"Shall I ask you the third part of the riddle?" she whispered, brushing her lips against the Prince's ear.
"Please!" his voice rang out, half-desperate.
"Very well. Who is swathed in yards of gorgeous silks and velvets, draped in priceless jewels, and rides upon a snow-white horse with an embroidered saddle, but is no princess?"
The Prince sighed dejectedly, but continued to appear as though he was thinking, thoughts racing through his head of what answer she expected.
"You do not know?" her lilting tones inquired.
"I… I confess myself puzzled," he sighed.
"That is a shame. Then…"
Emma trudged to her little room, carrying a full basket in one hand, an empty one in the other. She glared at the little grains. One thought kept wrapping itself around her mind. The Duchess did not want her at this ball. Then she must go. Clearly, there was something behind all of this.
"I must go," she whispered to herself. "Somehow… I must go!"
Lost in her thoughts, she missed a step and tripped at the raised doorjamb at the threshold of her room.
"No! No, oh…" Frustrated, she got to her hands and knees to pick up the little grains again. A minute into the work, she threw her hands up and fell back as tears fell freely down her cheeks.
Now, Emma rarely cried. She hated to feel sorry for herself. Life had made her tough; she understood the futility of tears. Yet, she could not help giving in to them this time. Circumstances were certainly not going to get better.
As she wept, she heard a flutter, as of wings, and opened her now-swollen eyes to peer at a large crowd of doves that had flown in through the little window and were now pecking at the grains on the floor.
Dazed, she stared at them, for she realized what they were doing: her very assignment!
"Th-thank you?" she stammered.
The birds merely cooed in response, continuing with their work.
A light giggle escaped her, as she saw the ridiculous nature of her situation. Yet there was something, nonetheless, that she found pleasant and comforting in all of this.
Taking her cue, she rose from the floor and left the Servants' Quarters to continue her chores, only looking back once at the clearly Heaven-sent birds.
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"My Lady, I have done as you asked."
Emma stood before the Duchess, a basket in each hand, the grains carefully and perfectly sorted. The Duchess regarded her with malice and shook out the switch she had been holding in preparation for a good beating.
"Who helped you?" she finally demanded, after carefully inspecting the contents of each basket.
"Heavenly agents only, my Lady."
"Do not play dumb with me, girl!" she barked, smacking the switch against Emma's wrist. At her cry of pain, she calmed down and took the two baskets away.
Emma cradled her arm and tried to stem the flow of blood that had already begun from the open cut.
The Duchess's eyes were filled with complete loathing but, somewhere behind the hatred, there was a sense of fear. It was this fear that now drove the Duchess to commit her terrible act.
"I told you that for each misplaced grain, you would receive a lash," she calmly stated, looking at the baskets, which she had placed on a table.
"There is not a grain out of place, my Lady," Emma spoke, confidently. She herself had inspected the bird-sorted grains. Not one had been out of place, cracked, or even dirtied, despite its many spills onto the floor.
"Do not lie to me, Emma."
Her voice was malice itself, coated in a vile honey.
"My Lady, I assure you, I…" Emma trailed off, staring in horror as the Duchess daintily took a handful of the peas and poured them into the basket with the corn.
All this had been down without looking away from Emma. Now, she looked down at the newly-spoilt basket and began to count out the peas she herself had spilled.
Emma's heart beat quickly and she wondered what could save her now from this monstrosity. Her first instinct was to run. But if she ran now, she would be forced to leave everything. Her bracelet, her beloved horse, her remaining nuts. She must stay, despite her certain fate at this moment. There was something more to all of this.
"…14, 15, and 16," the Duchess finally intoned, interrupting this internal conversation.
She bade Emma to get on her knees, as she raised the switch.
"I did warn you, dear," she said with a cruel smile. "What are you now, if little better than a slave?"
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The very walls of the house seemed to resound with Emma's shrieks of pain.
"Vincent, but what did she do?" Henry demanded of his fellow-servant, halfway through this thrashing.
"I've no idea," Vincent honestly replied, shivering as yet another wail struck their ears.
"Emms never cries. Or screams like that."
"Perhaps she has never been whipped like that," Vincent gloomily responded.
A moment paused, in which the switch fell for the twelfth time upon Emma's back, striking in the very place that had just been sliced open. Her screams were mingled with pleading, this time.
"I can't take this anymore!" Henry exclaimed, covering his ears with his broad palms and shutting his eyes tightly. Vincent could only stare at the floor. For, truly, what had Emma done?
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"We're off for the ball!" a gay voice echoed through the hall. Many of the servants were lined up in the foyer to gaze upon their mistress in her court fineries. One of the servants, however, was prostrate upon her bed, half-conscious and delirious with pain.
"I must go to this ball," she murmured softly to Vincent, who sat next to her bed on a stool and watched her chest rising and falling with her uneven breathing.
"Are you mad? In this condition? Perhaps you are delirious. I will fetch some brandy and—"
"I am not delirious, Vincent," she replied, agitated. "Don't you understand? There must be something very special about this ball. Some reason as to why the Duchess does not want me to attend it."
"Emma, I will be back right away. I am going to fetch something for the pain. Don't you dare move from that spot!" he commanded, stepping out of the room.
Emma, however, had every reason not to listen to him. There was something about this ball, and she must go.
She moaned softly as she rose from the bed, and she carefully padded from the room to her little secret cabin. Inside, she took out the remaining nuts and tore one from its stem.
Shuddering in the cold, she threw it behind her back and turned around to find the most incredible ball gown folded neatly on the floor. It was the pale pink of sunrise, and embroidered throughout with diamonds. She picked it up and held the smooth material to her cheeks, wondering at her good fortune in receiving these amazing nuts.
She dressed carefully, wincing often, but, once dressed, it was as if her pain had been dulled. Tonight, she would be a princess, even if in the morning she had been a servant, beaten to within an inch of her life and left gasping for breath, alone, afterwards.
As she descended from the little cabin, she was occupied in fixing the clasp on her mother's bracelet. She looked up from her work at the sound of a whinny, to discover Snowflake standing before her, saddled with a velvet cushion, as if to make the journey easier for her.
"But who saddled you, Snowflake?" she asked.
The horse only whinnied again, and shook its mane out, as if declining to answer.
Emma's smile broadened.
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"Dominic, do try to look somewhat happy!" the Queen was begging her son.
"Why? I am not happy, so I need not display an emotion I do not feel," he replied sulkily. Just at that moment, a whir of deep blue fabric announced the presence of Maria, who caught the Prince's eye, if only for a moment. She was, truth be told, quite breathtaking.
The King smiled to see his son straighten in his seat, and the Queen silenced her complaints.
Dominic rose from the throne he had been sitting upon and walked towards the beautiful girl.
"Shall we dance, milady?" he asked in a reserved tone.
"Why, of course!" she answered, showing her teeth and giggling madly.
During the course of the dance, Dominic came to understand his mistake, as Maria chatted about a great deal of nothing and insinuated the possibility of her marriage to him.
"My dear lady!" he finally demanded. She silenced her prattle to listen to him. They had stopped dancing.
"Your Highness?"
"I have never met a person who has spoken quite as much nonsense as you have, this night. I will tell you, quite honestly, that I find you ridiculous and want nothing more to do with you." The entire hall grew silent; even the musicians silenced their instruments. "Not with you, not with anybody. Good-night!"
With those words, he began to walk towards the door at a very hurried pace.
"Stop him, Geoffrey!" the Queen whispered into the King's ear. She need not have wasted her breath.
Just as he was about to pass out of the doors, a musical voice rang out in the silence.
"Are you leaving, Your Highness?"
"Yes," he said coldly. "I bid you good-night."
"But I have yet to dance with you," the voice called.
Curious, the Prince walked over to the source and discovered it to be a woman dressed in the finest of gowns, sparkling from every angle with diamonds, yet with her face hidden behind a pale pink veil, which hid her features.
This last intrigued him.
"Milady, may I have this dance?"
"I thought you were leaving," she replied playfully.
"Perhaps I have changed my mind."
"Well, then, yes. Only…"
"Yes?"
"There is no music, Your Highness." She sounded amused.
"Ah, true. Please, musicians, play on!"
As Dominic took her by the hand, he felt it shake like a leaf under his touch, and he heard her wince.
"Have I hurt you, milady?"
"No, sire. I had a small accident this morning. Nothing serious."
"Then I must make you forget about your pain," he stated with a smile.
How fickle these men are! A mask may intrigue them where a beautiful face bores them. Certainly, the mask drew Dominic's interest. But it was the mysterious girl's manners and speech that kept it fixed upon her. But he was not the only one paying attention.
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The Queen could not have been more jubilant.
"Our son! Just think! Our Dominic has found someone he likes!"
"Why does she wear a mask?" the King queried, with a frown.
"Oh, I don't know," the Queen said dismissively, as if it did not matter in the least, so long as the Prince had found someone he liked. Snippets of the pair's conversation could be heard as they danced past.
"…priceless jewels, and rides upon a snow-white horse with an embroidered saddle, but is no princess?"
A pause.
"You do now know?"
"I… I confess myself puzzled," he sighed.
"That is a shame. Then, I must leave you."
And with those words, she took off towards the door.
As she ran, the crowd seemed to part before her. It took a moment for the Prince to collect himself and respond to this sudden outburst. Now, he ran forward, ready to catch her again.
As he dashed towards the door, however, he saw that his princess was still standing there, her wrist held fast by a handsome, elegantly dressed stranger.
"Emma," Dominic heard him whisper, as he drew near. "Emma de Winter. At last!"
A/N: Well, if that isn't a shocking surprise! Ooo, now there really is a cliffhanger, for it seems we have gone off the beaten track of Cinderella entirely. Keep reading, keep reviewing, I will update soon. This story will be finished before the end of August, I assure you. Please let me know what you think. It only takes a second of your time, and it means the world to me.
I am glad everyone has liked it so far. By the way, the task with the grain is a pretty common one to be set in fairy tales of many nations, including France, Italy, and the Slavic nations (where I hail from). It's a really sadistic, pointless sort of punishment, so it is often used in fairy tales that have a character of this sort.
Much love to all!
-Titania