Disclaimer: Ever After: A Cinderella Story belongs to various other people who are not me. They include Mireille Soria, Andy Tennant and 20th Century Fox and this fanfic does not intend to infringe on their copyright in any way, shape or form. It's only because we love the film so much that we do this, and special thanks to Dougray Scott and Drew Barrymore for bringing these characters to life.
Title: Broken Dreams
Author: Bellemaine Chercoeur
Email: bellemainec@yahoo.com
Rating: G
Category: Set during Ever After, just after the Masque.
Summary: Henry's thoughts as he stands on the ramparts in the rain.
It is not real. As long as I do not pick up the slipper, none of this has happened. Even though the rain is pounding on my shoulders, and water is streaming down my neck, and even though my heart feels as if it has been torn in two, I am managing to convince myself that this is all a mistake.
My Nicole would not have lied to me. It is not in her nature. She is gentle, and intelligent, and bright, and witty, and well-read, and well-spoken, and well-dressed, and well....well so beautiful that she takes me breath away. I could swear that I see love shining in her eyes when she looks at me. Even tonight when she said my name...
No. Do not think of that.
My Nicole. Or so I though, so I hoped, so I dreamed. The one woman whom I have ever been able to imagine spending my life with. 'Twas hard enough to hear that she was engaged. To find out, and before the court no less, that she was not only a servant but a dishonest one who had deceived me from the beginning... that was not to be borne. And I know from bitter painful experience, that my heart has not been able to bear it.
Leonardo dared to come and try to convince me that Nic..*Danielle* deserves my understanding. How can he even ask that of me? If I were King at this very moment, she would be guilty of treason, guilty of having lied to her King. Maybe if I had been King she would not have dared to... You are a fool at times Henry. If you were King, there would have been no need for her to throw an apple at you in the first place. And the thought that I might have never met her makes my blood run cold and my soul cry out in protest.
To have never met her, never spoke with her, seen the sunlight dance in her hair and the moonlight gleam in her eyes, to have never held her, kissed her, laughed with her. Every fibre of my being revolts at the idea. How has she managed to entwine her soul so thoroughly with mine in less than a week?
She lied to me, made a fool of me before the court, mocked me, deceived me, hurt me. I can not forgive her, can not see her again, and see the pain I thought I glimpsed in her eyes tonight. She has done this to me once. She will never have a chance to do it again. Father has announced my engagement to the Spanish Princess, and we are to be married three days hence. If I could muster even a remnant of emotion, I might rail against the unfairness of that arrangement, but I find Nicole has drained me of the ability to feel anything beyond rage and contempt for her. How could she do this? To us? To me? Was it not obvious to her how I felt and what I thought her? To think of her now fills me with nothing but bitterness and outrage.
So I stand here as the heavens cry the tears that fill my heart and soul yet my eyes refuse to shed. The thunder overhead echoes the jagged beating of my own heart, and the lightning matches my scoured soul. I stretch forward one hand and gently touch a bead at the side of the shoe. It is cold and hard. As is her heart. For a moment my fingers itch with purpose, and I intend to push the slipper from the rampart, to send it spinning into the darkness below where it would rest in the mud along with my dreams.
Yet I can not bring myself to do it. I pick up the shoe and hold it at arms length. I will keep this sorry piece of silk and glass, as a testimony to her perfidy. At first glass you might think it made of crystal, but on a closer examination, you discover it is but glass beads masquerading as crystals. The shoe is no more genuine than its owner. I shall keep it as a warning to myself. Never again shall I be so foolish as to trust my heart with another. Only those born to privilege could possibly understand the depth of her betrayal. I loosen my grip upon the shoe, for the glass beads are cutting into my palm, and I have no wish to join my blood to anything of hers.
The storm is lessening now, the rain has eased from a torrent to a lighter shower. I walk slowly to my rooms, never acknowledging the hurried gossiping or blatant staring that my presence attracts. At the foot of my bed lies a trunk, and from within it I draw a gold casket. I feel a bitter smile twist my lips as a voice within my mind comment on the suitability of my placing a servant's slipper within a golden casket. I place the casket upon a small table near the window, where it will always be visible, seen by either daylight or candlelight. I do not intend to open it again, but it shall stand as a warning. I hear her cry of "Henry" once more, the memory of her voice running through me as sharp as any sword. I must forget. I will forget. The Nicole I loved never existed. The girl Danielle who now stands in her place is a stranger and beneath my notice. I will...I must not ever forget that. I will cut her from my heart, my mind, my soul. No matter the cost, no matter the hurt, no matter the loneliness. She is but a servant. And I...I am but a slave to duty, and a servant to my crown. What choice there was, I have made. I can not yield.
Finis.
Title: Broken Dreams
Author: Bellemaine Chercoeur
Email: bellemainec@yahoo.com
Rating: G
Category: Set during Ever After, just after the Masque.
Summary: Henry's thoughts as he stands on the ramparts in the rain.
It is not real. As long as I do not pick up the slipper, none of this has happened. Even though the rain is pounding on my shoulders, and water is streaming down my neck, and even though my heart feels as if it has been torn in two, I am managing to convince myself that this is all a mistake.
My Nicole would not have lied to me. It is not in her nature. She is gentle, and intelligent, and bright, and witty, and well-read, and well-spoken, and well-dressed, and well....well so beautiful that she takes me breath away. I could swear that I see love shining in her eyes when she looks at me. Even tonight when she said my name...
No. Do not think of that.
My Nicole. Or so I though, so I hoped, so I dreamed. The one woman whom I have ever been able to imagine spending my life with. 'Twas hard enough to hear that she was engaged. To find out, and before the court no less, that she was not only a servant but a dishonest one who had deceived me from the beginning... that was not to be borne. And I know from bitter painful experience, that my heart has not been able to bear it.
Leonardo dared to come and try to convince me that Nic..*Danielle* deserves my understanding. How can he even ask that of me? If I were King at this very moment, she would be guilty of treason, guilty of having lied to her King. Maybe if I had been King she would not have dared to... You are a fool at times Henry. If you were King, there would have been no need for her to throw an apple at you in the first place. And the thought that I might have never met her makes my blood run cold and my soul cry out in protest.
To have never met her, never spoke with her, seen the sunlight dance in her hair and the moonlight gleam in her eyes, to have never held her, kissed her, laughed with her. Every fibre of my being revolts at the idea. How has she managed to entwine her soul so thoroughly with mine in less than a week?
She lied to me, made a fool of me before the court, mocked me, deceived me, hurt me. I can not forgive her, can not see her again, and see the pain I thought I glimpsed in her eyes tonight. She has done this to me once. She will never have a chance to do it again. Father has announced my engagement to the Spanish Princess, and we are to be married three days hence. If I could muster even a remnant of emotion, I might rail against the unfairness of that arrangement, but I find Nicole has drained me of the ability to feel anything beyond rage and contempt for her. How could she do this? To us? To me? Was it not obvious to her how I felt and what I thought her? To think of her now fills me with nothing but bitterness and outrage.
So I stand here as the heavens cry the tears that fill my heart and soul yet my eyes refuse to shed. The thunder overhead echoes the jagged beating of my own heart, and the lightning matches my scoured soul. I stretch forward one hand and gently touch a bead at the side of the shoe. It is cold and hard. As is her heart. For a moment my fingers itch with purpose, and I intend to push the slipper from the rampart, to send it spinning into the darkness below where it would rest in the mud along with my dreams.
Yet I can not bring myself to do it. I pick up the shoe and hold it at arms length. I will keep this sorry piece of silk and glass, as a testimony to her perfidy. At first glass you might think it made of crystal, but on a closer examination, you discover it is but glass beads masquerading as crystals. The shoe is no more genuine than its owner. I shall keep it as a warning to myself. Never again shall I be so foolish as to trust my heart with another. Only those born to privilege could possibly understand the depth of her betrayal. I loosen my grip upon the shoe, for the glass beads are cutting into my palm, and I have no wish to join my blood to anything of hers.
The storm is lessening now, the rain has eased from a torrent to a lighter shower. I walk slowly to my rooms, never acknowledging the hurried gossiping or blatant staring that my presence attracts. At the foot of my bed lies a trunk, and from within it I draw a gold casket. I feel a bitter smile twist my lips as a voice within my mind comment on the suitability of my placing a servant's slipper within a golden casket. I place the casket upon a small table near the window, where it will always be visible, seen by either daylight or candlelight. I do not intend to open it again, but it shall stand as a warning. I hear her cry of "Henry" once more, the memory of her voice running through me as sharp as any sword. I must forget. I will forget. The Nicole I loved never existed. The girl Danielle who now stands in her place is a stranger and beneath my notice. I will...I must not ever forget that. I will cut her from my heart, my mind, my soul. No matter the cost, no matter the hurt, no matter the loneliness. She is but a servant. And I...I am but a slave to duty, and a servant to my crown. What choice there was, I have made. I can not yield.
Finis.