose, then, that there is nothing left but to wish you goodbye?"

"A pleasant goodbye, I hope," Augustina whispered. "I...I would have us part as friends, not enemies."

"You mean...you don't hate me, for what I'm doing?"

"Hate you?" Augustina looked at her as though she was mad. "Hate you? No, princess, I don't hate you. The truth is...the truth is I respect you a great deal. Don't you realise how easy it would have been for you to ignore the plight of the people? How simple and straightforward it would be for you, cossetted behind these palace walls, to close your ears to what the people want? I may not approve of what you're doing, and certainly I cannot endorse it on behalf of my family but...I can't help but respect it either. You're adhering to your own beliefs, no less heartfelt than my own, and I admire that. I admire it greatly. I...I confess I didn't think much of you when we first met. I...I didn't think that there was very much there, beneath the gown and pearls. I'm happy to admit that I was wrong, and I will be honoured to say that I was once at your service, Princess Cinderella."

Cinderella smiled. "That...that's very kind of you, Augustina. I...I'd like us to part as friends as well." She struggled to climb to her feet, ignoring Augustina's protests that she need not do so. "Though our beliefs are different, I hope our friendship will remain. You'll always be welcome here."

Augustina managed a smile of her own. "That's very generous of you. I'd expect nothing less."

Cinderella walked slowly and slightly unsteadily around the table. "I would embrace you, but...well, I wouldn't want to make you ill."

"I'll take the risk, if you don't mind," Augustina said, and she crossed the room and took Cinderella in her arms, holding her close. "You have a backbone of steel and the heart of a lioness. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise." She gave Cinderella a peck on the cheek before she pulled away. "But...perhaps make a little more use of them, and don't hide them so often behind a desire to please others."

"I'm sure that's excellent advice," Cinderella said. "But I can thank you for the compliment more easily than I can promise to follow your recommendation."

Augustina nodded. "One last piece of advice, if I may, before I go; something else I'm afraid you'll have trouble following."

"What is it?"

"Trust Angelique," Augustina said. "I haven't always agreed with her, and I can't really say that I like her...but of all of us she is the one who most has your best interests at heart, I think. If she comes to you, if she warns you...trust her, even if what she's saying hurts."

Cinderella took a step backwards, a frown crossing her somewhat sickly features. "What are you trying to tell me, Augustina?"

"I...I'm not entirely sure myself," Augustina said. "But remember what I said. The rough diamond is the one you ought to trust the most."

"I trust all of my ladies in waiting."

"I know," Augustina replied. "That's what concerns me." She smiled. "But enough gloomy and portentous talk. I have to go, I've already sent for my carriage and my packing is still not done. Au revoir, Princess Cinderella; though I wish you hadn't chosen this course...I wish you every success on it."

"Goodbye," Cinderella said. "I hope we'll meet again."

Augustina hesitated. "I...I hope so too." She half turned away, before she stopped and looked back at Cinderella. "Keep following your heart, princess," she said. "It may not always seem like it, but so far it has served you very well. Keep going forward in your beliefs and you'll go very far indeed."

Three weeks turned into four, and still Armorique was without a government. Cinderella heard nothing from Lord Roux, and could learn nothing. She felt like a bird in a cage, alone and forgotten in a darkened room, cheeping and chirruping to the dark with no one there to hear…starving to death unheard, unheeded, uncared for. She was marooned inside this palace, trapped by her frail body and the contempt in which she was held by those whom she had once hoped would become her friends. She heard nothing, saw nothing, knew nothing except that the public were becoming restless; and about that, she could do nothing.

The only consolation that she had, and admittedly it was a very great consolation indeed, was a third letter from Eugene; just as with his first two letters, Cinderella's hands shook with a mixture of nervousness and excitement (or was it just frailty?) as she tore open the sealed envelope to discover what lay within.

My Beloved Cinderella,

I write this letter to you on the evening of a day in which you have saved my life.

We fought another battle today, and as before we were victorious, although not without cost. We have continued to pursue Lafayette's forces, and he rounded on us at a place called Champion Hill. The enemy had a creek to their front, and it was hard going for my men to secure the crossing. As I was directing the assault, I was struck in the chest.

Cinderella gasped in horror. It didn't matter that reason said that Eugene was clearly alive and in reasonable enough health to write to her, because in that moment Cinderella was not ruled by reason. She was ruled by the swifter beating of her heart like a drum rattling faster and faster to drive the marching soldiers onward, she was ruled by the painful tightening of her chest, she was ruled by the shortness of her breath. She was ruled by all her fears and terrors that had seemingly come true. Cinderella forced herself to read on.

But, although I was knocked from the back of my horse and have a sore back of my own because of it, I was not seriously or permanently injured. The bullet that struck me, struck the locket with your portrait in. Cinderella, you have been the delight of my life ever since you first came into it, and now you have saved me.

Cinderella collapsed, doubling over in the chair in which she sat as a ragged sob of relief escaped her. Thank God. Thank God. Please keep him safe. Please keep him now and forever so that he'll come back to me. She wiped away the tears that were springing to the corners of her eyes, and read on further.

Unfortunately, the locket is completely ruined now, and your portrait with it. If it is not too much trouble, and if the request is not too impertinent, I would ask you to send me another; I do not know how much longer I shall be here, but a day without seeing your lovely face is too long.

Cinderella couldn't help but smile at that, even though she knew that her face was less lovely now than it had been when he left. He wouldn't write so charmingly if he could see me as I am, nor thank me if I sent him a picture of the phantom I've become. She continued reading.

Etienne said that he would write to his fiancé and his mother - and about time, too - but in case he doesn't actually do it would you please tell them that he distinguished himself in the latest battle. While the main force under my command was fixing the rebels upon the river, Etienne led a force of cavalry around the flank, discovered an unguarded ford, and managed to secure the hill before taking the enemy in the rear, putting them to flight. He is a brigadier general now, and all puffed up with pride at his advancement. It affords me some much needed levity.

Cinderella, I promised that I would not lie to you, and I aim to keep my word: I am worried. I do not yet know if you have responded to my last request for reinforcements, although I have every confidence that you are doing all you can. Whatever you have done, I'm afraid that I must ask you to do more. We have won every battle we have fought against the rebel forces, and taken every city to which we have laid siege: New Orleans, Mobile, Pensacola and Jackson are all back in our hands, and I have no doubt that Vicksburg will go the same way soon as we resume marching on it tomorrow. But this country is so vast, so much larger than I ever anticipated, and so many of the people here are sympathetic to the rebel cause. Lafayette's army melts away after every defeat that I inflict upon him, and he is guided and supplied by local sympathisers while our own soldiers are greeted with lies and misdirection.

I have tried, I still try, to win the people of this colony over to their rightful allegiance; I ask myself what you would do, what you would want me to do, and so I endeavour treat the civilians caught up in this war - whatever is in their hearts - with gentleness and compassion. But it does not help to win this war. The country is so vast that I cannot pin the rebels down, sometimes I cannot even find them; they spring up out of the ground like weeds and I do not have enough men to keep my army strong enough to fight and to hold securely all that we have gained. Efforts to raise loyalist troops have borne some fruit but not enough. That is why I need more men, every man that you can send, to make an end of this.

I long for nothing more than to see you again, and to put my arms around you, to kiss you, and to love you. I pray that the day comes soon when I may do all those things once more.

Yours, ever,

Eugene.

Cinderella put down the letter as a sense of squirming guilt overwhelmed. I promised I wouldn't lie to you. He had been honest with her, but now she had failed to be honest with him. She hadn't yet told him what Lucien had done, or how the country had reacted to it.

She supposed it was a minor miracle that he hadn't found out yet by some other means. She ought to give thanks that no one writing to their son, or brother or father had mentioned the latest and most scandalous gossip of the court, or if they had that same gossip had not reached Eugene's ears. If he had known he would have said something about it, surely; if only to ask her if it were true.

Thank God he doesn't know. As much as Cinderella flinched from the task of telling him, even more she feared that someone else would tell him that she had accused of an affair with Lucien Gerard, of another with Jean, of sleeping her way through half the court before she had a chance to explain herself. She had to tell him, before it was too late. If he found out from someone other than her...she would be revealed as a tremendous hypocrite, and even if - when, when he believed her; he would believe her, she had to remember that he would - he believed that she was innocent the omission might still cost her his trust forever more.

She had to tell him, as hard as it was.

But first - and Cinderella was well aware that she was prevaricating upon the point, but soothed her somewhat guilty conscience by telling herself that it would make no difference to when Eugene recieved the letter - she sent for Marinette, in case she had not yet recieved the news about Colonel Gerard.

Judging by the bright smile playing across Marinette's lips as she arrived, slightly breathlessly, in the study, Cinderella guessed that he had done so.

"Have you had a letter as well?" Marinette asked as she walked briskly - half running, really - into the room.

"I have," Cinderella said. She coughed. "I take it that your brother has written to you, then?"

"He has, finally," Marinette said, with just a hint of testiness in her voice. "I...I'm glad to hear that Prince Eugene wasn't seriously hurt."

Cinderella closed her eyes for a moment. "I know, but...when I think about how close he came, about how lucky he was, I...oh, Marinette, what will I do if he isn't so lucky next time? Without Eugene, I..." she stopped herself. "I'm terribly sorry; I didn't mean to bore you with-"

"It's alright," Marinette said quickly. "I understand. I think...I think everyone who knows someone over there understands. When you get a letter...you're never quite sure who it's from. It's strange...you end up trying to forget that there's a war going on, because if you didn't...we'd never stop worrying, would we?"

"No, we wouldn't," Cinderella agreed, though softly and with the barest hint of shame in her voice for it. She forced herself to smile. "But today, thank God, neither of us have reason to worry. My husband is safe, and your brother is the hero of the hour; you must be very proud."

Marinette shook her head. "I'm glad that he's proud of it, but...he was always my brother and I always loved him; a promotion doesn't change how I feel about him." Her face fell. "I'm afraid it won't change how my mother feels either."

Cinderella's thin brow furrowed. "If you want to go and tell her...I don't mind."

"She won't want to see me unless I've come to apologise and ask her forgiveness," Marinette said. "And I...I'm not sure I want to see her either. Perhaps Etienne has writte to her, although I hope not. I...I, um," her face went ever so slightly red. "I've written to Etienne a couple of times...but I haven't told him about my mother, because I haven't told him about Lucien either, about what he did. If I told him then he'd tell Prince Eugene for certain and...I didn't know if..."

"That's very kind of you," Cinderella said. "I...I haven't told Eugene yet. I will, but...thank you, for keeping my secret. Please, don't tell your brother yet...I want Eugene to hear it from me first."

"Of course," Marinette whispered. "I...I talked to Lucrecia, and made sure that she didn't say anything either."

Cinderella sighed with relief. "What would I do without you? Would you like to make sure that she's heard the good news?"

"I will, I mean I would, yes, thank you," Marinette replied.

"No, thank you, Marinette, for keeping silent and explaining to Lucrecia and, well, for everthing," Cinderella said. "And...can I say I'm glad to see that you seem to get on well with your future sister-in-law."

"She makes Etienne happy," Marinette said. "I can't really ask for more than that, can I?"

"No, I suppose you can't," Cinderella replied. "Now off you go and tell her."

Once Marinette was gone, Cinderella continued to put off the moment of writing out the truth to Eugene, as if so long as she delayed committing the truth to writing it remained somehow untrue; she supposed, as far as Eugene was concerned, that was the truth. It had happened, but he was ignorant of it; until she told him what had gone on and what was going on it was as if for him in Lousiana it had never happened, just as the battle that he had fought in which he had been saved and Colonel, no, General Gerard now, hd distinguished himself had not occurred for her until she opened his letter and read about it.

It's as though, when I write about what Lucien did to me, it's happening all over again, Cinderella thought. Little wonder I don't want to tell him. But I must.

But first, Cinderella summoned once more the generals to discuss what more troops could be spared to augment Eugene's forces. As Cinderella had half expected, given the tenor of their discussion with her just a month ago, they were doubtful; their first response was to say nothing at all. But, after Cinderella made clear to them that she had no intention of setting the army upon the people anyway, and after they unhappily conceded that it might be possible to replace a couple of season battalions upon the southern border with new recruits, it might be possible to find another four or five thousand men to send to America.

But, they were adamant in informing her, this was the last reinforcement for the colonies that Armorique could raise. Fresh troops were being recruited, but they were untrained and unready for field service. To diminish the forces at home any further would leave Armorique unconscionably vulnerable at a delicate time in European affairs.

What about the guards? Cinderella wondered. Eugene had taken most of the Guard and Household regiments with him, but - aside from a few men like Jean who were detailed away - there was still a full battalion of foot guards stationed at the battle. She thought of sending them to Eugene, or at least suggesting it...but the words caught in her sore throat even as she opened her mouth to speak them. She thought of Lucien, stealing into her room to harass her and fill her with dread, staring at her while she slept...the thought of leaving herself vulnerable to more intrustions - from him, or from all the people who seemed determined to kill her no matter who they hurt in the process - of leaving herself naked before them...she couldn't bear it. It was selfish of her, and it was not the act of a dutiful wife, but...but she couldn't help it. She wouldn't feel safe. Cinderella shuddered in distaste.

"Your highness?" asked one of the generals. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Cinderella said. Unfortunately at that moment she could not restrain a hacking cough. "I'm as fine as can be expected anyway. I'm sorry, gentlemen, please continue."

The meeting ended shortly after, with it being agreed to send Eugene four more battalions of foot and a single battery, more than four thousand men in all. But Cinderella would have to write and tell him that there were no more men to follow after this. Eugene would...he would have to make do, somehow.

God keep you safe.

It meant more unpleasant news that she would have to tell him...but there was no putting it off any longer.

Cinderella's hand trembled as she lifted the white quill pen out of the inkwell, and with her other hand pulled a clean piece of paper towards her.

My dearest Eugene, she wrote.

I am sorry that I haven't written to you in so long. If it has only been a few weeks it is still too long, but I beg you not to think me careless. I have not written because Cinderella paused for a moment, pondering her next words. I have something terrible that I must tell you. I have been afraid to write it, but I cannot keep it from you any longer.

Cinderella hesitated once again, quill poised above the piece of paper. What should she say next? What ought she to say next? What could she possibly say next? The whole court thinks I'm having an affair while you're away? The whole court thinks I am a promiscuous jezebel? Lucien tried to seduce me? Lucien assaulted me? Lucien left me those love letters? Lucien lied about me to the newspapers? All of those things were true, and yet all seemed so...wrong, somehow. How could she write such things as they in a letter to her husband, while he was away at war for the honour of his country?

And yet she must write them, or something like them. The alternative...it could not be contemplated.

Once, I chided you for keeping secrets from me; I did more than chide you, I got very upset. Now it is my turn to be honest with you again. You may remember a few letters that I received, beseeching my love and affection. The first of them arrived on the night you took me to the ballet, if you recall. You thought they were rather amusing, although I never liked them. While you were away I got more letters, far more. They started to scare me a little. More than a little; I started sharing my room with Angelique so that I would feel safer. Perhaps I should have told you all of this weeks ago; I probably should have, but I didn't want you to worry about me when you had yourself to worry about.

It was Lucien. Lucien was the one leaving me those awful letters, and he always was. He said he was in love with me, but if he ever really loved me, if he cared for me at all, if he had any care for the way I felt then he never would have terrified me the way he did. He Cinderella once again came to a halt, wondering how much she should or ought to tell Eugene about just how vilely Lucien had treated her, how thoroughly he had betrayed what Cinderella had considered their friendship. Should she tell Eugene that he had spied on her while she was sleeping, peeped on her while she was naked, seen things that only he and Eugene among men had seen? What would Eugene think, to read such things?

What would he think if he found out she had kept that from him?

Having asked for honesty from her husband, could she really give any less?

He spied on me, while I was sleeping and bathing and getting dressed, and when I told him that I did not love him he attacked me. I'm not hurt - Jean saved me again, he really is the best bodyguard that I could ever have - but I thought he was my friend, and he turned out to be Cinderella sought the word to describe just what Lucien Gerard had turned out to be; there were so many, just as there were so many words to describe how she had felt when Lucien had revealed all that he had done, when he had grabbed her, and tried to take what she would not give him: afraid, distressed, upset, angry, terrified, furious. Perhaps she should write some of them down, but she didn't want Eugene to think...she didn't want him to know how badly Lucien had frightened her. not what I thought he was.

Everyone tells me that I should have had him arrested. Perhaps I should have, but I didn't want to upset Marinette by throwing her brother into prison. Marinette herself has been very kind throughout all this, I don't think I could do without her.

But now Lucien is talking to the newspapers, and has been for some time. The Courier told everyone that I had an affair with him, willingly. Before I found out the truth, I gave Lucien some money to pay off his debts, and once I gave him a diamond bracelet to sell. Later he stole out of my jewellery box, and then told everyone that these were love tokens. It is said that I have had an affair with him, and with Jean too.

I haven't. I love you. I love you. I love you and you alone you must believe me. You must believe me even though the whole rest of the world does not because if you don't I think my heart would break. I love you. Please believe me. Maybe I encouraged Lucien somehow but I have been true to you, I swear it.

I love you.

Please believe me.

I wish you were here. I wish it so much that if a wishing star were to appear above the palace, my wish for your return would be so great there would be now power left for any other wishes. Everyone in court - apart from my ladies-in-waiting, who have been so kind and so considerate - believes that I am an adulteress, or at least they pretend to believe it. Fortunately the common people don't believe it, or at least they don't care.

I'm sure you must be weary of my wittering on about myself by now, but I thought you deserved to know. You have been honest with me, and I must do the same. You deserved to learn this from me first.

On matters of more interest and concern to you: your father and your son are both well. I regret I have not spent much time with either of them lately, because I have been a bit under the weather lately and I don't want to make either of them sick, or more sick than they are now, but Marinette and Angelique look in on them and tell me that Philippe is happy and strong, while your father is no worse than he was.

I may not be able to send you a new locket for a while; as I said, I'm not feeling very well - the doctor says it might be pneumonia, although he isn't sure - and I'm afraid if I had a new portrait made you wouldn't recognise me, or want to look at me at all anyway.

I have done what I can to send you reinforcements. seven thousand new men sailed a few weeks ago, and almost five thousand will set off soon. After that, however, I'm not sure that there's anything more I can do. The generals say that there are no more men, and we have sent too many already.

I want you back with me so much. I want all the things that you want. I want you home.

I want this to be over.

Keep yourself safe, and come back to me.

I love you. I love you.

I love you.

Yours, forever, without doubt,

Cinderella

Two days went by, and still no word from Lord Roux. Still no government for Armorique. Cinderella, exiled to her palace if such a thing didn't sound too ridiculous for words, still heard nothing. Neither were Serena and Grace able to find anything out for her, although they both tried to learn what they could. Cinderella was condemned to wait, unable to know aught but what others had decided that it was fitting for her to know, just as she was condemned to wait cor Eugene's reply to her confession.

He would believe her. He must believe her if he loved her and he did love her, Cinderella believed that with all her heart.

She just wished that she could believe that he would believe her with all her heart.

There was no word from Lord Roux, but that didn't mean that Cinderella was completely without visitors. On the afternoon of the second day, shortly after lunch - at least shortly after Cinderella tried to have lunch, she was struggling to keep food down - as she was sitting on her sitting room in a state of half-idleness brought on by a weariness that taken over all her limbs, Cinderella was disturbed by a liveried equerry.

"Your Highness," he said. "Princess Frederica of Normandie is at the door, she requests an audience."

"Frederica?" Cinderella murmured, in a somewhat sleepy voice born out of her torpor. "Frederica's outside?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh my," Cinderella said. "Oh my goodness." She was completely and utterly unprepared. Not anticipating visitors - her hopes of Lord Roux were beginning to fade somewhat - she hadn't even got dressed, rather she was still wrapped up in her warm, fluffy nightgown. Cinderella started to vet up, inching towards the edge of the setter on which she was sprawled. "Please show Princess Frederica to the east sitting room, offer her refreshment and tell her I will be down shortly. Then please-"

The equerry coughed. "Begging your highness pardon, but Princess Frederica requests to meet you here, dressed as your highness is. She says she does not want to put you to any unnecessary bother."

Cinderella wondered briefly how Frederica had known where she was and what state she was in, before dismissing the question from her mind as unimportant. Rather, she simply nodded her head and said, "Very well, show her up please."

She coughed into one balled up hand as the servant began to descend the stairs, oh when would she start to get better, she was absolutely sick of this.

Frederica arrived with cheeks flushed with exertion, wearing a figure-flattering scarlet gown complete with a white fur still wrapped around her shoulders. In the sitting room doorway she paused, and caught her breath.

"You have a great many stairs to climb," she declared, and there was still a touch of the breathless in her voice. She paused, and her face twisted with distaste. "Your doctor is not taking sufficiently good care of you."

"It isn't his fault that I don't always follow his advice," Cinderella replied.

"No, it's your fault," Frederica observed. "Why aren't you taking his advice? Do you not look sufficiently corpse-like for your own taste?"

"I have too much work to do to sit in bed doing nothing," Cinderella said. She coughed, violently. "Especially without a government; I have to do so much."

Frederica frowned. "I wish that I could tell you that I'm here to make everything better, but I fear that is beyond all power save that of God himself." As she sat down in a seat opposite Cinderella, the Norman princess grinned. "But I do believe that I can help you out over your Louisiana issue."

Cinderella blinked rapidly. "Louisiana issue?"

"Yes, the fact that your territory is too large and your army too small for gallant Prince Eugene to properly hold it down."

Cinderella's mouth hung open for a moment. "How did you know that-"

"I know," Frederica declared, as though that was all that needed to be said upon the matter. "And I happen to have a solution for you." It turned out that the white fur stl she was wearing was concealing a brown leather satchel, from which Frederica produced a modest sheaf of documents all bound together. Waving them just a little in Cinderella's face, Frederica said, "Normandie is not at war. Normandie has men, brave men and fierce. And Normandie will give those men to you, for a time.

"This treaty, which I hold in my hand, obliges Normandie to supply twenty thousand troops, foot, horse and guns, to Armorique for service in Louisiana. Normandie will even provide unarmed transports ships to get them there, though your navy must escort them. Twenty thousand troops, think on it: more than Armorique can raise in a short time, more than all your reinforcements combined, perhaps enough to win the war and bring Eugene and all the boys back home. Doesn't that sound like a bargain at any price?"

A less perfect lady than Cinderella- and she still strived to behave like a perfect lady even if figs of a hacking cough made it difficult sometimes - might have clobbered in anticipation. It sounded too good to be true. Far more men than Eugene had asked for, perhaps enough to secure the country while chasing down the enemy at the same time. The Eugene could come back to her safe and sound, and Lucrecia could marry General Gerard, and these torrid rumours would be put to rest and Eugene could take over the recency and everything would be, if not perfect, then much better than it was right now.

Cinderella managed to avoid coughing, and instead only splattered for a moment. "But what is the price?"

"Pardon?"

"Since you said 'at any price' I suppose there is one," Cinderella said mildly.

Frederica laughed. "Well spotted, yes. Of course, you know that I would give you this for free, out of my affection, but ultimately my father will have to sign his name alongside yours and he does not like you. I mean, um, he Doesn't know you, so how could he like you? Aha. The point is, um, you will need to give Normandie something in return. I thought that Hispaniola might do the trick."

"Hispaniola," Cinderella mused. That...that was the island just West of Cuba, wasn't It? She could picture it from her history lessons, or thought she could. "Why would you want that?"

"For sugar, principally, as well as some coffee and tobacco and even a little cocoa too," Frederica explained. She hesitated. Unlike Armorique, Normandie does not have a large or wealthy empire in the new world. My ancestors were a little slow to recognise the potential of It, and consequently we got left behind. Hispaniola is one of the wealthiest islands in the Caribbean, with it in our possession the revenues of Normandie will increase dramatically. More than enough to offset the cost of aiding your war."

Cinderella smiled. "You're being very honest with me about this."

Frederica chuckled. "You're much too clever to believe me if I told I was going out of my way to win my country a barren rock in the middle of the ocean. Here's the treaty, you can read it for yourself."

Frederica sat in silence while Cinderella read through every page, confirming that all the broad details Frederica had given her were correct: Normandie would supply twenty thousand troops, under their own commanders of brigade-level and lower, the first to set sail no more than six weeks after signing of the treaty by the second signatory. They would obey Armorican orders without question, and return home no later than three months after the conclusion of hostilities. In exchange, no more than one year after the conclusion of hostilities Armorique would cede sovereignty over the entire island of Hispaniola up to Normandie and all citizens living there would swear loyalty to the King of Normandie and become Normans.

"But what if they don't want to?" asked Cinderella.

"Then they have a year to leave and go somewhere else," Frederica said. "To Louisiana, or back home to the old country. Or they can stay and find that the only change is a flag and where their taxes go."

Cinderella frowned. "I...I'm not sure that..."

"Hmm?"

"Never mind," Cinderella said. She had been about to say that she wasn't sure the government would approve, but then between them these people had left her without a government. As Princess Recent, exercising in full the powers and prerogatives of the king, have made this treaty on her own authority anyway, but she would have felt obliged to consult with the Kings ministers first. But the Kings ministers had abandoned her, and the opposition had fallen silent. Between them they had left Cinderella alone, and so alone she would do what she thought was best for Armorique.

She would take this offer, unleash the Normans, and help Eugene to win his war.

One of Cinderella's chamber maids, Constance, had lost her beau in this war, killed in Eugene's most recent victory. If Cinderella had a chance to lessen the number of Constances to come then she would take it.

They might even be home for Christmas.

"Where do I sign?" she asked.

Frederica pranced into her rented townhouse.

I did It! I did It!

It had surprised her at first, as she left the palace with her treaty bearing the precious signature Cinderella of Rennes, Princess R alongside the royal seal of Armorique, that she didn't feel any more guilty about having put Cinderella in such a position; about having manipulated a friend that way.

As she thought about It, on the carriage ride back, Frederica had come to the conclusion that the reason she didn't was because, Well, she had nothing to feel guilty about. Not only had she quite possibly won Armorique war for it, she had also freed both Cinderella and herself from her father's dread command to compass Cinderella's death. Once had the sugar wealth of Hispaniola he would lose all the rancour he bore her for the loss of a marriage, and he would Frederica her failure to win Prince Eugene, too.

For a value of forgiveness that meant allowing her to stay in Brest where she felt more comfortable, anyway.

Her father never really forgave, but he did forget every so often.

However they had started out to one another, she really was Cinderella's friend. She was her friend, and she had done her a good turn today.

It was a turn that happened to have benefited herself as well.

Frederica swept, triumphant, into the parlour, ready to call for Anton to give him the good news. She stopped, dead in her tracks, when she saw an unfamiliar figure in a heavy coat warming his hands by the fire.

"Who are you?" Frederica demanded.

The stranger looked at her. He was an unremarkable looking man with a deeply unmemorable face. "Your highness, I am the new spymaster to your father, the King of Normandie."

"Thank you for reminding me who my father is, I'd quite forgotten," Frederica said. "Dare I ask what happened to the old spymaster?"

"A well deserved retirement to a farm, bestowed on him by a grateful sovereign."

"An actual farm, or a six foot of of earth?"

The new spymaster smiled like a crocodile.

Frederica grimaced. "I knew there was a reptile in there somewhere. What do you want?"

"To know why you've been failing to kill Princess Cinderella for the past six months."

Frederica was not so knew at this that she allowed any reaction to show on her face. "I don't know what you mean. As I have explained to my father my best efforts have been thwarted by Cinderella's bodyguard, one Jean Taurillion, a very fierce fellow."

"And the fact that you've been employing incompetent buffoons has nothing to do with it?"

"How competent was the first man who failed?"

The spymaster didn't answer that. "Why?"

"Why what?"

The spymaster stared at her.

Frederica sat down. "I admit nothing, save to say that if Cinderella were dead she would not have been able to sign this treaty granting Normandie the island of Hispaniola."

His eyes narrowed. "In exchange for what?"

"Soldiers for Armorique's American war." Frederica replied. She handed him the treaty. "Get this to my father, get his signature and seal upon it, and get the first troops underway. And don't ever come into my house uninvited to make accusations against me again, do you understand?"

"I understand that you seem to have done very well for Normandie."

"Of course I have," Frederica snapped. "I've done more with kindness than killing ever could."

And she had freed them both? Cinderella and herself.

Now to see Cinderella live long enough to enjoy it.