Slithering in the Garden
Eugene settled down in an armchair, resting his elbows upon the wooden arms. "Sit down."
"Thank you," Etienne said, as he threw his shako onto the table and took a seat opposite Eugene. "Not so much for the seat as for agreeing to see me."
Eugene waved that away. "I've nothing pressing to be getting on with. You know that Cinderella is having her ghastly stepfamily for tea."
Etienne's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Really? I thought she couldn't stand them."
"I don't think she can," Eugene replied. "I think…I could be wrong, but it seems to me that she feels that she ought to make up with them out of a sense of…I hate to call it obligation but that's honestly how it seems to me."
"Obligation?" Etienne repeated. "We are talking about the people who worked her like a cart horse for most of her life?"
"Believe me, I had exactly the same reaction as you did," Eugene assured him. "She wants to make one of her stepsisters one of her ladies-in-waiting."
Etienne made a whistling sound. "To be perfectly honest…Princess Cinderella has many excellent qualities, but I think it must be admitted that she is too kind for her own good."
Etienne might have intended that to be funny, but Eugene didn't laugh. He didn't laugh because he had the same thoughts himself sometimes and it…well to be frank it worried him. People had already taken advantage of her trust and guileless nature and, while he loved that betrayal had not made her bitter or cynical, while he loved her ability to still smile in spite of all the troubles that had fallen upon her…he remained worried about what some potential new betrayer might do.
And yet there was nothing he could do about it, not without turning away from his promise to treat Cinderella as his equal. He would have to trust her in this.
"Cinderella will do what she thinks is best," Eugene said. "And if that includes having her stepsister attend her in her household…I'm sure, I hope, that it will work out for the best. Now, I'm sure that you didn't come here to talk about Cinderella or her stepfamily, did you?"
"No," Etienne admitted. "But if you have any difficulties I'll do what I can to help. Marinette tells me that you're looking to bring her highness' ladies back up to six."
"She's right, I insisted on it," Eugene said. "Your Marinette and Angelique do their best, but two is too few in my opinion, especially with Cinderella in her condition. She needs more help."
"All the same, considering what happened to the last lot I can't imagine that you're having an easy time finding volunteers from among the best families of the country."
Eugene made an affirmative noise with the back of his throat. It was true to say that being Cinderella's lady-in-waiting had not proven to be a guarantor of success in the past. Or rather it had, but only for those who had little or nothing to start with. Marinette, of the impoverished Gerard family, and Angelique Bonnet the homeless orphan, had both seen their fortunes improved considerably, acquiring lands, wealth and titles through their friendship with the princess. On the other hand, the de Montcalm and du Villeroi families, two of Armorique's oldest and grandest, had both fallen to ruin. It was not the best recommendation for good families to send their daughters to the palace, as he was finding as he wrote to them.
"I suppose one good thing about Cinderella's notion is that will leave me with only two names to find for her."
"Two?" Etienne asked. "I think your maths might be a little off there."
"I have the fourth lady already, or I hope I do. She should be arriving soon. A nice surprise for Cinderella, I hope."
"You're being very mysterious."
"I just don't want the truth to get back to Cinderella ahead of time," Eugene said. "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"
Etienne fell silent. He looked down at the floor, and at his polished boots, and at just about everything – it seemed – except Eugene himself.
"It may not appear so," he said, after a while. "But I really do dislike asking you for things."
"You've only done so once, and that was for Marinette more than yourself."
"It's about to become twice, which is two too many in many respects," Etienne muttered. "And yet I'm about to do it anyway."
Eugene chuckled. "What's the point of being a good friend if you can't ask your friend for the occasional favour?"
"At one point do I stop being a good friend and start being my brother?"
"When you start making up salacious stories about our sexual relations to sell to the newspapers, judging by Lucien's behaviour," Eugene said dryly. "Have you heard from him at all?"
"No," Etienne said. "But it hasn't been very long, all things considered."
"Quite," Eugene said. "So, what is this favour that makes you so ashamed of yourself that you can't bring yourself to name it?"
Etienne fell silent again, for a moment and then a moment more. "As you know, thanks to my promotion I no longer have a regiment, and the organisation of the army is still in flux after the end of the war. And, as you also know, I'm getting married in just a few days-"
"You might have mentioned it once or twice."
Etienne gave him a sour look. "The…the office of deputy commander of the capital has become vacant. It is an appointment filled by the sovereign and I was hoping that…that you might put a word in your father's ear for me." He scowled, more at himself than at Eugene, and settled into his chair as if he were expecting to be flat-out refused.
Eugene did not such thing. He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together. It was not what he had expected, he had to admit. The post that Etienne was asking for would give him authority over the military units deployed in and around the capital city, including those used in a policing role. It was, in effect, the second highest policing roll in the capital, if not Armorique itself. He'd be answerable to the full commander, but he would also have broad powers over all save the Guards.
It was an ambitious request, and yet if anyone could be trusted with that kind of power perhaps it was Etienne Gerard. After all, this wasn't the kind of job you would give to anyone who wasn't a proven friend of the monarchy, and Etienne had proven his friendship many times.
"Not what I thought you were going to ask for," Eugene murmured.
"I have the rank for it. Now, at least."
"I wasn't disputing that you could get it," Eugene replied. "I was questioning…I suppose I never thought you'd want it. You realise it'll be mostly paperwork, and when it isn't that it will be more police work than soldiering."
Etienne smiled wryly. "Haven't we both had our fill of youthful glory? Or are you still eager to go charging off to foreign parts to carry the flag of Armorique."
"God, no," Eugene said. "I don't intend to leave Cinderella alone like that ever again." He paused. "Is it your forthcoming marriage that has brought this on?"
"We were both gone for months," Etienne said. "Apart from her. I should almost think myself fortunate that it was just for the war, but…what if one day the orders come for me to sail to America or India to command some garrison on the colonial frontier? What kind of unenviable choices will be left to me then? To leave Lucrecia behind and be separated from her by great oceans for years at a time? Or to drag her to the far side of the world, taking her away from the vocation she loves while sending our children back here to be raised by Marinette or my mother?"
"Of course, you don't technically need to stay in the army at all," Eugene said. "You have your family estate back, or part of it. You could sell your commission and live off the income of your lands, I should think."
"Probably I could," Etienne admitted. "But that doesn't necessarily mean that I want to. I…I am a patriot, I am ready to serve my country and when Armorique is threatened she will always find me ready to draw sword in her defence. But in a time of peace…can you really blame me for wanting a job in the city where I'll see more of inkwells than heathen tribesmen in far-off lands."
"Not at all," Eugene said. "Although…"
"What?"
"My father may not think that your investigation into the attempt on Cinderella's life qualifies you to take this post."
"Indeed," Etienne muttered. "Although, in my defence I would say that the police led me to believe that the republican secret societies were far less threatening than turned out to be the case. Make me your deputy commander and I'd gladly whip them into shape for you."
Eugene chuckled. "I honestly believe that you would do well in that post. And for that reason I'll speak to my father about it."
Etienne sighed with relief. "That is all that I can ask. Thank you."
"Did you speak to Mademoiselle Adessi about this?"
"No, I didn't."
Eugene sucked inwards. "I am hardly the person who should be giving advice, except to advise you to not make my mistakes. Talk to her, for God's sake, you'll be much happier in the long run."
"I have every intention of talking to my wife, our marriage will be very boring if I don't," Etienne said. "It's just…well, if I told her and she replied that she'd be quite happy to see me depart for foreign climes it wouldn't bode well for the marriage would it?"
Eugene let out a bark of laughter.
"No, but in all seriousness," Etienne said. "I don't want her to think that she forced me into anything I didn't want. And it isn't all about her. As I said, I've had my fill of glory."
"I think every man who marched with us would say the same," Eugene murmured.
Etienne nodded sombrely. "How is Philippe?"
"Very well."
"Not worried about his new half-sibling?"
"Cinderella has assured him that he isn't going to be replaced in our affections," Eugene said. "Would you like to visit him, I think I know where he'll be."
"Are you sure?"
"You've known him longer than I have, I'm sure he'll be happy to see you," Eugene said. "If you want to?"
Etienne smiled as he rose from his seat, and gestured for Eugene to lead the way.
"This is a mistake," Angelique said. "And you know that it is as well."
"Do I?" Cinderella asked, as she stood in front of the mirror fussing with the pearl necklace around her neck. "What makes you say that, Angelique?"
"Because you've been playing with the necklace for the last five minutes, you're stalling."
Cinderella's hands fell away from the pearls, letting them come to a rest hanging from her neck, not too tight around her throat. She hadn't been aware that she'd been doing that, but now that Angelique had brought it up…it was impossible not to notice that that was exactly what she'd been doing.
Cinderella had been ready for the last few minutes at least. Duchamp had departed as long ago. Cinderella was dressed and made up and had all the jewellery on that she would wear for this meeting. And yet here she was, standing at the mirror as if there was anything that she might actually change, fussing with a necklace that had been perfect to begin.
Cinderella didn't really know how to do this.
To be honest, she didn't really want to do this.
But she had to. It was the right thing to do.
Cinderella turned away from the mirror, her petticoats rustling as he skirt swirled gently around her, until she was facing Angelique who stood, arms folded near to the door.
"I suppose I am a little nervous," Cinderella admitted.
"Then don't do it," Angelique replied. "Just give the word and I'll go down there right now and tell them that you're…ill or indisposed or something, go away and don't come back."
"That wouldn't be very honest of me, would it?"
"You're pregnant," Angelique reminded her, as though Cinderella could have forgotten. "If you can't use the excuse that you're too ill to do something you don't want to do when you're pregnant when can you use it?"
"Never, if it's a lie, or you shouldn't anyway," Cinderella said. "And besides, it wouldn't be right."
"Neither is hugging a scorpion," Angelique declared flatly. She glanced at Marinette, sitting on Cinderella's bed watching her. "What about you, Marinette, you must think this mad as well."
"I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Angelique," Cinderella said gently.
Angelique bowed her head for a moment. "I meant, um…you think this is…ill-advised, don't you?"
"I don't know," Marinette said. "I've never met either of the Mademoiselles Tremaine – I didn't go to very many parties – but, from what I've heard…from what you've said…they were cruel to you. Weren't they?"
Cinderella was silent for a moment. Oh no stop, please, stop! "Yes," she said quietly, so quietly that it was a miracle that either Marinette or Angelique could hear her. "They were cruel to me."
"Then why-" Angelique began.
"Because I married the prince," Cinderella said. "And you didn't."
Angelique looked absolutely nonplussed. "Well…obviously, but I don't see what that has to do with it other than that you can make st…questionable decisions and I can only argue impotently that you shouldn't do it."
Cinderella couldn't help but laugh, if only a little. She brought up one hand to cover her mouth. "No, I mean…why didn't you marry the prince, Angelique? Why me, and not you?"
Angelique blinked. She still looked completely baffled, as though she had no idea what the point of Cinderella's question was supposed to be. "I…I don't know. Because you're prettier than I am? Because my eyes don't sparkle in the moonlight the way that yours do? Because he didn't ask me? Because I already had a best boy and I didn't need another one. Ooh, no, I know this one!" She stuck her nose into the air, and began to twirl one of her golden curls around in her finger. When she spoke, it was in the imitation of the kind of plum-voice noblewomen who seemed to love nothing better than pouring scorn on Cinderella and her origin. "Because, although obviously I could have won His Highness' hand in marriage for myself at any point I wanted through my refined and sophisticated charms, I decided to have pity on you dear and let you have him, since you otherwise had so very little."
Marinette snorted. Cinderella giggled. "I'm being serious, Angelique," Cinderella said. "Or I'm trying to be, at least."
"Alright then, seriously, what is the point you're trying to get at because I'm not seeing it in the least bit."
"I married the prince and you didn't because I had a home," Cinderella said. "A home that they gave me. It may not have been a very nice home, I may not have liked it there in fact I couldn't wait to escape it when I had the chance but…but it was a home, nonetheless. And it was because I had a home that I received an invitation to the royal ball and without that…without that none of this would have happened. Whatever else my stepfamily is…whatever else they…did to me…I should acknowledge that. I've been remiss in failing to do so."
"Rubbish," Angelique said. "I'm sorry but…you didn't get to the ball and get all of this because of your stepfamily you got this because…seriously? You got it because you're better than we are. Better than me, better than Marinette – no offence, Marinette-"
"Oh, I quite agree," Marinette said. "Cinderella is the best of all of us."
"Right," Angelique said. "Because you're kind and passionate and you want the best for people in ways that I couldn't even begin to think about. Because you're the one that everyone can believe in. Look, there are a lot of things that I still don't understand about how you managed to get the fancy dress and everything to turn up and have his highness swooning over you like he was…but I don't reckon your stepfamily had a thing to do with it. You ask me…God, I'm going to start to sound as soppy and romantic as Jean here…it was fate. You were meant to be here, so that you could do the things that you've done and the things you're going to do to…to save the country for everyone else. You're…this was meant to be because you are the best person it could happen to."
Cinderella smiled gently. "That's very kind of you to say so, Angelique; but would it still be true if I didn't continue to do what I think is right?"
Angelique's mouth opened. Then it closed again. She pouted. "Well…hmph. Marinette you take over."
"Is this…is this what you really want?" Marinette asked.
"Honestly? No," Cinderella admitted. "What I want…the reason that I've been putting this off for so long…is because what I want is to never see them ever again. But I know that this is what I have to do. I won't feel right if I don't, especially now."
Marinette nodded. "Then Angelique and I will be right behind you. As we always are."
"Marinette!" Angelique cried. "What kind of an argument is that?"
"If it's what Cinderella wants, who are we to stand in her way."
Cinderella shook her head. "Why do you dislike this so much, Angelique?"
"Perhaps I just don't like seeing bullies get rewarded, it doesn't sit right with me," Angelique said. "Perhaps I think that we've had enough two-faced double-dealing little vipers around here and we don't need any more. And perhaps I just…perhaps I like it with just the three of us, perhaps I don't want that to change."
Cinderella began to walk towards her. "I understand what you mean, Angelique. There's a part of me that doesn't want it to change either. I like having you both here, knowing that I can trust you, and I don't feel lonely." She reached out her hands for the both of them. "I won't ever forget what the two of you did for me. How the two of you stuck by me, when few others did. You're both so dear to me. But Eugene says that I should have more ladies-in-waiting and he's probably right. I ask too much of both of you."
"We can do the work," Angelique said.
"We're very happy too," Marinette added.
"I know," Cinderella said softly. "But, since I have to have new ladies…I think one of the positions should go to one of my stepsisters, without whom I wouldn't be here. Honestly, I probably should have done this before my marriage, or at least when Theodora left us."
Angelique sighed. "I can't change your mind about this, can I?"
"No, Angelique, you can't," Cinderella said. "No one can." She hesitated for a moment. "Eugene thinks that I'm being silly as well, but…it would mean a lot to me if you could support me, both of you, the way that you have in the past."
"Of course," Marinette said, getting up off the bed and taking Cinderella's hand. "We'll support you whatever you decide to do."
Angelique was a little slower to take Cinderella's other hand. "Alright. Alright, if you're going to do this I'll…well, I'll have one eye on this woman but with the other…I'm right behind you. They're here now, aren't they?"
"Yes," Cinderella said. "They're waiting for me, and I've already kept them waiting far too long."
"Then let me come with you," Angelique said. "You…I don't want you to be alone in there with them. I don't want you to get hurt."
"I'm sure that they aren't going to try and hurt me," Cinderella said. "Especially not with a guard in the room."
"We both know that not all weapons leave bruises," Angelique replied.
That was true enough. And it was also true, as much as Cinderella felt a little ashamed of the fact, that she didn't really want to be alone in a room with her stepfamily. She didn't want to be alone with her stepmother ever again, and she didn't want…it was stupid and childish but she was afraid of them outnumbering her.
"Why don't…would you mind coming as well, Marinette?" Cinderella asked. "It will save on introductions later?" And it will be three against three.
I shouldn't think like that…but I can't help it.
Is this such a good idea.
I don't know. I only know it's the right thing.
They were cruel to me, but they could have done so much worse.
Should they really be rewarded for that?
Yes, or why should anyone show any mercy in future?
"Of course I'll come," Marinette said. "If you really want me to."
"I do," Cinderella said. "I really do. Now, are we all ready?"
"Are you ready?" Angelique asked.
"Yes," Cinderella replied. "I think so." I hope so.
And thus they left Cinderella's chamber together, leaving two of her guards – Labourdin and Bourgogne by name, Cinderella tried to remember the names of all the men who protected her – behind either on the door or in the room, while two more guards trailed behind the three ladies as they descended the many staircases.
"Good morning, Corporal Adragain, Private Gaheris," Cinderella said brightly to them. "How are you today?"
"Very well, your highness," said the corporal. It had been hard work getting them to reply at all, and they still said very little to her, but at least Cinderella was able to get them to answer simple questions like that.
"I'm so glad to hear it," Cinderella said. "And how is your sister?"
She asked questions like that as they descended the stairs, pausing only when she ran out of breath and needed to pause for a moment, and then when she ran out of questions to ask. Cinderella had realised long before that point that it was not, or not entirely, concern for the wellbeing of the men and their families that was driving her inquiries. She was asking to take her mind off what was to come.
Her stepmother was waiting for her. The woman who had torn Cinderella's blissful life to shreds and remade it in her cruel and heartless image. Her stepsisters, too, who had gleefully joined in the cruelty. They were all waiting for her at the end of this journey.
Cinderella was a princess. She was married to the prince and heir to the throne of Armorique. She wore a gown of the finest silk in pink and white, she had pearls around her neck and at her wrists. She had a priceless diamond on her finger. She was a princess, she had been regent of the whole country, she had made a treaty with a foreign nation and seen off an attempt at overthrowing her. She had endured the worst the press could invent to slander her.
But now, faced with the prospect of meeting her stepmother again, she felt as though she were a ten year old girl about to be shoved into the darkness of the pantry cupboard for misbehaving herself.
Her steps became heavier and heavier, and her hands began to tremble. In fact, no, it was her whole body trembling.
She was worthless. She was disobedient. She was a wilful brat who needed to be taught her manners. She didn't know how lucky she was. She deserved to be punished. She was worthless. No one could ever love someone as wretched as her. Anyone who claimed otherwise was deceiving her to break her heart later on. She was worthless. Anything for which she was blamed was her fault. She deserved to be punished. She was-
Cinderella stopped, as she felt Angelique clutching her hand tightly.
She looked down, Angelique's bare fingers entwined with the white silk that concealed Cinderella's hands from view. Her gaze travelled to Angelique's face, and the reassuring smile framed by those golden curls.
"We're right here, Cinderella," Angelique said softly. "We're both right here beside you."
Cinderella stared at her for a moment, and in that moment she felt almost as though she might break out in tears.
I am loved. I have friends. I have a devoted husband. I am surrounded by people who love me and they are none of them fooling me so they can hurt me later.
I'm happy, and I deserve that happiness.
You're wrong, Stepmother. You were wrong about everything.
"There's still time to change your mind?" Angelique offered hopefully.
"No," Cinderella said. "This will be alright. With you here, everything will be fine." As for taking Drizella into her household, she hoped that her stepsister would be different away from her mother and Anastasia. Who knew, in a different setting they might even be able to become friends.
Cinderella accosted a passing servant. "Excuse me, Madeline, do you know where Lady Tremaine and her daughters are waiting?"
"Of course, ma'am. Please follow me."
"Thank you, Madeline," Cinderella said, as the three of them followed Madeline to one of the parlour rooms towards the front of the palace.
Madeline opened the door, and Cinderella, her ladies and one of her guards – Corporal Adragain – walked in.
As she walked in to the sitting room, Cinderella saw her stepmother and stepsisters sitting together on a long settee, the colour of which was wholly obscured by its three occupants and their dresses, which spilled out over the furniture. Lady Tremaine sat in the centre, flanked by Drizella on the left and Anastasia on the right.
It had been nearly a year since she had last set eyes upon them, not since His Grace had taken her away from her stepmother's house and to the palace where Eugene had asked her to be his bride. Cinderella hadn't seen them since then. She hadn't wanted to see them since then.
But here they were, and by her invitation too.
With good fortune this will all end happily, and I will make friends with at least one of them. With good fortune things will be better this time around.
Cinderella took some comfort in the fact that they could have no motive to be cruel to her now. It would avail them nothing, and could cost them much. There was no reason for them to treat her as they had treated her before.
Then why do I feel as though they are the masters here, not me?
I am loved. I have friends and I am loved.
None of them rose to their feet for her, and Cinderella didn't feel like making an issue of it even though they should have gotten to their feet, she being a princess. She hadn't come here to argue with them, after all, and she didn't want to seem petty and obsessed with status and ceremony.
Lady Tremaine spoke first, her voice languid and slow moving like treacle poured out of a jar. "Your highness. How wonderful to see you again, and after all this time too. I was beginning to think that you had forgotten us completely."
Cinderella instinctively bowed her head at the implicit rebuke in her stepmother's words. "I'm sorry, stepmother, I-" the words were out of her mouth before she even realised what she was doing. Was that a smirk of triumph on Lady Tremaine's face, or was she imagining it? Whether Cinderella had seen it or not, the truth was that her stepmother had won the first round. Is this what it's always going to be like? Will she always seek advantage over me? For a moment, Cinderella was tempted to take Angelique's advice and send the three of them home at once. But that would be churlish of her, and unkind, and would make her no better than her stepfamily really. They had done her a kindness, whether they wished to or not, and they deserved some acknowledgement of and reward for it.
Everyone had their good points, it was just a matter of being willing to look hard enough to see them.
Cinderella cleared her throat, and tried to start again. "I apologise if you felt insulted by my silence towards you, Lady Tremaine; but I'm sure you understand that as a princess, especially in these hectic times, I've had a great many urgent matters to attend to." She could do this. If her stepmother wished to fence with her then Cinderella could trade thrusts and parries with her. She had been learning how, towards the end of her time in that house.
She only hoped it wouldn't be necessary with her stepsisters. If it was then having one around constantly could get very wearying, and she felt tired enough as it is.
Lady Tremaine made a sound that might have been a kind of low chuckle from her throat, as she bowed her head in acknowledgement of the point. "Oh, but of course, your highness. What with you illness, your regency and now your condition I am simply glad that you had time to see us at all."
"You didn't even invite us to the wedding," Anastasia muttered.
"No," Cinderella said softly. "I didn't. You must forgive me, girls, but growing up you seemed so uninterested in my marital prospects that I didn't really think you'd want to trouble yourself." She paused for a moment. "Introductions! Please forgive me everyone. Marinette, Angelique, may I present my stepmother, Lady Tremaine, and my stepsisters Anastasia and Drizella. Stepmother, Anastasia, Drizella, these are my ladies-in-waiting and good friends Marinette, Countess of Lorient, and Angelique, Countess Cherbourg."
"Mademoiselles," Marinette said. "My lady."
"Charmed, of course, ladies," Lady Tremaine replied. "Lady Gerard, isn't it? I do believe I knew your father. He threw the most splendid parties. Such a pity that he couldn't really afford them, in the end."
Marinette's cheeks began to turn pink with embarrassment as she mumbled something that Cinderella couldn't make out, and she doubted anyone else could make out either. Angelique looked as if she was half a breath away from saying something very loud and rather unkind.
"On the other hand you, Lady...it's Lad Bonnet, isn't it?" Lady Tremaine continued. "I'm afraid I don't know your father at all."
"That isn't very surprising," Angelique declared. "I don't know him either." She said it with such an utter lack of shame, such an unabashed and stony honesty that it was almost wonderful. She was telling Lady Tremaine that she couldn't be cowed by mention of where she had come from even if that place ought to have embarrassed her.
Yet Cinderella hadn't brought her ladies in here so that they could fence with her stepmother, and now she moved to forestall any further conflict between them. "Angelique and Marinette are both very dear friends of mine," she said, trusting that her stepmother was intelligent enough to understand what she was really saying. I won't tolerate you picking on them. You can wield your weapons against me if you want to, but leave them out of it. "Shall we sit down, ladies?" she gestured to the seats opposite the settee on which her stepfamily had placed themselves, facing one another across a low, rectangular table. As she sat down, Cinderella said, "Anastasia, Drizella, how are you both?"
They both looked well, or as well as they had when Cinderella had seen them last. Better, if the lack of expressions of poleaxed surrpise as though they'd been hit on the head with something counted as an improvement. On the other hand, the expressions of supercilious disdain with which they had been wont to regard her were starting to creep back into their faces, as if they couldn't regard her as anything other than their servant girl. Hopefully that would change in time.
Cinderella also noticed, as she sat down and smoothed out the folds of her skirt with her hands, that her stepsisters' clothes were a little less well-maintained than they had been before. Then hems of their dresses were starting to fray, and their were little nicks and the beginnings of tears to the large, puffy shoulders. Cinderella gathered that they had neither found a new maid of all work nor learnt themselves to do the things that she had done to keep their gowns as near pristine as possible.
Although I'm a little surprised that they haven't bought new dresses. Is there so little of my father's money left? Cinderella's father had not possessed great swathes of land across the country, as many great families - and Marinette and Angelique now - possessed. He had left his wife no continuous income from rents on his estates; rather his fortune had been made in trade and shrewd investments, and he had left his wife and family the accumulation of that fortune. Cinderella knew that her stepfamily could spend with wild abandon when the mood took them but she could never have imagined that they could have used it all up by the time she and her stepsisters were twenty.
I suppose Papa would have hoped for us all to be married and in the care of husbands by now, but still.
"Huh!" Anastasia huffed. "As if you care!"
"I do care, Anastasia," Cinderella said. "Is something wrong?"
"Is something wrong?" Anastasia asked incredulously. "Who do you think you are sitting here, lording it over us as though you're so special while we eat burnt food for every meal because you're not around to do the cooking? And how are we supposed to find a good husband now with all of our dresses looking like this because you're not taking care of us the way you're supposed to do. If you care about us so much then why don't you get-"
"Do you have any idea how obnoxiously self-centred you sound?" Angelique demanded.
"Angelique, please," Cinderella said. "Are things so bad for you?"
"We have our troubles, as many do," Lady Tremaine said. "The roof is starting to leak, fortunately it is only in your old room for now but I fear it will not stop there. We have...not been able to secure any new servant to fill the gap in the household left by your absence."
"Why not?" Cinderella asked. "You really can't find anyone?"
Lady Tremaine did not respond, and Cinderella guessed that they really had used up almost all of her late father's money but Lady Tremaine was too proud to admit the fact to her. Or else she trusted Cinderella to be able to work it out without her having to admit the fact.
A silence settled between them; Cinderella wondered if Lady Tremaine was waiting for her to offer them money to help them in their hour of need. She did not do so. Cinderella had seen where that road ended; she had give out money before to those she thought her friends, only to learn that they had not seen her as a friend but only a bank they never needed to repay.
She did not intend to repeat the mistake with people whom she had - at present, at least - no reason to call friends whatsoever.
The silence continued for a moment until Cinderella said, "Shall we have tea? Marinette, would you please ring for some?"
Marinette rang, and tea was brought. Madeline poured it out for all present before she withdrew, leaving behing the pot and a plate of freshly baked biscuits which Anastasia and Drizella gleefully tucked into.
"I hope you will forgive my bluntness, your highness," Lady Tremaine said. "But may I ask why you have suddenly asked us here to have tea with you? I cannot believe that after all these months it is simply because you missed us."
Cinderella lowered her gaze for a moment, and hesitated. Now comes the moment. "No, you're quite right, Lady Tremaine. I invited you here...I asked you to join me...so that I could thank you."
Drizella sounded as though she was about to choke on her biscuit. Crumbs fell from her mouth as she started to speak with her mouthful. "Thank us? What do you want to thank us for?"
"Drizella, please," Lady Tremaine said magisterially. "A lady does not speak with her mouth full."
Drizella bowed her head and swallowed. "Yes, mother. I'm sorry."
"Quite alright, my child," Lady Tremaine said, passing her a napkin. "So long as you do not repeat the error in the best company."
Angelique sucked in her breath at that, and looked at Cinderella as though she were expecting some sort of response from her. Cinderella let it pass, not because she hadn't hear but because...well, what would be the point, really? She wasn't going to change her stepmother's mind by being prickly about such things, or swelling up with offence every time her stepmother tried to slip an insult past her.
"Since I became a princess," Cinderella said. "I have become aware of how awfully the poorest in Armorique suffer, and in what deplorable conditions. Homelessness, hunger, sleeping on the streets exposed to the wind and the rain and the cold. Whatever else happened in the past you spared me from that, and in the process you gave me opportunities even if you didn't intend to. And for that I ought to thank you, and ask your forgiveness for delaying doing so for so long."
Drizella wiped at her mouth with the napkin. "If you want forgiveness, maybe you can-"
"What my daughter was about to say, possibly with improper decorum," Lady Tremaine said. "Is that, although gratitude is always greatly appreciated, your highness, and although forgiveness is always available to the penitent, at present it would be well if your gratitude were to take a more tangible form, if we are to avoid joining the ranks of those unfortunates you mention."
They must be desperate, if they are asking so baldly. Cinderella had told herself she would not do this, but faced with a request put in such a way, faced with the reality that their circumstances must be dire for her stepmother to humble herself in such a way...she had no desire to see them turned out of their house, her father's house, and forced to live as Jean and Angelique had once lived. "I will give you three hundred pounds a year, out of my income, for five years." Cinderella said. Technically it was Eugene's income, but he had given a portion of it over to Cinderella to do with as she wished. "By that time, hopefully any further help from me will not be necessary."
"We can only hope, your highness," Lady Tremaine. "After all, my daughters are still young and I continue to hope that they will good marriages capable of supporting them in the comfort which they deserve."
"Indeed," Cinderella said. "I would also like to offer Drizella a position in my household, as one of my ladies-in-waiting. There are several vacancies that need to be filled."
Drizella's eyes widened. "Why-"
"That is exceedingly generous, your highness, and an honour that Drizella would be only too delighted to accept," Lady Tremaine declared magisterially. "Would she be required to take up her duties at once."
"If that is possible," Cinderella said. "If not, then-"
"Of course, highness, if you will only allow her to return home briefly and collect her things, then she can return here at once."
To be honest, Cinderella had expected a short delay. "Of...of course," she said. "I'll have a room made up for her immediately."
"Then we shall return home immediately," Lady Tremaine said. "Thank you, your highness, for the invitation and for your subsequent generosity. Your kindness continues to astonish. It is clear to see how you have so easily won the love of so many across the nation."
"I..." Cinderella hesitated, looking for a trap in her stepmother's words but, surprisingly, finding none. "Thank you, stepmother. It's very good of you to say so. Are you sure that you don't want to stay longer."
"Oh, I see no need to further impose myself upon you at this time, your highness," Lady Tremaine said. "I think we've both got everything we came for."
She pushed herself to her feet using her walking stick, and gestured for her daughters to do likewise.
Lady Tremaine curtsied to her. "Your highness."
"Lady Tremaine," Cinderella replied. "Thank you so much for coming. I hope you all enjoyed yourselves here. Drizella, I look forward to seeing you again and getting to know you better."
Drizella didn't reply. It was Lady Tremaine who said, "Your Highness, please believe me when I say that this is more than I dared to hope for."
And then they left, and Cinderella was left alone with Angelique and Marinette and with her silent and statue-like bodyguard.
"You shouldn't have let them talk to you like that," Angelique declared. "She was insulting you the whole time."
"How does that make her any different from the noble women who insult me every time I try to talk to them?" Cinderella asked.
"It's no different at all, but you shouldn't have to put up with that either."
"I know that my stepmother doesn't like me," Cinderella said. "She never has. But I hope that now things can begin to change between us."
"You hope?" Angelique couldn't keep the scepticism out of her voice.
"Yes, I hope," Cinderella replied. "Without hope I would have given in to Serena and Grace, without hope I might have lost faith in Eugene. Without hope...without hope I would never have remained myself after all that my stepmother did to me. You know, when I left her house to marry Eugene, my stepmother told me that being a princess would change who I was. She told me that it would make me unkind, a liar, bitter and cold. She was wrong about that. My hope stopped that from happening. I didn't change, or at least I don't think I did, but now I hope that she can."
Lady Tremaine was able to keep her daughters silent and subdued throughout their exit from the palace, and into the hired carriage - their finances, at least would stretch to such on rare occasions. It was only when they were all three of them bundled into a coach that was too small for three of them, packed tightly against one another on their rickety journey back home through the streets of the capital, that Drizella spoke.
Or rather squawked indignantly. "Mother! What were you thinking sending me to wait on...on her! I won't do it and you can't-"
"Quiet!" Lady Tremaine's voice cracked like a whip, and Drizella fell silent at her command. "You will do as you are told, Drizella."
"But why, mother?" Anastasia asked. "Why should either of us humiliate ourselves in front of her? Seeing her with the prince all the time, I think she just wants to rub our noses in it."
Lady Tremaine suppressed a sigh of frustration. Her daughters lacked subtlety, and understanding of the motives of others, but she had been aware of those flaws in them for years and it was too late to correct them now. They attributed to Cinderella the motives that they would have had in such a situation. If they had won the prince's hand it would never have occurred to either of them to offer Cinderella such a post except as a means of establishing their own superiority. The fact that Cinderella was not like them, and that her motives were not theirs, was something they could not understand.
"Cinderella has done this because she believes that she does us a kindness," Lady Tremaine explained, hoping that it would stick at least on the surface of their minds. "We will allow her to continue to believe that because she must continue to believe it or the chance will be lost."
"The chance?" Drizella repeated. "What chance?"
Lady Tremaine's mouth twitched into a kind of smile, or perhaps it might be better described as a smirk. "There are paths to wealth and influence that do not involve a wedding ring." It was clear to Lady Tremaine, as it had been clear to her when Serena de Montcalm had tried to enlist her in her foolish plot, that there was no ground to be gained in attempting to undermine the royal marriage. It stood too firm, having withstood the impact of Prince Eugene's child it was hardly likely to crumble from external effort. Not to mention, as much as she loathed to admit the fact, his highness was not likely to permanently put Cinderella aside for one of her daughter. Permanently being the important word in that situation. "Cinderella is carrying a child, and while she does so she will be unable to address His Highness' needs. Very likely the prince will take a mistress, as many men do while their wives are pregnant; if you can be the one to get into his bed, Drizella, then we shall have gifts and wealth and maybe even influence." If Drizella could get with child by his highness too then that child would doubtless have lands and titles bestowed upon him to avoid a scandal, but Lady Tremaine did not mention that to her daughter.
Drizella's dark eyes gleamed at the possibility. "Oh, yes, and won't she just hate it! I can't wait to rub it in her face that the prince is-"
"Whatever you do you must not antagonise Cinderella directly," Lady Tremaine said. "Be friendly to her, gain her trust, and she too may grant you want we need, a marriage for your sister perhaps, or even a little extra money. If Cinderella suspects what you are doing she will cast you out. You must seduce the prince and the princess both, the one as a lover but the other as a friend. Cinderella must never suspect how much we hate her."
Cinderella was their princess, and that was a fact which had to be lived with no matter how much Lady Tremaine might detest the fact. Therefore, the only thing to do was scurry about at the edges of her power and snatch what little morsels could be taken.
And never let her know that they were doing so.
Jean walked cautiously down the cul-de-sac, with one hand upon the hilt of his sword.
He was down in the area of China Dock, more specifically in the little alcove between three warehouses that almost, but not quite, backed onto one another and were used to store all kinds of goods that the merchant ships brought back with them from eastern parts.
He moved cautiously because he hadn't been truly part of the streets and their almost hidden community for some months now. He became more and more of the palace with each passing day, and with each day his familiarity with the world he and Angelique had left behind grew fainter. People left, people died, some people even found ways to escape that, though less dramatic than his own, were no less effective in rescuing them from this life. He couldn't really claim to know this world any more. At best he could say that he remembered it, and his memories grew increasingly unreliable.
Plus, the docklands had never really been his part of town; but he remembered that Oscar and those she took under her wing had lived - for want of a better word - in this place. Once upon a time at least.
It was all he really had to go on.
"Nice coat," came a voice from behind him, a girl's voice, hard and cold. "A man in a nice coat should maybe think twice about wandering around places like this. People are going to see it, and want it."
Jean's back straightened. "This coat is the uniform of a lieutenant of the King's Household Foot." He turned around to look at the person who had snuck up behind him. "And I'm not scared of you, Oscar."
Oscar - strange name for a girl, he had always thought, but he'd never known her well enough to ask how she came by it - was of a height with him, which made her a little taller than Angelique but almost as tall as the princess. Her hair was short, and a dirty red that fell to just below her ears. Her face was stained with soot and her hands - including the hand in which she held a knife - were likewise. She was wearing a fairly nice coat of her own, one that seemed almost like a uniform jacket, blue with white facings, although the amount of dirt on it made it difficult to say for certain.
"No," she said. "You never were, were you? What do you want, little bull? I heard you and your angel got out. I heard you were something fancy now."
"You heard right," Jean said. "Her Highness Princess Cinderella took pity on us."
"Why you?" Oscar demanded.
"We saved her life."
"Ooh, you're a lucky pair then, aren't you. Right place at the right time sort of thing?"
"Something like that," Jean said.
"So what are you now? A soldier?"
"An officer," Jean said. "And a count."
Oscar whistled. "You are lucky. You got all that for saving her life one time?"
"It was three times, so far, and a few other things," Jean replied. "But...yes, her highness has been very generous to us both."
"So what are you doing down here, then?" Oscar asked. "Has she gotten fed up with you."
Jean didn't reply to that directly. "How are you Oscar? How's the gang?"
"There is no gang, it's just me and Penny; right now, anyway," Oscar said sharply. "What do you want, Jean Taurillion? You don't belong here no more. So what are you doing down here?"
"How would you like to be free of all this?" Jean asked. "How would you like to have a roof over your head and to know where your meals were coming from? How would you like your dinners to be hot?"
Oscar scoffed. "I'd like that. I'd like a pocket full of diamonds too, and servants to shine my boots and a family. They're no more going to happen than anything you said."
Jean grinned. "I can't promise the diamonds or servants, but I wasn't joking. I mean what I said: you can have them all if you want them."
Oscar's hazel eyes narrowed. "How?"
"I need people to protect her highness," Jean said. "To sleep in the same room as her in case anyone comes in trying to hurt her, to watch over her while she's in the bath or getting dressed. That sort of things. Things only a woman can do. I thought of you."
Oscar stared at him for a moment. Then she laughed as she thrust her knife into her belt. "You came down here in your fancy coat to ask me to be some kind of royal bodyguard? That's not normal, is it?"
"No," Jean said. "But I have to keep the princess safe from her enemies."
"So it's dangerous then, what you're talking about."
"It might be," Jean admitted. "I don't know for certain."
Oscar stared at him for a moment. "This sounds ridiculous. You wanting me to become a soldier."
"Technically speaking you'll be a maid," Jean said. "You'll just be expected to do...different things. But you'll get paid, you'll get fed and you'll get...well, you'll have to sleep on the floor but you'll get a blanket."
Oscar was silent for a moment.
"What else are you going to do?" Jean asked. "Go to the workhouse? Live like this until you're old and nobody's scared of you? You and I both know that no one lasts that long out here. It ends, one way or the other."
Oscar didn't acknowledge his point, but she didn't need to. They both knew it was the truth. "She's been good to you, this princess?"
"Better than either of us deserved."
Oscar's nose twitched. "I suppose the floor can't be harder than the ground. Penny comes too?"
"Of course," Jean said softly.
"Why me?"
"You're the toughest girl I know," Jean said.
Oscar snorted. "Don't let your angel hear you telling her that."
"Don't let her hear you call her angel, she doesn't like it," Jean said.
"Fair enough," Oscar said. "Okay, little bull, I'm in. Hey...is everyone going to know what I'm doing or is this a secret thing."
"I...I don't know, I hadn't thought about it. I suppose...some will know, and some won't. Some people...some might not like it if they knew, and some we don't want to know."
"These enemies she might or might have, you aren't sure?"
"Yes."
"How can you not be sure if she has enemies or not?"
"Because some were stopped, and some stopped what they were doing," Jean replied. "And when it comes to the second...I just don't know if they've stopped for good yet, but I mean to be ready in case they haven't."
Hidden within the deep woods of the Lorient, in a small clearing joined to no path or road, Grace du Villeroi held court.
It was not much of a court, all things considered: her mother, her brothers, her maiden sister, her ogreish servant Rolf and Anatole de Montcalm, who had abandoned his sister for her sake and joined his fortunes to hers.
He looked as though he was not completely free of regret over that decision. His face was drawn and pale and he had ceased to smile, for now anyway. That would change, when things started to go their way again. If not...then Grace would cease to find him enjoyable and when that happened...what use would there be in him?
For now, however, he remained. Grace had few enough friends or supporters remaining to cast aside those that remained.
It was Cinderella's doing. Serena's stupidity had played a role, as had Grace's foolishness in joining her enterprise to Serena's plans but for the most part all their troubles, the ruin of their house and the smashing of their plans they all came down to Cinderella.
Grace came from a family of witches. The name of their line had changed over the years, hiding beneath the names of the various men who had sired the magical daughters who would continue the traditions of their ever-shifting family, but those traditions themselves had always remained. Gradually this line of witches had clawed themselves up from the despised outcasts of society, hiding their gifts and marrying well until they were placed within the aristocracy itself. Grace suspected that Cinderella's own story was not too dissimilar; she had the gift of speaking to beasts and birds, if not all of them, and a fairy had attended on her birth. Perhaps her mother had been a witch, but died too early and too suddenly to pass the craft on to her daughter. Perhaps there was but a touch of magic in the princess' line, that had manifested itself in Cinderella after long dormancy in those who came before.
Whatever the truth, Cinderella was no witch herself and thus it had galled Grace to see her grand ambitions - to breed magic into the royal line itself, a witch queen or a warlock king to rule over the realm - thrown astray by Cinderella, this girl from nowhere whose fairy magic had allowed her to defeat all challengers and claim the prize.
Grace...Grace had been a fool. She had deceived herself, as Serena had deceived herself, into believing that Prince Eugene's infatuation with Cinderella was a passing fancy, that his marriage was a mistake he would swiftly regret and when he did...when he did she had planned to be waiting. That was why she had fawned upon and flattered Cinderella, that was why she had entered her household as a lady-in-waiting, that was why she had attempted to undermine Cinderella, painting her as a frivolous spendthrift while Serena created stories of adultery to feed the newspapers.
It had all rested on the assumption that the royal marriage could be broken; an assumption which, on the basis of a clear-headed examination of the evidence, had proven to be incorrect.
Eventually they had resorted to force to get their way, and they had failed at that as well when the greater force of the common people of the capital had risen up against them.
Which brought Grace and those who stayed true to her to where they were now: landless, hunted, stripped of wealth and title; hiding in a wood and spying on their enemies by magic.
They had not been in the Lorient all this time. At first they had fled the country and then, when the hunt for them began to slacken, they had returned. And a good thing too for their spying, in their scrying the waters, Grace had learned something interesting.
"Pregnant," she whispered. "She's pregnant."
Had Serena been present it would have been her greatest fear made real: a child, an heir of Cinderella's blood to follow Prince Eugene on the throne and make all efforts to dissolve the marriage or supplant Cinderella utterly pointless. But, considering that it had - with the benefit of hindsight - always been pointless then Grace was less inclined to consider an unborn child an insurmountable obstacle.
For the purposes of the revenge that she had planned on Cinderella, whether she was with child or not was quite irrelevant.
"Pregnant," Anatole muttered. He sounded defeated. He sounded as though he had succumbed to despair and lost all hope. "Well that's it then, isn't it? It was a mistake coming back here, we should have made for Flanders."
"We aren't beaten yet," Grace declared. "And our road lies not to Flanders but to Brest."
Anatole's eyes bulged. "You...you want to go back? You want to go back to the capital. And do what, get arrested?"
Grace shushed him. "Calm yourself, my love. There is method in all that I do. And I do not intend to return home only to rot in jail. Rolf, go and find me a pretty peasant girl and bring her back here. Mother, sister, help me gather up the ingredients for a love potion."
"Isn't it a bit late for a love potion?" Anatole asked. "And you told me there weren't much use anyway."
"Not enough use to be worth drugging the prince," Grace admitted. "Not once he was married, and there was no opportunity to slip one to him before then. But I'm no longer interested in gallant, charming Prince Eugene. He has made his bed with Cinderella, and he had can lie there as it becomes a bed of serpents."
Anatole shuddered. "Then who? What are you going to do?"
"In chess, there are neither prince nor princess, only king and queen," Grace said. "Cinderella has been allowed to behave like a queen, to live like a queen, to give commands and be treated like a queen. But soon...soon Armorique shall have a true queen once again, and Cinderella will be reminded that she was only ever a pawn who dreamed of crossing the board and climbing above her station."
Author's Note: So…at one point (that point being at about 1.30 AM last Sunday when it was too bright to get back to sleep and I was lying awake thinking about this story) I actually considered the idea that Eugene would have an affair while Cinderella was pregnant. I even got as far as wondering who his mistress might be.
Then, by about 2.30 AM, I'd remembered four very important things:
First, I'd written Eugene as flawed but never as that much of an ass.
Second, even Cinderella with all the patience and kindness of a saint would probably find it quite hard to forgive actual infidelity on his part.
Thirdly, even if Cinderella did find it in her heart to forgive I was pretty sure that you, the readers, would never forgive him for treating Cinderella that way; I'm still not entirely sure that Darkmaster of the Arts has forgiven Eugene yet for the way he behaved regarding Philippe and that wasn't nearly as bad as what I was contemplating in my fugue state.
And finally, the kind of edgelord Cinderella adaptation where Prince Charming turns out to be a cheating dick because 'realism' or 'darkness' or whatever is exactly the sort of thing I wrote the Rose and the Crown to respond to.
So, yeah, that will not be happening; but I included the fact that both Frederica and Lady Tremaine think that it will as a kind of in-joke at my own expense.
Let that be a lesson not to plan stories when you should be sleeping.