Grief and Guilt

Angelique stood over Jean's still and slumbering form.

She hadn't been allowed in here until the doctors and nurses were finished; she supposed that was for the best, though she'd fretted with impatience outside, and when she finally was allowed in she had torn across the room to get to him.

She was alone. There was no one else in here with her; apart from Jean of course, but...but he wasn't saying much right now. Nobody else was here beside him. Nobody else cared.

Angelique's whole face was twisted by a scowl like a spasm of pain. That wasn't fair. That wasn't fair at all, to Cinderella or to anyone. Cinderella was being looked at by her own doctor, for her ankle and to make sure that the baby was alright after everything that had happened. And everyone else...they just wanted to give them their privacy. Did she really want everyone else to be crowded in here with her?

Did she really want everyone to see Jean like this?

Did she really want them to see her like this?

Angelique let out a pitiful, squeaking, moaning sound as her head jerked round until it was almost resting on her shoulder. She couldn't control the pain cry, it slipped out between her lips without her knowledge or consent. She couldn't stop it no matter how much she wanted to.

Why? Why did this have to happen to you? Why do you have to be so stupid?

Why do you have to be so brave?

The room was dark, the curtains drawn and gloomy shadows all around. This was because Jean needed to rest, and the doctors said it would be easy for him to sleep in the dark without the light to disturb him. It was so dark, with only a faint and flickering candle for any sort of light, so the blood on Angelique's dress - Jean's blood, because she wasn't going to go blithely off to wash and change while Jean was suffering - was hardly visible at all.

What were visible were the bandages. They had bound up Jean's wounds, all the terrible wounds that the bear had given him. When she'd first run to his side she hadn't been able to see them for the blood, but when they started to move him she'd been able to...to see exactly what that monster had done to him. His chest, his arms, one side of his face...teeth and claws had mauled them all, and now her brave boy was covered in bandages. The white of the linen looked almost ghostly in the gloom, as though he were a phantom already. The thought brought another sobbing, mewling sound from Angelique's lips.

They still couldn't tell her if he would live or not. The doctors had done their best to clean his injuries, but if they got infected...even if they didn't Jean had lost so much blood, and Angelique had been told that he might get a fever, too.

It was all in the hands of God, so they said.

Angelique honestly wasn't sure what to think of that. She could hear Jean's voice in her head, clear as day, telling her that their lives had been blessed by good fortune.

The princess took us in, and gave us rich rewards and opportunities. We have a home, and friends, and a future. We have even been given lands and titles like a real lady and gentleman! What are these wonders if not a sign that we are blessed by some great power we cannot comprehend?

That was all Cinderella, not God, Angelique thought sourly. God hasn't done a thing for either of us, why should He start now?

She sniffed, and told herself that it was just a sniff and not the beginning of a snivel, as she looked down at the sleeping form in the bed before her. Half his face was concealed beneath the bandages, when they came off - if they came off - he was likely to have a set of nasty scars. He had such a handsome face, had she ever told him that? Had she ever said the half the things she should have done, or had she just called him an idiot and trusted him to know how fondly she meant it?

Both his arms were swathed in bandages too, and most of his chest. Those parts of him that were not so swathed were rarer than those which were. So it looked to her, anyway.

"Jean?" Angelique whispered. "Jean...can you hear me?"

There was no response but his laboured breathing, a rattling sound that made Angelique shudder.

"Jean," Angelique repeated. "Why? Why do you have to be so...I don't even know what you are. You're...you're stupid and stubborn and reckless and it drives me mad. And you're brave and, and loyal and you're...and you're wonderful and I need you, Jean Taurillion. I need you because...because...because I love you and I don't know what I'll do without so please get better." Angelique's knees buckled beneath her as she knelt by the side of the bed, sobbing into her arms.

Please live. Please get better. Please, I need you.

She liked Cinderella - or she had done, until this, there was a smouldering ember or resentment beginning to build inside her now - and she liked where she was now and she liked her new friends, but Jean...Jean had always been by her side, ever since she escaped from the workhouse. They'd been together for so long, and through so much.

Most times, living the way they did, people didn't stick together very long. Either someone died, or the constables got you, or life would turn one or both of you cruel and selfish and it wasn't safe to be around them any more. Oscar had been through a half-dozen gangs in the time that Angelique had known her, and it was only her luck that she'd been offered a new life in the palace before something had happened to Penny the same as it had happened to all the rest. But Jean...Jean had remained kind and hopeful in spite of everything. He was...he was sort of like Cinderella in that regard. Perhaps that was what the princess had seen in him.

He'd been kind, and he'd been hers, and now she might lose him and she...she couldn't lose him, she just couldn't. Angelique had lived her life knowing that no matter what happened, no matter what fate threw her way, Jean would be there to help her out. He was her rock that she could always rely on.

She didn't know if she could live without that rock to stand on.

Angelique looked up as she heard the door open. She turned her head, looking down the bed to the open doorway, a stream of light emerging into the dark from the corridor beyond.

And then Cinderella stood in the doorway, her dress - stained with grass, not blood - taking up the entire space. She hadn't taken off her jewels, and the light from the corridor glinted off the sapphires and made the pearls gleam. She cast a long shadow down the room, almost touching bed where Jean lay still and almost silent.

Cinderella stepped tentatively into the room, with one hand she pushed the door halfway to closed behind her. Her shadow was eclipsed by the dark.

Angelique rose to her feet, blinking back tears as her face twisted into a grimace that was almost a snarl. She was here? Now she was here to see him? She was on the verge of baring her teeth, because at this moment she hated everything about Cinderella, from her pretty eyes to the slippers poking out from beneath the hem of her skirt because this was all her fault! It was her, who had brought Jean here and made him her guard and thrown him between her and danger as though his life didn't matter as long as she was alright-

Cinderella's hands rose to her heart. "Angelique...I'm so sorry."

It was her tone that stopped Angelique from saying or doing anything rash. If she had offered nothing but sympathy, an empty condolence for Jean's plight and Angelique's loss, then Angelique might not have been able to contain herself; but that was not what Cinderella said. Her tone had nothing of consolation. What her tone held was guilt. She wasn't consoling Angelique, she was apologising. She was apologising because she thought...because she honestly thought this was her fault.

Cinderella's guilt was like cold water dousing the inferno of Angelique's anger, because her admission of guilt and responsibility...it might sound strange, but it showed to Angelique how stupid it was. As though Cinderella had set the bear that almost killed her, as though Cinderella was responsible for the actions of her enemies, as though...as though any of this was her fault.

Jean was unconscious, but Angelique felt as though she could hear his voice regardless, telling her - reminding her - that Cinderella had done so much for both of them, and only good things besides. Reminding her that in their old life danger had been far more ever-present than it ever was here.

She felt like such a fool. She felt so ashamed of herself that she couldn't meet Cinderella's eyes but had to look away, and down at the ground. "This isn't your fault."

"He was protecting me."

"And you were protecting your son," Angelique said. "Stepson, I mean. It doesn't matter. This isn't your fault."

Cinderella walked forward, her slow steps tapping on the floor. "How is he?"

"He's...he's in the balance," Angelique said. "He might get better or he might...or he might not."

Cinderella gasped. "Angelique, I-"

"This isn't your fault, I mean it," Angelique said firmly. "Please stop saying it is or I...or I'm afraid I might start to believe it."

Cinderella was silent for a moment. "Did...did he ever tell you about the time I tried to run away?"

"Yes," Angelique said. "He…he was worried about you."

"He wasn't in the least afraid," Cinderella whispered. "His concern was all for me."

"That sounds like him," Angelique said. "He was never so afraid for himself as he was of letting other people down."

"He saved my life, so many times," Cinderella said. "Even today...if it hadn't been for him, by the time Vanessa arrived it would have been too late."

"He was brave," Angelique said. "He was so brave, and honest, and kind and so...so..." Before she knew it she was crying again, and she couldn't see for all the water in her eyes.

She didn't see Cinderella coming, but she felt the princess' arms around her, pressing her face against Cinderella's bosom. Angelique grabbed for Cinderella's dress, grabbing the ruffled shoulders and clenching them between her fists as the two sunk to their knees together.

"It's alright, Angelique," Cinderella said. "It's alright to cry."

"I don't want people to see me like this."

"There's only me here," Cinderella replied softly, soothingly, her voice like a wave washing upon a beach. "It's alright."

"I love him."

"I know," Cinderella said, as she stroked Angelique's hair.

They stayed like that for a while, and Cinderella didn't protest at Angelique using her as a pillow, at Angelique staining her dress with tears, at Angelique holding on to her for...for however long it was until Angelique stopped crying and felt ready to face the world again.

She wiped at her eyes with one arm as she stood up. "Thank you, I...I'm sorry that I've kept you here for so long but-"

"You've helped me so much, Angelique," Cinderella said. "If there's any way that I can help you, I will. Please remember that."

Angelique looked up into Cinderella's eyes. It was strange, how she could get so upset over some things, but she didn't seem in the least fazed by this. Not that Angelique blamed her, or begrudged her, rather...she was glad. Without Cinderella's strength...she wasn't sure what she would have done.

I always knew she was resilient, I always knew that she could bounce back quickly from just about anything. I suppose it isn't really that surprising.

"I...I should go," Angelique said.

"Are you sure?" Cinderella asked. "I don't...I mean, you can stay as long as you want to."

"I know," Angelique said. "And I'll come back. But I can't help Jean, and if I stay here I'm worried that I'll start crying again. I should leave while I still can."

"I understand," Cinderella said softly. "I'm going to stay a little longer, if that's alright."

"I'm sure he'd like that, if he knew what was going on," Angelique said. Cinderella made way for her, stepping aside so that Angelique could walk straight to the door and leave the room.

Once outside, besides blinking as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she took a deep breath and leaned against the door, bending forwards as her hair fell down around her face.

Get better, she thought. You have to get better. You wouldn't leave me, would you?

"How is he?"

Angelique looked up. Oscar was standing not far away, leaning against the wall, her face stern. Angelique hadn't noticed her.

Angelique frowned. "He might live...or he might not. And there's nothing I can do to help him except..."

"Except?"

"Except pray, if I thought that might do any good."

"I see," Oscar muttered. "What happened? I've heard something about a bear."

"You've heard right," Angelique said, she started to walk away, leaving Oscar to run to catch up with her. "A bear would have savaged Cinderella, the princess; Jean got in its way, he held it off for a while before the bear got chased away." She didn't name the person who had done that, because to be perfectly honest it rankled with her the way that Vanessa was being hosted by the King himself, treated as the hero of the hour while Jean was hovering between life and death. It wasn't right; he was just as much a hero as she was, and Cinderella was the only one who seemed to realise that the bear would have killed her and maybe Philippe too before Vanessa arrived if Jean hadn't thrown himself at it like he had.

"What was the princess doing upsetting a bear in the first place? I thought you went out for a picnic?"

Angelique's irritation was demonstrated by a huff. "The princess didn't do anything, she was trying to rescue her stepson. Have you met him yet?"

"You mean the little boy isn't her son?"

Angelique stopped, and looked at her. "I...no, he's not her son. He's Prince Eugene's son by another woman. Anyway, the point is that it was him who wandered into the woods and the bear must have...I don't know, the princess went to get him and the bear must have taken a disliking to them or something."

"I'm sorry," Oscar said. "When the...when he came to me...I didn't really believe this could really be dangerous."

"Are you worried?" Angelique demanded caustically.

"For Penny, yes," Oscar said. "I don't want her to get hurt."

"There aren't any bears in the palace."

"Maybe not," Oscar said. "But there are wolves everywhere."

"Lady Bonnet," Lady Christine declared as she stepped around the corridor in front of Angelique and Oscar.

Angelique scowled. "What do you want?"

"To offer my condolences," Christine said. "Lieutenant Taurillion is an officer in the finest traditions of the Guard. I will pray for his complete recovery."

Angelique blinked. Whatever she'd expected it hadn't been that. "I...thank you. That's...very kind of you."

Christine cocked her head slightly to one side. "No, Lady Bonnet," she said. "This is the merest courtesy."

Cinderella lingered in the sickroom, hovering over Jean like a bee wondering whether to dive into a flower or not.

Poor Jean. Brave Jean. Selfless Jean, who might die for her sake.

The fact that he had been willing and ready to do so did not take away the horror of that fact, or the fact that she felt – no, she was – responsible. She had given him a position, and she had enthusiastically accepted him as her guard.

"Your highness, I promise, I will protect you-"

"While you live. And when you die, because of me? What then? What about Angelique?"

"Then Angelique will know that I was her brave boy to the last; and that I died the man she always thought I was."

"Oh, Jean," Cinderella whispered. She closed her eyes for a moment, clasping her hands together before her heart. She could feel the diamond and twin sapphires of engagement ring through the silk of her glove. How useless it all seemed, jewels and gowns and all the rest. None of it would help her now.

None of it brought her so much as a scrap of comfort.

Cinderella bowed her head. An outside observer might almost have thought that she was praying.

"Godmother," she murmured. "Godmother, can you hear me? Godmother, I don't know if you're listening, I don't know if you still care about me but please, please, if you can hear me…please answer."

Cinderella had not called upon her fairy godmother since the night of the ball. It had felt wrong, somehow, to bother her again. She had given Cinderella a chance at happiness, and whatever misfortunes might have befallen her upon the way Cinderella could say truthfully that it was a chance that she had taken with both hands. She felt in her heart, though no rules had ever been explained to her, that her fairy godmother had appeared to her on that particular night in part, perhaps, because it was the night when her stars had aligned and she had an opportunity that had never come before nor would come again; but more than that because upon that night she had been left utterly without hope. Friendship had failed in the face of her stepmother's cunning and the malice of her stepsisters, for the first time in many years Cinderella had felt utterly lost in darkness.

Things had never seemed so bad since; though the circumstances had become more grim Cinderella had nevertheless been able to find new hope with each dawn, had been able to believe that with the love of her prince and the devotion of her friends she would find a way forward to happiness and better things.

But now…now, as she stood over her friend, her friend who had suffered grievous injuries on her behalf…Cinderella had no idea who else to turn to.

"Godmother," she repeated. "Please, if you're still watching over me I beg you to give me a sign. Give me a sign…and save this boy."

"Oh, child, I think you know I can't do that."

Cinderella's eyes widened. There, on the other side of the bed, stood her fairy godmother. Her robes were the same, she looked no older than she had done before but her face…a grim expression had replaced her previous grandmotherly smile upon it.

"You're here," Cinderella gasped. I wasn't sure you'd come.

"Did you think that I'd forgotten you, child?" Godmother asked. "Did you think that I had washed my hands of you? No. After all, you are my only god-daughter, for the moment at least. And I've been watching you, my dear, just as I did before." She smiled then, if only for a moment. "I'm so proud of the young lady that you've become."

A day earlier and that revelation would have filled Cinderella with pride, a day earlier and she would have happily chattered on about her life, her child, the palace, Eugene, everything. But now, she couldn't bring herself to respond to that compliment. To have done so in this place and at this time would have seemed hideously out of place. "Can you help him?"

"I'm afraid not, child."

"Why not?"

"Because he isn't my godson," she said.

"And he has no fairy godmother of his own," Cinderella said. "He only has me, and I can't help him."

"And neither can I," Godmother said.

"I don't understand," Cinderella said. "You transformed the mice, Bruno-"

"To help you, dear."

"This would help me," Cinderella cried. "Jean helps me, Angelique helps me, I…if you have been watching me then you what he has done for me. What he means to me."

Godmother looked sympathetic, but ultimately impotent. "I'm sorry, child."

"He might die," Cinderella said.

"And he might live," Godmother replied, glancing down at him. "That has yet to be decided. He is not without hope yet."

"Decided by who?" Cinderella asked.

Godmother didn't respond. She simply started to fade away. "Goodbye, child. Take care. And, if it isn't too inappropriate to say so, congratulations on the good news."

And then, just like that, she was gone. Vanished into a shower of sparkles.

Cinderella found it very hard to be glad that she had seen her.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. She didn't know if Jean could hear her, but she felt that it had to be said. "I'm so sorry, Jean. I'm sorry that there's nothing I can do for you…and I'm sorry that it came to this." She bent down, and kissed him gently on the forehead. "Come back, Jean. Come back to all of us."

She couldn't stay any longer. Cinderella couldn't remain here, looking at all the bandages, imagining what lay behind them, knowing that Jean had only been hurt because she came into his life she…she just couldn't. She left, walking quickly, her heels clicking on the floor as she came very close to running.

But she did not run, for the same reason that she had not cried when Angelique broke down in front of her even though…even though she had wanted to so badly. But the moment that she had opened the door, and seen Angelique on her knees by the bedside…it had so reminded her of herself, by the bedside of her father as he slipped away from her, the way she'd cried and sobbed and begged him not to go…when she had opened the door and seen that, Cinderella had known that she could not cry. Not there, not then. Angelique needed her. Even if she hated Cinderella for what she'd done she still needed her. She needed Cinderella to be strong.

And that why she didn't run. That was why there were no tears on her face as she went somewhere she didn't have to be strong any more.

She found Eugene in the study, alone. The same study, she noticed, where she had confronted him about Philippe's existence when she had learned from it. The study where they had had their first and – so far – only real argument.

Eugene was alone with the curtains half-drawn. His face was pale, and he looked a little drawn and weary.

"How is he?" he asked.

Cinderella closed the door behind her, and slid the latch into place.

Eugene frowned. "Cinderella?"

And in that room, with no one to witness it but he who loved her most in all the world, Cinderella was able to break down.

Eugene caught her before her knees could hit the floor, and as Cinderella had held Angelique so he held her, pressing her face against his chest as they descended to the floor together, stroking her hair just as she had done.

Cinderella had been Angelique's strength when she needed it, and doubtless she would be so again. But now Eugene was Cinderella's strength, as she knew he would be whenever she had need of someone to be strong for her.

She couldn't cry in front of Angelique, but she had to cry somewhere, in front of someone.

"It's alright," Eugene murmured; the same words that she had murmured not too long ago. "It will be alright."

"What if it isn't?" Cinderella sobbed. "What if…what if he dies?"

Eugene said nothing for a moment. "Cinderella…we should discuss-"

"No," Cinderella said. "No, please, I can't, not now. Please just hold me. Hold me…and tell me everything will be alright."

Eugene squeezed her gently, pressing her closer to him. "Everything will be alright," he said, and he almost sounded as though he meant it.

"Please, my dear, sit down," declared the King, gesturing with one meaty and imperious hand towards the padded armchair. "Sit down, sit down, and take your rest."

"Your majesty is far too kind to a poor maid such as I," Grace said, in an appropriately demure and humble tone, as befitted a girl in her position. She sat down nevertheless, leaning forward and doing her best to look awed by the grand environs in which she found herself.

"I have not yet been kind enough for all that you have done," the King replied. "And you do yourself a grave disservice to call yourself a mere poor maid." He tugged at one of his moustaches. "I apologise that my son and daughter-in-law cannot be here, but fright and this business with the poor lieutenant have undone them both."

"I quite understand, your majesty. Your hospitality is all that I require."

The King chuckled. "If I may say, you speak very well for a country shepherdess."

Grace froze for a moment, cursing inwardly. The spell which she had used to steal Vanessa's face had not stolen the girl's country accent too, and Grace had never been any sort of mimic of other men's voices. She smiled, and said, "I was taught by an old religious uncle of mine, your majesty; one who had known courtship in his youth and recalled its manners well."

"Courtship?"

"I fear that in his youth he was not so religious."

The King chuckled again. "You were very brave today, young lady; many would have quailed in the face of doing what you did."

"I did what was right, your majesty; how could I see someone in trouble and do nothing."

"I fear that many would not share your fine sentiments," the King said. "Nevertheless, I owe you a great debt. The princess is a sweet girl with a generous soul, she has touched my heart in the time that I have known her. More to the point she bears me a grandchild in her belly, and if she perished I fear my son would be too stricken with grief to take another wife. You have prevented the extinction of my line."

Grace smiled. "I am only glad that I could be of service, your majesty."

"Your service should be rewarded with more than gratitude," declared the King. "Speak, girl, with what can I reward you for your great service?"

"Merely to be in your radiant presence is reward enough, majesty, for you have in your countenance that which I would call my lord and master," Grace declared. "But, if you would honour me further and beyond my deservings, merely to share a meal with one so great would be so great a delight to me."

For a moment Grace was worried that she'd laid it on a little too think, as the King stared at her; but then he said, "Such a reward would still be far too little to repay my debt, yet it shall be so. And besides, as lunch was so gravely interrupted I am a little peckish!"

A luncheon was prepared and brought to them, and having been so laid out in front of them it was child's play for Grace to slip the potion she had prepared into the King's tea.

She watched him drink with eagle-eyed keenness, with all the eagerness of a vulture watching a dying creature stagger to its last breath, waiting for the moment when it will fall and the feast may begin.

The effects of her potion, brewed as it was to be long-lasting but initially subtle, were not as immediately obvious as those of other love potions. But nevertheless Grace noticed that the King's eyes became just a little unfocussed, and his smile became just a little wider and more foolish seeming."

"Vanessa," he murmured. "What a pretty name."

Grace giggled. "I am glad your majesty thinks so."

"A pretty name," he repeated. "For a very pretty girl, if I may say so."

"Your Majesty may say what he likes, especially when what he says is so pleasant to my poor ears."

"And a pretty tongue, too," the King said. "You are a rare young woman, Vanessa. A rare young woman I would not let slip back into obscurity. May I see you again? I find that I would talk with you some more."

Grace beamed. "I would like that very much, your majesty.