A Day to Remember
The grand procession moved down the country road like a great serpent with scales of liveried gold, winding its glittering coils down the narrow, dusty lane. Like some old royal progress, poised to descend upon some hapless Lord and eat him out of house and home, the royal party move with the thump of hooves and the rattling of carriage wheels.
A full squadron of dragoons, in green jackets and bronze helmets glimmering in the light, with heavy, straight swords and carbines bolstered by their saddles, rode as escort for the party; the armed horsemen ranged back and forth around the carriages, darting out in front of checking behind as well as constantly riding alongside the coaches. Some half-dozen horse grenadiers, in tall bearskin hats, rode closely around the King's carriage, while personal guards of the prince and princess either rode nearby or on the roof of the coach.
The rest of the procession consisted of four carriages: in the first rose His Majesty the King, accompanied by his grandson Philippe and by the boy's grandmother; in the third coach where all of Cinderella's ladies-in-waiting, now numbering five; the final carriage contained all requisite servants for the day.
All of which meant that Cinderella and Eugene had the second carriage all to themselves, which was very kind and considerate of everybody.
Cinderella had been looking forward to this and she wasn't ashamed to it either. It had been too long, or at least it felt as though it had been too long which came to much the same thing, since they had been able to forget all their worries and their burdens, or even almost all of them. After war and illness, in the midst of politics and more illness, of sorts, she thought that everyone needed this.
"This was a wonderful idea of your father's," Cinderella said. "I can't remember the last time we did something like this."
"Just before the war," Eugene said. "You and I, Philippe and Etienne."
"Oh yes, of course," Cinderella said. "It was just before you had to go, I remember now. Just before His Majesty had the portrait painted of the four of us." Cinderella smiled fondly. "Yes, that was a lovely day, wasn't it?"
Eugene nodded. "How are you feeling?"
Cinderella gave him a look.
Eugene laughed at the (somewhat mock) exasperation of her expression even as he threw up his hands. "What do you expect? You're pregnant, and anemia apparently. Would you rather I ignored it?"
"I'd rather that you believed me when I tell you that I don't do things if I'm feeling well enough to do then," Cinderella replied in such a gentle tone that all the sting was robbed out of the rebuke.
Eugene leaned forwards, and took both her hands. His fingertips brushed against the pearl bracelets that she wore around her wrists. "I want to trust you, my love. I hope that I've proved that I do trust you in so many ways...but I'm afraid that when it comes to your health I've heard too much from Angelique and Marinette."
"That was completely different," Cinderella protested.
"Really?" Eugene asked sceptically.
"Yes," Cinderella said firmly. "I did what I must then, because no one else. But now you're here, and your father is well again and I don't need to drive myself so hard any more."
Eugene nodded, but he said, "I'm sorry if this frustrates you but...I know how dangerous this can be."
"I know," Cinderella murmured. "But I really do feel much better, for now at least." For all of Cinderella's enthusiasm for this day she honestly wouldn't have come out if she had thought that she was going to collapse and frighten everyone, or throw up in the middle of everything or otherwise ruin things for everybody else. Her new diet felt as though it was already making magic, although Cinderella was missing tea. She felt fully able to enjoy herself, and almost as importantly not to embarrass herself in the process.
No matter what Christine thought about the way she was dressed.
"So, Christine Roux arrived this morning?" Eugene asked. "So I understand, anyway."
"Yes, she's in the coach behind."
"How are you finding her so far?"
"She...She certainly knows her mind and isn't afraid to state her own opinions," Cinderella said, after a moment's hesitation.
Cinderella had just finished getting ready, and had thanked Duchamp for her excellent-as-always work, when Constance showed Christine up to her bedroom.
"The Lady Christine Roux, ma'am," Constance declared.
Cinderella turned around and away from the mirror - her petticoats rustled as they swirled around her - to look at Christine, who had taken a few steps into the bedroom as Constance closed the door.
If Angelique had a twin sister from whom she had been separated at birth, and that wondered twin had been raised not on the streets but in one the palaces of the mighty, that twin would probably have looked a lot like Christine Roux. She was taller than Angelique - taller than Cinderella too, come to that - and her statuesque slendernesd never seemed, as Angelique's lightness or short stature sometimes did, to be the result of malnourishment. Her hair was gold, and worn in short curls atop her head and winding singles framing her sculpted cheekbones. Her eyes were blue, but neither eyes nor face nor hands possessed any trace of the hardness that an unhappy life had forced on Angelique. Dressed in a gown of silver, stitched in with moonstones and diamonds, Christine looked the person they should all aspire to be; or perhaps would have been had life dealt more fairly with them.
Christine curtsied with a perfect formal precision. "Your highness, I am at your service."
Cinderella clasped her hands together in front of her and smiled. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Christine."
"Lady Christine, if it please your highness," Christine said, her voice quiet but her tone reproachful. "As my father is a titled peer."
Cinderella was silent for half a moment before rallying. "Oh, yes, I'm terribly sorry. But, please, you mustn't keep calling me your highness like that. Cinderella will be fine, I don't like to stand on ceremony here." She had some hope that's if she offered informality, the other girl might return it in kind.
"I would prefer to call you your highness, your highness."
"Oh," Cinderella said, unsure what to make of that. "If you prefer then...Yes. Anyway, we're all about to leave soon so if you're ready-"
"Begging your highness pardon but how can we be leaving soon when you must change and dress?"
Cinderella's eyebrows rose. After all, she had just finished getting ready with the able assistance of Duchamp and considered herself in her own opinion to look quite lovely. Her gown was white, ad they so often were, with a blue bustle and a blue sash tied round the waist in a giant bow that could be seen in part from the front. Blue too the trim around the ruffled collar which clung off her shoulders while leaving her arms bare down to the white gloves that enclosed her hands up to the wrist. She wore identical bracelets on her arms, first pearls closer to her hands then sapphires after, while out from beneath her hair peeked pearl and sapphire earrings, the sapphires dangling from the pearls like pure blue teardrops. Cinderella wore her favourite necklace, with the sapphire heart set in so many pearls, and held back her hair with a white silk hairband topped with a pretty bow.
In short she was at a loss as to what Christine wad talking about.
"I don't understand, C- I mean Lady Christine," Cinderella said, wondering if this was some sort of joke.
Christine wrinkled her nose. "Your highness doesn't mean to go out looking like that, do you?"
"I, yes, I do," Cinderella replied, possibly a little more shortly than she should have done. "Why?"
"Well, I don't know who's been advising and tailoring for your highness but that hairband belongs on a child of six, that sash round your waist is a decade out of fashion, that collar-"
"Thank you, Lady Christine, I understand now," Cinderella said. She supposed that she ought to have felt mortified but what she mostly felt wad a degree of irritation, and at Duchamp or Lucrecia or anyone else. She wasn't really irritated at Christine either, although unfortunately she might have sounded irritated as she spoke to the poor girl. "The fact is that I have learnt here that dressing or arrangingvmy here or really doing anything to please other people, to conform better to their expectations, never achieves sufficient goodwill from them to balance out my own unhappiness." That was something of a politely worded understatement. At one time Christine's criticism would have thrown Cinderella into uncertainty; now she knew that those who wished to criticise her would find something no matter how hard she tried to please them.
"Therefore," Cinderella continued. "In my clothes and jewels I please myself, and let others think what they like."
Christine's face reddened. "I...forgive me, your highness, I meant no offence, I...I was only trying to help."
Cinderella smiled. "I'm sure we'll understand one another better in time."
Eugene gave her silk-gloved hands a squeeze. "If you don't like her, you know that you don't have to keep her. I don't want you to be unhappy, or to feel that you have bear someone you don't like."
Cinderella loved him for the fact that he didn't bring up Drizella; he trusted her to know what she was doing on that score without refighting that battle over and over again. He might not trust her to be a judge of her own health but he trusted her with that.
"I don't dislike her," Cinderella said. She leaned forwards so that there noses were almost touching. "If I thought that she was...If I thought there was anything wrong I'd tell you, you know I would. But I think that, well, I've just gotten used to the fact that everyone has gotten used to me and my ways: my ladies, the servants, you. I'd forgotten that not everyone would be the same way."
"There's nothing wrong with the way you like to do things," Eugene said, as he gently tugged her a little closer to him so that he could give her a kiss.
"I know," Cinderella replied. "But that doesn't mean everyone expects them. As I said, Christine and I just need a little more time, I think."
So she hoped, anyway.
Soon thereafter the entire procession and their escort arrived upon a picturesque and pleasant glade, a verdant place hard by the river's bank beneath a wider close that sat upon a hill nearby, joining the wood that stretched southward upon both sides of the river.
At this spot, however, the woods only slightly intruded upon them, as the carriages halted beneath the she's and the servants busied themselves in preparations. Eugene helped Cinderella down from their coach, taking her by the waist and lifting her up before setting her down upon the grass again. Elsewhere Cinderella could her ladies dismounting too, while Philippe shrieked with joy as he ran back and forth.
Cinderella smiled up at Eugene; she had the feeling this was going to be a very good day, and one well worth remembering.
As the staff began to make all the preparations, Cinderella looked up into Eugene's face and said, "Will you excuse me for a moment, I'd like to speak to Drizella."
Eugene's mouth tightened although he said nothing.
"Eugene," Cinderella said, with a hint of reproach.
"You can ask me to put up with this, but you can't force me to like it I'm afraid," Eugene replied. "And there are limits to what I will let you bear before I send her away."
Cinderella blinked. But how would he...oh; oh, of course. "Someone's talking to you, aren't they? Is it Angelique? Or Augustina?"
"It's Marinette, actually," Eugene replied. "She's concerned that you shouldn't have to put yourself through this."
"Isn't that my choice?"
"If you wanted to throw yourself into this river then that would be your choice as well, but it doesn't mean that I'd simply watch without acting," Eugene said, somewhat tartly.
"There's no need to exaggerate," Cinderella said quietly.
"I'm sorry," Eugene muttered. "I just...you can't possibly imagine what it's like to love someone whose best quality is also the thing that concerns you the most. Please be careful."
He wants to take care of me, I want him to trust me to take care of myself; will we ever reach a compromise that doesn't involve us bumping up against one another like this? Cinderella wondered, but could not say for certain. She couldn't even say for certain that he was wrong, or that Marinette was wrong to have gone to him for all that she instinctively disliked it. Drizella...had not been very kind to her so far. She hadn't hurt her, and she hadn't behaved as badly as she had done when Cinderella was her servant, but still...she had not been kind, and Cinderella wouldn't have borne it from anyone but her stepsister. Should she be upset with Marinette for going behind her back, or grateful that she cared? Or both? She really couldn't say for certain. All she could say for certain was that she felt she was doing the right thing.
And I will speak to Marinette about this after.
"Please," she said. "Trust me a little while longer. I won't be long, and afterwards I'll come and find you again."
"If you don't I shall come looking," he replied, in a deliberately light tone. He bent down to kiss her again. "Good luck."
Cinderella squeezed his arm and giggled just a little, because after all this was only Drizella, not a monster...for all that the two had seemed the same at times when she was younger.
Cinderella wouldn't have admitted this to anyone, certainly she wouldn't have admitted it to Eugene, but as she turned away and picked up her gown between her thumb and forefinger, spreading it out on either side of her so she did not trip, she could admit to herself that Drizella still had the power to frighten her. Whenever they spoke there was a part of Cinderella that wanted to give in, to concede everything that Drizella demanded so that she wouldn't be angry with her. But she couldn't run away from her past. She couldn't hide in a tall tower behind the castle walls. She didn't want to hide, or run. She wanted to be able to move forward, to love her stepfamily and have them love her in turn. The way it should have been, from the moment of her father's marriage.
She approached her ladies-in-waiting, who seemed almost to sense her coming like field mice who can tell the approach of a barn owl from the way they all turned towards her in expectation.
"Marinette," Cinderella said gently. "I'm afraid I shall want a word with you later, if you don't mind."
Marinette must have been able to guess why Cinderella would want a word, because her face paled and she looked down at the ground. "Of course."
Cinderella wanted to reassure her that she didn't hate her for what she had done, and that she wasn't really angry about it; but she couldn't think of a way to do so without revealing what Marinette had done to the other ladies, and so she was afraid that she would have to simply leave things be for now until she was finished talking with Drizella. "Drizella," she said. "Would you please keep me company awhile?"
"Well, alright," Drizella said, as though it was a great imposition upon her but one which, out of her generous nature, she would endure without complaint.
"Thank you," Cinderella said, gesturing away from the river and eastward across the rolling meadow.
Drizella approached with long strides, and when the two of them were stood side by side Cinderella began to walk in the indicated direction, past the carriages and the resting horses, across the road and across the meadow beyond, where bumblebees buzzed amonst the wildflowers. Jean followed discreetly behind them, keeping his distance so as not to overhear their conversation.
Although it was Cinderella who had indicated the way, it soon became Drizella who set the pace; she was taller than Cinderella, with longer legs which she used to stride out in front so that Cinderella almost had to run to keep up.
"Would you mind slowing down, please?" Cinderella gasped. "I'm afraid I can't keep up like this, especially not...you understand."
Drizella harrumphed, but slowed down with - again - the air of someone selflessly making a sacrifice for the sake of others.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
Cinderella smiled, or tried to smile at least as best her nerves would allow. "How are you settling in, Drizella? How are you finding it here after a few days?"
"Hmph," Drizella said. "Why do you care?"
"Because...I want you to be happy here."
"Huh!" Drizella declared. "If you wanted me to be happy then why did you marry the prince?"
Cinderella was so taken aback by this that even once she had understood that what seemed at first like a non sequitur actually had a point behind it she was still too flabbergasted to actually reply for several moments; moments in which she must have gaped like a fool with her mouth open to catch flies. "I'm not going to make myself unhappy just to please you, or deny my own happiness for the sake or yours."
"That's a little selfish, don't you think?"
"Would you do any different if our places were switched?"
"Of course not!" Drizella cried, as if the very notion was absurd. "But I never pretended to care about you. You pretend to be so kind and generous but you still care more about yourself than about anyone else. You're no better than I am, you just like to pretend you are."
"I..." Cinderella hesitated. Her mouth felt dry, and when she swallowed there was a dusty, brackish taste in her throat. Drizella was wrong, and Cinderella knew in her heart that Drizella was wrong, and she was sure that if she asked Eugene or her friends to be honest with her they would tell her the same thing too. Drizella was wrong...but Cinderella didn't know how to say that she was wrong without being very unkind to Drizella, and yet she also knew that if she said nothing then her stepsister would believe she had no answer and count it as a victory.
"You're right, of course I care about myself," Cinderella said. "I want to be happy, I want to be loved, and I don't see that I should be ashamed of that. But I care about other people as well: my husband, my friends, my stepson, His Majesty...the people of this country. I care about all of them."
"And you think I don't?" Drizella demanded.
"I didn't say that," Cinderella replied. "I know you love your mother and sister, I just..." She sighed. "Why do we have to fight, Drizella? All I asked was how you were, is that so wrong? Why...why can't we talk, as sisters? That's all I want...it's all I ever wanted."
Drizella turned up her nose. "My sister's name is Anastasia. I don't need or want another one."
Cinderella looked down, the folds of her skirt descending down to the ground. Of course. She should have known that; she should have always known that. Her father probably should have known that too. Lonely Cinderella might have welcomed a pair of new sisters but Drizella and Anastasia had no need of such, they had each other after all. What they had needed was a servant, clearly. "That doesn't mean we can't be friends," she asked, somewhat plaintively. "Does it?"
Drizella said nothing. When Cinderella looked up she saw that her stepsister was glowering down at her. Cinderella couldn't meet her gaze, it retreated downwards once again. She began to fuss with the sapphire bracelet around her right arm, tugging it this way and that, pulling it up towards her elbow, feeling the silver in which the jewels were set upon her skin, playing with it as she waited for a response.
If she really isn't happy here then...then perhaps it's for the best that she does go home. I don't want to keep her here if it's making her unhappy.
A single word dropped from Drizella's lips. "Maybe."
Cinderella looked up, an involuntary gasp springing from her mouth. "Really?"
Drizella shrugged in a supremely disinterested manner. "Perhaps."
Cinderella couldn't have stopped the bright smile from spreading across her face even if she wanted to. "Oh, thank you, Drizella!" she cried, holding out her hands.
Drizella took them with only a little reluctance. "Your engagement ring is very pretty," she said.
"Yes, it's lovely, isn't it?" Cinderella replied. "Are you happy here, Drizella? Are you settling in alright?"
"I suppose," Drizella admitted.
"I'm so glad," Cinderella said. "Everyone is so nice once you get to know them, I'm sure that if you give it a chance...I hope that you can love this place just as much as I do."
As Cinderella and Drizella wandered away, Christine - ooh, sorry, 'Lady Christine' - watched them with a touch of distaste upon an otherwise neutral expression.
"So," she said. "That is how it is. Family comes first in favour. I suppose that's only to be expected."
That was a statement so absurd upon its face that none of the other ladies quite knew how to respond. They simply stared at her, a fact of which she seemed wholly oblivious.
"That...that isn't exactly how it is," Marinette murmured.
"It might be wise, my lady," Angelique said, with all the sarcastic emphasis that someone who insisted upon being called Lady Christine deserved. "To refrain from making such statements until you have a clearer idea of how things are here."
Christine glanced down at her. "Forgive me, Lady Bonnet," she said in a tone of impeccable politeness. "I was merely making an observation of what I saw before me. The princess does not favour her stepsister?"
"Cinderella's attitude is...a little too nuanced to be so easily described by a word like favour," Augustina said. "What do you know about her past?"
"The same as everyone else," Christine said. "I read the papers, as the whole country did."
There's a fair amount that didn't make the papers, Angelique thought, although she said, "You read the papers and yet you still think she might favour her stepsister?"
"Her highness does favour her, with her sole attentions," Christine said.
Angelique glanced at Augustina with a look of silent exasperation on her face.
Augustina coughed into one hand. "Lady Christine...if you try and reduce everything that Cinderella does to a game of 'who's in, who's out', if you try and interpret her every word and movement as though her true purposes and intentions can be divined through astrology, if you expect her to play politics...you'll drive yourself mad before you learn anything useful. The sooner you accept that Cinderella has no face but that which she presents to the world, and that her words and deeds are driven by compassion not machiavellian cunning, then you will learn more and sleep easier."
Christine blinked. "With all due respect, Mademoiselle du Bois, to say that a woman who once forced the premier into resigning in order to ram through the policy of her choice does not play politics seems borderline absurd on its face."
"That depends on what you call playing," Angelique said. "Cinderella was always open about what she wanted to do and, when she had the chance, she did it. I don't see much playing about that. And, with respect, Lady Christine, to be frank you aren't going to make many friends around here with an attitude like yours."
"I'm not here to make friends," Christine replied. "I'm here to serve the princess."
"The greatest service Cinderella requires is friendship," Angelique said. "There aren't many in the world that she can count on, so she needs to be able to count on us."
Christine was silent for a moment. "And yet you'd have me believe that she does not favour her own family."
"Drizella is an exception," Angelique said. "One that none of us can really understand."
"And yet you advised me to try and interpret her highness' actions," Christine said. "It seems there are at least some of her behaviours which require interpretation."
It was hard to tell, but Angelique thought Christine was smirking.
Cinderella felt happier as she and Drizella returned to the other ladies. They had taken the first step together, Drizella and herself, and if they could only build upon this...Cinderella was under no illusions. It would not all be easy from now on. Doubtless there would still be times when Drizella would be angry with her, would berate and insult her, would act as though she hated Cinderella. But so long as she knew that there was a chance, so long as she knew that the destination she wanted to reach was not a mythical shangri-la then she could keep climbing no matter how hard the trail became.
Unfortunately, she now had to speak to Marinette.
"Marinette," Cinderella said, as they drew close. "I'd like a word in private, please."
Angelique and Augustina looked curious about that. Christine, by contrast, looked as though she couldn't care less. Drizella had her back to Cinderella as she walked away, and her expression could not be seen. Marinette looked as though she were on her way to a funeral.
"Of course," she murmured, as she picked up her skirt and walked across the grass towards Cinderella.
They followed the dirt road down which the carriages of their procession had descended on this place, pausing every so often to pet the horses who had had so faithfully pulled the coaches here.
Cinderella said as she rubbed the snout of one of white horses who had pulled the carriage in which she and Eugene had rode, listening it to snuffle contentedly.
"I'm sure that you know what this is about," Cinderella said softly.
"Yes," Marinette said, with equal quietness.
Cinderella sighed, and her brow furrowed into a slight frown as she looked at Marinette. "Why did you talk to Eugene instead of to me?"
Marinette's eyes glanced downwards. "Because I didn't think you'd listen."
Cinderella was silent for a moment, because of course Marinette was right about that. "I would still have rather you tried, first anyway. Did you really think it was worth bothering Eugene with?"
"I thought...I thought that if his highness thought I was wasting his time he could tell me so," Marinette said. "But if he didn't...it seemed better to tell him and risk it than keep it to myself. I'm sorry-"
"I don't need you to apologise, Marinette," Cinderella said tenderly. "I'm not even upset at what you did."
Marinette looked up. "You're not?"
"No," Cinderella said. "How can I be angry that you care for me? How can I be angry that you're solicitous of my well-being. But I am a little disappointed in you, that you thought you were a better judge of your wellbeing than I was." She sighed once more. "Drizella can be difficult, and I suppose I can appreciate how she might seem to someone who isn't used to her...but you really have nothing to worry about; she isn't going to hurt me, and she's nothing that I can't handle. We even took a wonderful first step today."
Marinette looked sunk in misery, so sunk in fact that it even looked as though her eyes were starting to water.
"Marinette?" Cinderella murmured, putting her hands on other young lady's shoulders. "Marinette, what's the matter? Whatever it is, you can tell me, you should know that."
Marinette screwed up her face. "Cinderella...do you know why it was me who spoke to his highness, not Augustina or Angelique?"
"No," Cinderella said.
"It's because I heard...I made all of these excuses for Lucien," Marinette said, practically crying it out into Cinderella's face. "And if I didn't make them then my mother did. He was a good boy, a sensitive soul, he didn't mean any harm, he was misunderstood, he just needed some compassion and a helping hand and all of it lies. All of it...delusions." Marinette shuddered. "He was a wicked young man and he hurt you. He hurt you and I let him. Because I didn't do anything. I can't let that happen again, I can't do nothing again."
"Oh, Marinette," Cinderella whispered, as she embraced the other girl in a hug. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realise that...you don't bear any blame for what Lucien did. If I didn't tell you that, if I let you think anything different I am truly sorry from the bottom of my heart." She held her close. Marinette's cheek was cold against Cinderella's own. "But Drizella isn't Lucien. She isn't using me and she certainly doesn't desire me. I really don't think she means me any harm at all."
"I...I'm sure you're right."
Cinderella stepped back, but kept a hold of Marinette's shoulders. "So next time, speak to me before you speak to my husband, if you wouldn't mind?"
"Yes," Marinette said, nodding vigorously. Yes, of course, I'm...I'll do that."
Cinderella chuckled. "Now, that little talk is the last unpleasant thing that I intend to do or say today. This is a day to enjoy ourselves and we are going to do just that, yes?"
"Yes," Marinette said, with a little laugh.
"Then let's go rejoin the others," Cinderella said, as she took Marinette by the arm and led her back to rejoin the other ladies.
Grace wore the face of Vanessa and the garb of a pretty shepherdess as she crouched within the dark the gloomy confines of the wood and spied upon the princess and her party by the river-bank.
She was not in a position where she could set her own eyes upon them; that would have been too risky, if someone spotted her before the time was right then everything might be ruined. She could not be seen until the last possible moment when she would rush out and save the day, earning the gratitude of the court and the opportunity to move on to the next stage of her plan.
She was not in any position overlooking the revels of Cinderella and the others, rather she was scrying them in the puddle of water over which she crouched.
Her stolen lips twisted into a sneer. The last unpleasant thing? Poor Cinderella. By the time this day is done you won't even remember that as being unpleasant. The bad will have been driven out by the horrific.
She was keeping her eyes on Cinderella at the moment, if only because she was integral to the plan that she had devised. For this part, at least. Later she would become insignificant, in fact the entire point of Grace's plan was to render her insignificant in the end, but for now she remained vital. The King and Prince were both thoroughly old-fashioned men in many ways, they would react more strongly to danger to Cinderella than to themselves, and their gratitude for her salvation would be much greater than it would be for their own. Especially now that she carried Prince Eugene's child and the future of the dynasty in her belly. If she saved the prince, even if she rescued the King, then she would be rewarded handsomely no doubt, but any purse of coin that she received would be expected to be the end of it. Save the beloved princess, however, and the gratitude of the prince and his father would be practically without limit. For as long as she needed it to be, at least.
Grace took a deep breath. The plan she had devised was brilliant, but it required a great amount of magic to make it work. She would be nearly exhausted for some time after. Not that it mattered, provided that everything went according to plan today.
Everything was in place; everything except Cinderella herself. It only remained to get her where Grace wanted, no, needed her to be.
Grace's sneer became a smirking smile as she spotted how it could be done.
Cinderella had, true to her word to Eugene, rejoined him after speaking with Drizella and Anastasia, and the two of them wandered, arm in arm, close to the river bank.
Around them, the servants had almost completed their work, and it would soon be time to eat. For now, however, they wandered arm-in-arm as Eugene finished describing a book that he had read.
"That sounds very sad," Cinderella murmured.
"Do you really think so?" Eugene asked. "That isn't really how it struck me, I confess."
"But the poor princess," Cinderella insisted. "She fell in love with the impostor king, not the real one. She never loved the true king at all, she never agreed to marry him, that was all the fake. But the real king is the one that she has to marry, and to live with her whole life even if he is a brute and a boor. She should have run away with the impostor when it all came out."
"She wouldn't have been a princess if she'd done that," Eugene said.
"No," Cinderella admitted, tightening her grip a little upon Eugene's arm. "But she would have been happy, and from what you've told me I can't say the same of her now."
"Probably because I haven't told it right," Eugene said. "The king has been changed by his captivity; he's a better man by the end of the story than he was when it began."
"But he still isn't the man she fell in love with," Cinderella said.
"Does that make it impossible for her to come to love someone else, over a lifetime of marriage?" Eugene asked. "Do honestly believe that we are like swans, the cupid's bow fires only once for each of us? It cannot be so, or you would not wear those rings upon your finger."
Yet if you were taken from me I would never love another, though I live for another hundred years, Cinderella thought, but did not say. She didn't want him to mistake her, or to think that she was trying to make his love for her seem less than that which she felt for him. She would never do that, in thought or word or deed. But there was no other for her but him in all the world, she believed that wholeheartedly.
"Perhaps you're right," she said softly. "In fact I'm sure that you're right, but all the same...she should have gone with him, the impostor. Even if he was only a private gentleman, I'm sure that with their love they could be happy together."
"Stripped of all the luxuries in which she has grown up," Eugene said. "Is love so strong it can make up for the loss of such?"
"Of course, can you doubt it?" Cinderella asked. "If..." she chuckled. "This may sound absurd, but if you turned to be an impostor, if it turned out that you had never been Prince Eugene of Armorique but a mere English gentleman pretending to be him to keep Duke Henry off the throne...I would go with you. I would go with you and I wouldn't hesitate for a moment. I wouldn't stay and be the wife of the real Prince Eugene, a stranger to me."
Eugene grinned boyishly. "Well I'm glad that you say that, darling, because as it turns out-"
Cinderella laughed gaily. "Oh, stop." She shook her head. "You know I probably would have believed you if you'd told me that without describing the book first."
"Really?"
"Yes, because I trust you," Cinderella said. "Which is why you shouldn't tease me. A gentleman and a true prince would never take advantage of his princess' love so."
It was at that point that Cinderella noticed something out the corner of her eye. Startled, she looked away from Eugene and down the rapid-flowing river to see Philippe teetering the very edge of the river bank, leaning out over the water and reaching down into the rushes that broke the surface as they grew along the bank.
"Philippe!" Cinderella cried, her heart pounding as she rushed down the river bank ahead of Eugene. She swooped down on Philippe and swept him up in her arms, wrenching him away from the river bank and holding him tight, his arms and face resting on her shoulder as she walked quickly away from the water. "Philippe, you mustn't do that it's far too dangerous! What were you doing?"
"I was trying to catch a frog," Philippe said, sounding more disappointed at having failed in his endeavour than he was contrite at having done something so foolish.
Cinderella could feel her bosom heaving with concern, it took a few deep breaths before she was ready to speak again. "Trying to catch a frog?" she repeated. Cinderella was not much practiced in an imperious tone, such as her own stepmother had used to scare her into obedience, but she gave it a game attempt nevertheless. Cinderella held Philippe away from her, just a little, so that she could look at him. He didn't seem to want to look at her, looking instead at the river or else at his father coming up behind.
"Philippe, look at me please," Cinderella said, and only when the boy did so did she continue. "That was very, very foolish of you. You could easily have fallen into the water and no one might have seen you. No one would have seen you if your father and I hadn't happened to be nearby. You would have drowned and then..." Cinderella took another deep breath. "You frightened me."
"I'm sorry, stepmother."
"I don't want you to be sorry, I'm not angry," Cinderella said. "I was frightened, and so I want you to promise me and your father that you'll be careful in future."
Philippe lapsed into a kind of sullen silence that suggested he had intended to go right back to frog-catching as soon as Cinderella let go of him.
"Philippe?" Cinderella said.
"I promise, stepmother," Philippe said. "I promise, papa."
Eugene simply laughed a little as he ruffled Philippe's hair.
"And second of all," Cinderella said. "It's very cruel of you to just snatch frogs up from there home so that you can play with them." She knew that because she'd heard the frogs themselves say so. "It's selfish and unkind, and I know that you're not a selfish or an unkind boy, are you?"
"No, stepmother."
"No, you sweet boy," Cinderella said, kissing him on the cheek before she knelt down to put him on the ground. "Now go find your grandmother, and be careful."
Philippe sped off, keeping safely away from the river this time.
Cinderella felt Eugene's arm around her waist as she stood up. "I can't imagine why you're worried about your maternal qualities."
Cinderella smiled as she placed her hands on top of his. "You're very sweet to say so."
"Although...if we have a son you might not want to mollycoddle him quite so much."
Cinderella looked up at him. "What do you think I should have done instead? What if he'd fallen in?"
"I fell into the stream back home twice, it didn't do me any harm," Eugene said. "Both times someone pulled me out and here I am."
"My mother would never have let me so near a river, or even a pond," Cinderella said.
"It's different for girls," Eugene replied blithely. "It's good for young boys to skin their knees a little growing up."
Cinderella pursed her lips together. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I am spoiling him, and I'm sorry for that...but his grandmother trusts me to look after him, if I let anything happen to him because I was letting him skin his knees..."
"She wouldn't forgive you."
"I wouldn't forgive myself," Cinderella corrected him. "And if it is a boy...I'm afraid I can't imagine not being the same way, even if that does make me a bad mother."
Eugene kissed her on the forehead. "I can't imagine you ever being a truly bad mother. You seem much better today."
"I feel much better today," Cinderella said. "I don't feel anything like as tired, or as faint." She smiled. "You know there are times when I wake up and I still can't believe that this is real. I'm having a baby. Our baby."
"It is real," Eugene said. "It's real, and it's the most wonderful thing in the world."
Grace snorted. Not a bad mother indeed. On the evidence thus far presented you will be a terrible mother, for you treat the little brat so much like you're own that your actual son will doubtless be wracked with jealousy and grow up hating everything about you. No matter. Cinderella would never get that far in any event. Not if Grace's plan succeeded.
And Grace had just seen key. That little boy whom Cinderella loved like a son. He was going to drag Cinderella exactly where Grace needed her to be.
Grace muttered a brief incantation. The spell was called Maleficent's Light, and despite the lofty sounding name, associated with one of the greatest of witches and sorceresses past, it was a very simple spell. It conjured a light that only its intended victim could see that, when they looked upon it, so hypnotised them that they would follow it anywhere and could not be stopped until the spell ceased. A simple spell, but somewhat limited in utility, not least because a strong mind could resist it quite easily. Prince Eugene, His Majesty, even Cinderella herself would all be immune to its allure; most adults were unless they were somehow incapacitated by sorrow or rendered in some way vulnerable by an excess of debilitating emotion. But children...children were different, especially children so young as Philippe. They lacked the will and intellect necessary to resist, and hence they were easy prey.
Grace cast the spell, and through her scrying she could see the eerie green light appear in front of young Philippe, and she could see his eyes widen and his expression go somewhat vacant as the light held him spellbound.
She could lead him wherever she wished now, even back to the river to drown. But, while that might have given Cinderella some much-deserved heartache, it wouldn't really have availed Grace at all. No, she had other plans.
The light began to move slowly in the direction of the forest, and Philippe began to follow it.
Lunch was nearly ready to be served, but as the last of the pies and cakes were spread out across the ground Eugene was drawn off by his father. He left Cinderella behind with the rest of the assembled party as he followed his father up a hill to where a single sycamore tree stood. There, under the shade of the tree, his father stopped and looked out.
It was an impressive view, the river cutting through the fields and meadows like a great blue snake, the meadows and the ploughed fields intermingling. On the other side of the river Eugene could see a farmer working just such a field, leading a strong plough-horse behind him, while a pair of crofters felled a tree at the edge of the forest. With barely a movement of his head Eugene was able to glance between the lovely princess in her gown and jewels, surrounded by her attendants, and the salt of the earth upon the other side of the stream hard at work. It was as if this place held Armorique in microcosm. The whisper of the breeze and the babble of the river intermingled with the sounds of chatter from the people below them to produce a sound that was almost melodic.
"You chose a fine place to stop, father," Eugene said, mirroring the way that his father stood, hands clasped behind his back, as he waited for the older man to tell him what he wanted.
"I proposed to your mother beneath this tree," Father said, his voice barely rising above the breeze.
Eugene's eyebrows rose as he looked down upon his father. "Really? I thought grandmother arranged everything with her parents."
"That didn't absolve me from the need to do it properly," his father declared, voice rising a little. He looked up at his son with a wry smile upon his face. "I know that you think I was impatient with you to wed, son, but I hope you realise that I could have been far less indulgent of your desire for romance. I was indulgent because, well, I felt much the same way, once."
Eugene said nothing. He had no desire to hurry his father along or press him for the point. He waited, content to let what his father wished to say unfold at its own pace.
His Father walked across the hill, coming to stand on the other side of the tree, leaving Eugene to follow behind him.
"I needed to marry your mother," he said. "Far more than she needed to marry me. I'd spent my youth abroad, for the most part. I only returned home for good to become King. I was not well known, not well liked; your mother was both. I had my partisans, my brother had his, but your mother...the nobility and the people alike both loved her with all their hearts. For the sake of my position on the throne I had to marry her.
"But I...I didn't want to take her that way. I...heaven help me I wanted to win her heart; it seemed so much easier than winning the heart of the kingdom. And so I wooed her, and won her, and I proposed beneath this very tree where she...well, of course she said yes or we wouldn't be standing here talking about it, would we?"
Eugene snorted. "Indeed not. You...you've never told me that before."
"The time was not right before," his father said. He sighed, a deep sigh born of an equally deep contentment. "It has been some years since I have felt as content in my good fortune as I do now. It's been a long time since I have felt as I did when you were young and your mother was still with us, when I felt as though I was the most fortunate of men, to be king and husband and father all and in all three roles beloved. It has been a long time, but..."
Eugene grinned. "It's been a long time since I've seen you in such a contemplative mood, father."
His father let out a guffaw of laughter. "That's because I haven't wanted to contemplate too closely for fear of what my contemplation would reveal." He tugged at his moustache as he affixed his gaze upon the farmer in the field. "There was a time not too long ago when I would have asked who was the more fortunate, myself or a lowly farmer with his cottage and family and I would not have known the answer."
"You are a king," Eugene declared incredulously.
"A widowed king, growing old and apart from his only son, growing cold in the possibility that with that son his line would end," his Father said. "The farmer lacks a crown, true; he has no wealth, he does not enjoy vast lands; he dwells in a humble cottage instead of a palace. But he has a family, children all around him, maybe grandchildren too, a loving wife if the gods are good, and the wives of his sons to care for him. So who was the more fortunate, really? Me in my lonely state, or the humble ploughman rich in love?"
Eugene was silent awhile, staring down at his aged father. "Father...I had no idea that you...I didn't realise...forgive me; I was so blinded by my selfish desires that I had no idea the effect that I was having upon you." He got down on one knee. "Forgive me, I beg you."
"Oh, get up!" Father snapped. "I'm not telling you all this to make you feel guilty, for heaven's sake! And besides, if you had married sooner you would have married differently, no doubt, and that...that is not an outcome on which I wish to dwell. You chose well in Cinderella. You chose so well that I cannot imagine a better choice you could have made. And so, if I was irritated by your failure to marry...I am forced to concede the maid you chose was well worth the wait."
"She has made me a better man."
"Marriage has that effect on all men, fatherhood will make an impact more pronounced yet," his Father rejoined. "I didn't ask you here, I'm telling you this because I want to prick your conscience, Eugene. I'm telling you this...because I want to thank you. I no longer doubt that I am indeed amongst the most fortunate of men, more fortunate by far then any farmer of ploughman."
"Because I'm married?"
"Because I have a family again," Father replied. "A son come home for good, a dutiful and devoted daughter-in-law, a grandson, and an heir to my line on the way. I feel..." His father was silent for a few moments as he lit a cigar and puffed upon it. The end glowed golden in his mouth. "I feel content, as I have not in some time." He offered Eugene a cigar.
Eugene shook his head. "Cinderella doesn't like the smell on my breath."
Father snorted. "As I said, marriage changes a man." He flicked some ash away. "I feel as though the fate of the kingdom is in good hands."
"God grant it stay in your hands for many years yet," Eugene said. "I'm not sure I could do all that you do."
"You'll manage," Father said. "But I have no intention of dying just yet. Not before I've welcome my second grandchild into the world, at least."
Eugene nodded. "I'm glad, for I shall be relying on you to teach me how to be a good father when the time comes."
"You're worried?"
Eugene said, "Cinderella spends more time with my son than I do, shows him more love than I do and she isn't even his mother. What if...what if I don't have it in me to love a child the way that Cinderella does, the way that you loved me?"
Father snorted disdainfully. "Before you start looking for deficiencies in your soul, why don't you consider the fact that you spent years ignoring the boy and that Cinderella had to drag you to see him practically by the ear. Time and distance...when Cinderella's time comes, when you are allowed into the birthing room and you see that bundle of life crying and squirming in the midwife's arms...you'll find out then just how much you can love, I guarantee it."
Eugene opened his mouth to respond, but whatever words he might have said were snatched away as the sound of Cinderella screaming pierced the air.
Cinderella spread her skirt around her as she sat down. "Isn't this lovely?" she said, looking around the faces of the gathering. Except someone was missing. "Where's Philippe?"
There was no answer, not even from his grandmother.
Cinderella looked around. "Philippe? Philippe?"
Other voices took up the call: his grandmother, Marinette, Angelique, all calling out to him with no response.
Cinderella felt a touch of panic rising in her throat. "Philippe?" she cried. "Philippe, can you hear me?" Please, tell me he didn't go back to the river after he promised me that he'd be careful. "Who saw him last?"
"Your highness," Jean caught her attention, pointing behind her towards the forest. "I think that's him there."
Cinderella stood up, turning round to follow Jean's outstretched arm and pointed finger. It was Philippe, she could recognise him even at a distance, and he had wandered up the hill and was even now walking into the shadowed eves of the forest.
"Philippe!" Cinderella called out to him. "Don't wander too far, come back here. Philippe?" Her stepson didn't reply. He didn't look back, he didn't stop. He just kept on walking.
"He's probably too far away to hear you, highness," Jean said. "I'll fetch him back on the double."
"Oh, no, don't trouble yourself, Jean," Cinderella said. "I'll go."
Jean frowned. In fact he looked distinctly sceptical. "Are you sure, your highness? I can cover the ground as quickly and-"
"If you're about to say something about your condition, Jean, please don't," Cinderella said. "I'm getting just a little fed up with them. I'm quite capable of walking there and back without difficulty." To prove her point, she began to do just that.
"Wait, your highness," Madame Clairval called. "He's my grandson, I should fetch him when he's being silly, there's no call for you to trouble yourself."
"It's no trouble at all, Madame," Cinderella replied. "And I'm afraid I couldn't let you wear yourself out on my account. If Eugene returns, please tell him that I won't be long, and there's really no need to wait for me before you all start eating. Enjoy yourselves, everyone; we'll be back soon." And with that she set off, holding up the hem of her skirt with both hands as she strolled briskly across the meadow. She called out Philippe's name as she walked, but either he still couldn't hear her or he was deliberately ignoring her - she very much hoped that it was the former - as he continued to walk into the wood itself.
Cinderella was not the tallest of women, or the most active and agile, but she was at least taller than a four year old boy and she swiftly began to gain ground upon him. By the time she began climbing the hill she was definitely catching up. "Philippe," Cinderella called as she ascended the hill. "Philippe, come back, you must come back. Philippe, stop!"
She was beginning to get a little upset with him by now, as there was no way that he couldn't hear her. He had to be ignoring her, but why? Was he upset with her after what had happened by the riverside? Would he have stopped if his grandmother had come to fetch him? And what did he want in this wood so badly?
"Philippe, please come back," Cinderella said, as she followed him into the forest. "You'll get lost in here, and how would we find you? Philippe, answer me!"
Cinderella quickened her pace as she followed the child into the forest, twigs snapping beneath the heels of her slippers while fallen branches made her steps wobble as they slipped and rolled beneath Cinderella's feet. She held out her hands for balance as she walked more quickly, because she couldn't lose sight of Philippe in this place, this wood that was so dark and overgrown. The trees had grown so thickly together here that the sunlight barely penetrated through, everything was lost in a maze of gloom and shadow. If Philippe got lost in here, if she lost Philippe in here, then he might never be found again.
She ignored the sounds of the forest around her, paying no attention to the tweeting or the birds or the chattering of the little forest creatures as they talked amongst themselves of a stranger in the forest. Clearly they had noticed her, or perhaps Philippe. It didn't matter, they'd both be gone soon enough.
Cinderella made herself gasp for breath as she quickened her steps yet further, running now the last distance that separated them to reach out with one hand and clasp Philippe firmly by the shoulder. "Philippe, stop!"
Philippe whirled around, gasping in shock as he looked at her. "Stepmother!" he cried. "Wh...where are we?"
Cinderella looked sternly down at him. "It isn't polite to tell lies, Philippe," she said. "Or make up stories, or to ignore me when I call you."
"I didn't!"
"You wandered in here," Cinderella said. "And you ignored everyone who tried to call to you, including me. I told you to come back and you completely ignored me; you've been very rude, not to mention that you could have gotten lost in here after you promised me that you wouldn't do such things."
"But I didn't, stepmother!" Philippe cried. "Or...I don't remember it. I don't remember doing it. The last thing I remember is running away from you and then...and then I don't remember."
Cinderella frowned. "Never mind," she said, her tone softening. "Let's go back to-"
"The stranger is coming."
"Heading towards the men."
"He's almost there."
Cinderella's eyes widened. The birds had told her that, the birds whose calls were flitting between the trees. They had talked of a stranger, as they had been since she'd been able to make out their call. A stranger in the forest that she had taken for herself or Philippe. But this stranger was heading towards the men, and it seemed likely that they were the men because...well, neither Cinderella nor Philippe was heading anywhere any more.
Something was coming towards them.
Something that the creatures of the wood found strange and unnatural.
A hundred monstrous images filled Cinderella's mind, each more terrible than the last.
"Stepmother," Philippe said. "What's wrong?"
"Hush now, Philippe, and keep hold of me," Cinderella said, scooping him up in her arms. If she went straight back the way she came then she should be able to reach the edge of the wood without difficulty.
Cinderella shivered as she heard a deep, snuffling growling sound that could only be made by a very large creature.
A bear, a great black bear, strode out of the shadows of the deep wood and stared at her.
It bared its teeth and snarled.
Cinderella screamed as she turned to run, holding tight onto Philippe as she fled as fast as she could out of the forest. She could hear the bear pursuing her, its feet pounding on the ground. She had to get out. She had to get back to the others, there were so many guards that surely the bear wouldn't dare go near them. Surely their numbers would frighten it off.
They hadn't gone that far into the wood, already Cinderella could see the sunlight from the eves, she was nearly there. She was nearly there she only-
Cinderella stumbled on the edge of the wood, a lance of pain shooting up her leg from her ankle; it was only by a miracle that she didn't fall flat on her face. Instead she collapsed onto her knees, and when she tried to get up she found she couldn't. Something was clamped around her ankle. Cinderella threw back her skirt and petticoat to see that she hot gotten her foot caught in a tangle of tree roots, her ankle throbbed with pain and she couldn't get her foot out. She tugged, and with one hand she tried to pull away the roots but it was no good. She was stuck.
And the bear was getting closer, the black monster charging towards her with fangs bared, claws digging into the ground.
"Run, Philippe!" Cinderella shouted at him. "Run, run to your father!"
He didn't move. He looked frozen by fear, paralysed in the face of the bear's ferocity. He stood still in front of her, trembling but otherwise unmoving.
Cinderella held him, pulling him close and trying to shield him with her body. "I love you," she whispered.
She screamed again as the bear closed in.
The roar of the bear and the scream of the princess were both ridden roughshod over by the sharp report of a pistol, the sound of which startled the birds out of all the nearby trees and even stilled the bear for just a moment.
For the briefest of instances silence reigned, broken by the wild and wordless yell of Jean Taurillion as she charged up the hill. He cast his discharged pistol to the ground, acrid smoke still rising from the barrel, and he wrenched his sword free of its scabbard so that the sabre blade caught the sunlight and gleamed as bright as hope in his hand.
Cinderella couldn't tell if Jean had hit the bear with his shot or not, but as he charged past her and hurled himself upon the animal she could tell that he hit it with his blade. He slashed at the bear's face, carving a bleeding X into its fur before the bear reared up on it's hind legs, towering over Jean as it roared and brandished its clawed paws before it.
Jean kept on shouting, kept on yelling defiance into the bear's face as she slashed at its chest. The bear slashed at him in turn. Jean darted back, leaning out of the way of the stroke before he dove forward, driving his shining sword point first into the chest of the bear.
The bear howled in a mixture of pain and fury, and its swiping stroke caught Jean on the side of the head.
He went down like a discarded sack of vegetables, landing on the ground in a heap, and then the bear was on him.
"No!" Cinderella shouted, as the bear grabbed him by the scruff of the neck in its jaws and started shaking him up and down, side to side like a cat that had just caught a mouse. Jean's defiant shout turned into a scream of agony as the bear threw him onto the ground and started savaging him with its claws, tearing at his chest as though it were digging for grubs in the ground.
Cinderella couldn't look. She couldn't watch as someone so brave, someone she loved, was...she closed her eyes and looked away as they filled with tears, wishing that she could have shut her ears so easily.
I'm sorry, Jean. I'm so sorry.
"Run, Philippe," Cinderella implored. "You have to run, now, quickly."
That way...Jean will have saved you.
"Away! Get away from her, get away!"
Cinderella opened her eyes. A woman stood before her, with long dark hair falling down her back. In each hand she held a burning brand and without a trace of fear she thrust the brands into the face of the angry bear.
"Back! Back!" she cried fiercely. "Get away from her!"
The bear recoiled from the burning flames, backing away and letting out a low, frightened growl as it retreated. The woman pressed forward, bearing her fire before her.
The bear stood its ground for a moment, even as its face twisted in fright and panic. And then it fled, turning tail and loping off into the dark of the woods.
The girl held her burning brands before her for a few more moments, until the sight and even the sound of the bear were lost, and then she sagged forward with an exhausted sigh.
A moment later and Cinderella was surrounded by people. Soldiers. Her own guards, and the dragoons, with their weapons ready. A few of them took off into the woods, she thought…her eyes were so filled with water, but she thought her sergeant led them. Someone, or more than one someone, freed her leg and suddenly Eugene was holding her and Philippe both, his arms enfolding them, holding them tight.
"Oh God," Eugene murmured, his whole body trembling. "Oh God, are…are you alright? Oh God I'm so…are you alright?"
"I…I think so," Cinderella sobbed. "But…but Jean."
"He's alive!" Angelique yelled. "He's still alive, help! Get some help!"
Cinderella gasped with shock. He was…Jean was still alive, but…she twisted in Eugene's grasp, turning her whole body until she could see Jean. Angelique was crouched over him, her dress stained with blood, there was so much blood, blood coming from everywhere, covering everything but his chest…yes, she could see Jean's chest rising and falling, if only faintly, and there was…was that is breathing she could hear, that awful rattling sound?
Oh, Jean, I'm so sorry.
"Can you stand up?" Eugene asked softly.
"I…I don't know," Cinderella admitted. With Eugene's help she tried to rise. Her ankle protested, it screeched in pain…but she could stand on it, and it did not collapse under her. All the same, she held on to Eugene. She didn't think that she could have let go even if she'd wanted to right now. She was shaking like a leaf.
She couldn't let go.
She didn't want to let go.
Eugene didn't let go of her either. He kept one arm around her even as he addressed Cinderella's rescuer. "Mademoiselle, I owe you a debt that I can never repay. You have saved my wife and son."
"Thank you," Cinderella said. "Thank you so much, for both our sakes."
The girl turned to face them. Her eyes were blue, her features sharp and proud; but she bowed her head regardless, and essayed a clumsy curtsy. "I only did what was right, your highness."
"No, my dear, you have done far more than that," declared His Majesty as he walked up the hill. His face was pale with fear, though he was doing more to conceal the fact than Cinderella or Eugene. "You have safeguarded the future of my line, and no reward can be too great for that." He glanced down at Jean. "How is he?"
"I…I don't know," Angelique said. "He needs help."
"And he will have it," declared His Majesty. "And as for you, Mademoiselle, will you please come with me where we can discuss a reward appropriate for your service."
The girl hesitated for a moment. "Of course, your majesty, I'll come, and thank you kindly."
"What is your name, my dear."
"Vanessa, your majesty," she said. "My name's Vanessa."