Darkmaster of the Arts – Yes, Cinderella is now on the council for good.

The Storm

Henry rustled his morning newspaper aggressively.

Anne couldn't see her husband's face. In fact she couldn't see him at all, aside from his fingers where he gripped the paper – the Courier had gone out of business during their Italian sojourn, something for which Princess Cinderella could apparently claim some share of credit, so now Henry read the Daily Post – hard enough to make its pages crinkle. The rest of him was wholly concealed behind the broad sheets of the newspaper, which he rustled aggressively enough to let him know that he was upset about something he'd read.

She nibbled at the edge of a croissant. "Is something wrong, dearest?"

"Ridiculous!" Henry spat. "Absolutely ridiculous. That woman – that woman – has been made a member of the Privy Council!"

Anne didn't need to ask who that woman was. There was only one woman who infuriated her husband enough that he refused to speak her name out of spite. Princess Cinderella is on the Privy Council? For a moment Anne was glad that, just as she could not see Henry, he could not see her either. He couldn't see how green with envy she must have looked at that moment as she imagined the princess seated around the council table, engaging in heated debates over great issues, with the fate of the nation at stake.

I wonder if she is conscious of the great honour that is done to her, or whether she feels it is a step down from being regent of the country? Of course, she had chaired the council then. Merely being on it might seem a letdown by comparison.

If she does feel that way I shall be very disappointed in her. It would mean that Cinderella was ignorant of the rare chance she had, the chance that Anne herself would give an arm for.

Anne's brow furrowed, for all that Henry could not see the gesture. "I am a little surprised the King would do such a thing."

"It wasn't even the bloody King!" Henry yelled from the other side of the newspaper. He folded it up so that he could see how red his face was. "It was Eugene, the fool, who stuck his own wife upon the council for heaven's sake!"

Oh, Cinderella, you lucky, lucky girl. Do you even realise how lucky you are? To have a husband who not only loved her but respected her, who so valued her that he was willing to do such a thing…oh, yes, what a lucky girl indeed Cinderella was.

All the same, something didn't entirely add up about this. "Does the paper report what the King had to say about this?"

"It doesn't report that the King had anything to say, and I find myself able to believe that," Henry declared. "It appears that he is besotted with some shepherd girl. It appears that a taste for common fruit runs in that side of the family."

"So he did not attend the council?"

"He spent all day out in the country, alone, with this peasant girl," Henry said. "This other peasant girl, I should say, while the first peasant was sitting in the council chamber having ideas, speaking her mind-"

You say those things as if they were so unspeakably awful that no good could come from them, Anne thought. Or is it simply that they can do no good when garbed in female form?

"And rejecting necessary legislation to keep down the costs of the work-shy and the idle which burden all self-respecting and hard working folk."

I'm not sure that we really have much room to talk about work-shyness, Anne thought dryly. But, the irony of an aristocrat who had inherited everything from his father complaining about supporting the unemployed and impoverished aside, it was worrying if Cinderella had begun to meddle in the affairs of government again.

I envy her and I fear her at the same time. Cinderella had such opportunities handed to her, but she did not seem capable of using them with any wisdom or restraint. If she continued to push matters in that way then someone would start to push back, and that could spell disaster.

Society was, at present, finely balanced between the simmering discontents of the poor, the barely restrained ambitions of the middle and the embattled resentment of the high. If Cinderella upset that balance, then however well-meaning her actions were she might be surprised at just how much came crashing down around her, even the monarchy and her own position within it.

And the futures of my children, too. Of course, there was just as great a risk to Anne's children in the potential reaction of their father to this news.

"What do you intend to do, husband?" she asked quietly.

Henry snorted. "I don't know yet. But something must be done. These people, my uncle, my cousin…they have proven themselves unworthy of the throne."

The carriage rolled to a halt outside The Florentine Boutique, where a discreetly placed by very noticeable sign in the window proclaimed By Royal Appointment, Dressmaker to Her Highness Princess Cinderella and another sign on the door proclaimed CLOSED.

"Back to the grindstone?" Etienne asked, as he leapt down from the carriage and held out his hands to Lucrecia.

"I managed to get all of my extant commissions out of the way before we left," Lucrecia said, as she allowed him to help her down out of the coach. "I could hardly do otherwise, really. My clients are not the sort of people who appreciate me leaving their dresses unfinished while I went on my honeymoon."

"I don't know, I think her highness would be quite understanding about such things."

"The princess is an exception," Lucrecia remarked, as she fished the key to the front door out of her purse and unlocked the shop. "I don't think most ladies would be so understanding."

Etienne could believe that. There were very few ladies at court who were so generous in spirit as Princess Cinderella. "Does it bother you?"

"Of course not," Lucrecia said, pushing the door open. "I could never allow myself to be spoiled by the exceptional temperament of one client, even if she is my favourite." She chuckled. "Give her highness my regards, won't you? And tell her I'm very sorry for the trouble she had."

"I will, and I'm sure she'll be happy to hear it," Etienne said. "Will you be alright here? I'm sorry I have to take my leave so suddenly, but-"

"I understand, duty calls."

"It's my first day on the job, I can hardly be late," Etienne replied. "And I need to call at the palace first."

"To speak to His Highness?"

"No, not this time," Etienne said. "There are a couple of other people who I need to see. I'll be back in time to walk you home this evening."

"You don't have to."

"Maybe not, but what's the good of being married if I can't?" Etienne asked. He leaned forward and kissed her goodbye. "Have a good day."

"And you."

Etienne dismissed the hired coach that had brought them home from their honeymoon, and walked the rest of the way up to the palace. He had put on his uniform before returning to the capital so that he could head directly there, and the guards upon the gate saluted him as he passed through.

As he walked up the path towards the gate Etienne had to scramble out of the way of His Majesty the King, who rode his horse at a brisk trot towards the gate, seemingly without a care of whatever or whoever might be in his way.

Or perhaps he simply trusted that I'd have enough sense to get out of the path of his horse. It was a lot easier to move a man than to urge a steed around him, after all, especially a horse like His Majesty's tall, iron grey charger. Once he had moved to a safe distance out of the King's path, Etienne stood to attention and saluted as His Majesty passed by.

The King did not respond. He didn't return the salute, he didn't even look at Etienne, not even so much as to glance in his direction. He rode on, and out the gate, his eyes fixed ahead of him.

I didn't think that he disliked me that much, Etienne thought wryly, as he held the salute for a few moments before lowering his hand down to his side. Technically you were supposed to wait until it was returned, but His Majesty had not returned it and Etienne wasn't going to stand here like a fool for however many hours he would be gone just on a point of minor protocol.

I wonder where he was going. Clearly it was somewhere important or he wouldn't have been in such single-minded haste. If I have time I may ask Eugene about it, it would be good to know if something's going on that may affect my duties.

If it will affect my duties I'm sure I'll here about it when I report to the commander.

It occurred to Etienne that it might have been useful for him to have picked up a newspaper before he came here, but he and Lucrecia had left early and he hadn't wanted to dawdle about before he came here. As a consequence, however, he was somewhat ignorant of any events that may have transpired over the last day.

He made his way up the path, and saw that a carriage was waiting outside the steps leading down from the palace, with the driver and the footmen and guards already waiting. It could have been Eugene for whom they were waiting, although Eugene would probably prefer to ride if he was alone, which made Etienne suspect the coach was either for Cinderella or for Eugene and Cinderella both.

His suspicion was confirmed when he saw Cinderella, unmistakable in one of her signature white gowns, emerge from the palace doors and slowly descend the steps down towards her waiting coach.

"Your Highness!" Etienne called out to her, waving one hand as he quickened his pace a little.

Cinderella waved back, and politely waited just a few steps from the base for him to approach her. "General Gerard, you're back already."

"I am, ma'am," Etienne said, bowing his head to her. "We just returned this morning. Lucrecia sends her regards, and her sympathies on the recent unpleasantness. We both do."

"Oh, please tell Lucrecia that's very sweet of her, of both of you," Cinderella said. "Did you have a nice time?"

Etienne smiled. "Indeed, ma'am, being alone together was quite delightful."

"I can imagine," Cinderella sighed. "I have friends here of course, and important work, but…there are times when I remember my honeymoon, how it was just Eugene and I and…it was so wonderful."

"And yet if it lasted, ma'am, I fear the magic would go out of it," Etienne said.

"Yes, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Cinderella said. "Are you here to see Eugene?"

"Not today, ma'am, I thought I might check in on Jean, and Philippe."

Cinderella pursed her lips together. "Jean is…I'm not entirely sure how he is, but I'm sure he's in much position to appreciate your visit. Although…if he gets better he'll surely appreciate that you did. As for Philippe though, that would be very kind. He's been so upset ever since that awful day…I'm not sure what to do. I hope you can help him."

"I shall certainly try, ma'am," Etienne said. "Princess, if you don't mind me asking, where was His Majesty going just now, and in such haste? It's probably none of my business but-"

"But I'm sure you'll find out eventually, Eugene will tell you if no one else does," Cinderella said. "How much do you know about what happened a few days ago now? When Jean was injured?"

"What I read in the newspaper," Etienne said. "I'm sorry that I didn't come back-"

"Oh, no, I would never suggest that you have should have, and neither would anyone else," Cinderella said quickly. "It was all over and done with, there was nothing you could have done and no reason to ruin your honeymoon for our sake. But there was a shepherdess, named Vanessa. She saved my life, and Philippe as well. His Majesty…he has become quite taken with her."

"Taken?"

"He rides out to meet with her every day, and stays with her for most of the day," Cinderella said. "He goes alone, so no one knows what they do except him, and he doesn't say. I'm surprised you didn't read about that in the newspapers, the Daily Post has started to become a little unkind about it, and even the Gazette finds it strange."

"We didn't get a paper today, which is starting to seem like an oversight," Etienne remarked. "And now, I mustn't keep you, princess. You were about to go, I wouldn't want to delay you from an appointment."

"I was just on my way to visit Frederica, Princess Frederica I mean," Cinderella said. "I suppose I should be going. It was lovely to see you again, general. We must talk again soon. Give my love to Lucrecia won't you?"

"Of course, ma'am," Etienne said. He bowed his head as Cinderella climbed into the waiting carriage, and waited until the coach had started to move before he climbed the steps to the palace.

He headed first for Philippe's bedroom and nursery, because it was still early enough in the morning that Philippe would likely be there and not anywhere else. Indeed, when Etienne arrived at the room, halfway up the King's Tower as it was, he found that his instinct had been the correct one and Philippe was there, sitting somewhat morosely on the floor.

He looked up as Etienne knocked on the door.

"Uncle Etienne?" Philippe asked in surprise.

"Indeed," Etienne said as he walked in. "Where's your grandmother?"

"Getting dressed."

"I see," Etienne said, as he crossed the room and sat down on the bed. "Come, sit down."

Philippe got up, and walked over to the bed. Etienne picked him up and set him down on the mattress beside him.

Etienne looked down at the boy. "I heard about what happened."

Philippe looked away. "I don't remember it."

"Don't remember what?"

"Going into the woods," Philippe. "I only remember…stepmother. I don't remember how I got there."

Etienne frowned. Was he lying? To what purpose, if so? Had he simply forgotten? Did he want to forget? But…why forget that, and not forget the actually scary bit? He chose his words carefully. "You remember your stepmother," he said. "Do you remember…do you remember…"

"I remember the bear," Philippe said solemnly. "It was scary. Stepmother, she…it's my fault, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"That man…he's hurt and it's my fault, isn't it?"

Etienne let out a deep breath. "No," he said.

"But if I hadn't gone into the woods-"

"If you hadn't gone into the woods what?" Etienne asked. "You don't remember doing that, so you can't tell me why you did it, but I don't think that you did it because you wanted anyone to follow you in there, and you certainly didn't make your stepmother go after you. You couldn't make anyone go anywhere. Your stepmother chose to follow you into the woods because she was worried about you, because she loves you; Jean Taurillion chose to put himself between you and that bear because he is a brave man, because he is a man who takes his duty to heart and lives to serve. Love your stepmother for who she is; honour Jean for who he is, but don't try and pretend that this is all about you, that it's all your fault, that the choices that other people made don't matter at all. That's arrogance, that's the height of arrogance, and it demeans Jean and your stepmother to treat them that way. Do you understand?"

"Um…not, really."

"I apologise," Etienne muttered. He placed a hand on Philippe's shoulder as he tried to think of a way to rephrase it. "The point is this: the choice you made that put yourself in danger…is far less important than the choices they made to try and save you. Be grateful that there were people willing to make those choices…and maybe be a little more careful in future."

"I'll try. Uncle Etienne?"

"Yes?"

"Is he going to be alright?"

Etienne didn't need to ask who he was. "I don't know. At the moment…I really don't know."

It was very bad for Cinderella to leave the palace and go amongst the people, even if it was only riding in a carriage through the streets.

It was bad for because the people, who recognised a royal coach and who could see her through the windows, loved her too much and showed their love too greatly. They cheered for her, they called her name, they asked God's blessings on her, they cried out how much they loved her and it was terrible.

It was terrible because it was so sweet. To know that she was loved and appreciated by so many, especially when the affection of the people was set against the indifference or disdain of the court, was so good to know, and so comforting, and so bad for Cinderella. It fed her vanity, and she was far too vain already. The cheering of the crowd affected the same part of her that enjoyed the sight of her own reflection in the mirror, throat sparkling with jewels.

And yet she did nothing about it, she didn't hide herself behind the curtains or even ignore the cheers. No, she waved to everybody, and smiled at every compliment, and even thanked the people once or twice for all of their devotion.

Because she liked it, even if she shouldn't.

But what is a People's Princess without the people who support her? That was something the Daily Post had called her, the People's Princess; Cinderella had the notion it had been meant as some kind of insult, though she thought it was rather sweet of them to say so. It struck her that there were worse kinds of princess she could have been.

I may enjoy the praise and affection that you throw my way, Cinderella thought, as she waved out the window. But I will never take it for granted. I will continue to work for all of you, you have my word.

Even if you can't hear it.

The carriage bore Cinderella through the streets – and consequently through the cheers of the people who saw her going by – to the elegant townhouse rented by Princess Frederica of Normandie. Cinderella dismounted with the help of her footman, but the front door was opened even before Cinderella had finished climbing the steps.

"Good morning, Anton," Cinderella said, recognising Frederica's trusted retainer.

"Good morning, your highness."

"If I didn't know better I might think that you knew I was coming," Cinderella said as she walked up the steps.

"The cheers of the populace alerted her highness to the possibility that you might be calling, ma'am," Anton said, as Cinderella walked into the hall and he shut the door behind her.

"I'm sorry if it disturbed you," Cinderella said. "Where is Frederica?"

"In the parlour, if you wouldn't mind following me, ma'am?"

"Of course," Cinderella said, allowing Anton to lead her down the nearest corridor of the house. She found Frederica seated on a green armchair, perched on the edge of it like a bird that was about to fly away, reading something. She set it down immediately that Cinderella appeared in the doorway, looking up with a delighted smile on her face even before Anton had announced her.

"Cinderella! I thought it would probably be you when I heard the passionate cries of your supporters outside."

Cinderella chuckled as she felt her cheeks warm up a little embarrassment. "Yes, I'm sorry about that. Did it-"

"Oh, don't apologise for goodness' sake," Frederica cried. "Do you know how many kings and princes would give their left arms to inspire that kind of devotion from their subjects?" She crossed the room to take Cinderella by the arms. "You look very well, and as lovely as ever. How do you feel?"

"Quite well, thank you," Cinderella replied. Actually, her vomiting had been a little worse this morning, but there was no need for Frederica to know that.

"Excellent, but we mustn't keep you on our feet a moment longer than necessary. Come, come, sit. You're still wearing heels, I see."

Cinderella allowed herself to be guided to a golden settee, where Frederica sat down beside her. "I'd like to keep on wearing them as long as I'm able."

"Because you prefer them."

"Well, yes," Cinderella said. "But also because…well, the truth is, that I'm small enough even in heels. I don't know what people will think when they see how short I really am."

Frederica laughed. "I'm sure that everyone who matters already knows. Would you like some tea."

"No, thank you, I'm not supposed to drink any," Cinderella said. "It doesn't help with anemia, apparently."

"Oh, you poor dear," Frederica murmured. "I'm sorry to hear that pregnancy isn't going so well for you."

"Oh, it's alright," Cinderella said. "It isn't that bad, and I know that at the end I won't remember any of this."

"Even so, and that awful business with the bear as well; how's your man?"

"He has the fever I'm afraid," Cinderella murmured. "No one knows if Jean will make it or not. The doctors are treating him as best they can – although, I have to say, that I'm not sure how forcing brandy laced with gunpowder down his throat is supposed to help him – but they can't guarantee that he'll get better."

"You can't get hold of any quinine?"

Cinderella shook her head. "I've said that we'll pay any price for it, but it seems that there is genuinely none to be found; at least none here."

"I'm sorry," Frederica said. "If there was anything I could I would do it. A good retainer is rarer than gold and more precious than diamond. If I ever lost Anton I don't know what I'd do."

"I pray for him every day."

"Then it sounds as though you're doing everything you can," Frederica said. "Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"The Hispaniola landowners," Cinderella said, slightly apologetically. "I've had another idea."

Frederica leaned back a little. "Let's hear it."

Cinderella explained to her the idea that she'd had, and Frederica listened attentively until she was done.

"I have to say, it's certainly more possible than the last idea that you had," Frederica said. "With good fortune most of them will realise that Norman rule isn't that bad and end up staying for good. It could even be a more effective deterrent to mass exodus than the mere fact of no compensation, if handled properly. I…yes, I could suggest this to my father, with one caveat."

"What's that?" Cinderella asked.

"It could not be unlimited," Frederica said. "There needs to be a time limit on when they can just leave and go back to Amorique or it makes a nonsense of the whole business. Five years and the door closes."

"That isn't long enough," Cinderella said. "It isn't that much longer than the time until Normandie takes over the island. Give them twenty years."

"If they can't make up their minds quickly that isn't our fault," Frederica said. She smiled. "Shall we cut out all of the tedious haggling and settle on ten years?"

"Twelve," Cinderella suggested, with a smile of her own.

Frederica snorted. "Very well, twelve years, but only because I like you. I will write up your proposal and dispatch it to my father at once."

"Do you think he'll agree?"

"He won't like it too much," Frederica admitted. "But I think I can convince him of the merits of it. If they even stick around for a single year under our governance that will be a harvest and its accompanying tax and customs hall for our treasury. And the longer they stay then, whatever their rights, the harder they will find it to leave, most likely. In the end it will probably be only the most devoted patriots of Armorique who go, and I'm not sure that Normandie wants those sorts of people anyway." She smiled. "Good relations with Armorique are important to us, or they should be; when I told you that I hope that an era of cooperation and joint action between our countries is just beginning. So tell Prince Eugene and his father and your ministers that I will write to my father and put this to him, and that I hope for a satisfactory response." She laughed. "How does it feel, to be in the centre of things, making plans and decisions of such importance? How does it feel to go from washing floors to shaping the destiny of nations?"

Cinderella had never actually stopped to think about it like that. "I...when you put it like that it seems so...I seem so-"

"Good gracious if I'd know that I was going to bruise your confidence I would have kept my mouth shut," Frederica said. "You should be proud of how far you've come, and from what place. Honestly, I thought you'd be pleased with yourself."

"I'm probably a little too pleased with myself already, that's why I try not to think about it too much," Cinderella murmured. "Or at least, try not to show it when I do." She smiled shyly up at Frederica. "I suppose that, more than impressed, I feel grateful."

"Grateful? For what? Or perhaps to whom?"

"When Eugene asked me to marry him," Cinderella said. "When he and I were wed, even...I really had no idea what I was getting into. I didn't know the first thing about what my life would become. I only saw a man I loved...but I ended up embroiled in so much more than that. So many people have helped me to make a success of it, you not the least of them. I won't ever forget that. Thank you so much, Frederica, for everything."

Jean moaned, and his whole body shook.

Angelique clasped his hand. "It's alright, Jean, it's alright. I'm right here."

Jean moaned again.

"Please calm down," Angelique murmured. "Please, it…it will be better if you calm down, I promise. You need to calm down, and rest and…and get better."

Jean opened his mouth, and this time he didn't moan he…he seemed to be trying to speak.

"Jean?" Angelique cried. "Jean, can you hear me? Are you trying to say something to me? Jean, can you open your eyes?"

Jean didn't open his eyes. Instead, he turned his head to one side as he said, softly but strongly enough now that Angelique could hear him, "Maman?"

Angelique blinked. "I…no, Jean, it's me, it's Angelique. Your mother…she…she's not here any more." She had never actually met Jean's mother; she'd died long before Angelique had ever met him. He didn't talk about her much, but Angelique knew that she had been a good, kind woman. That was how she had managed to raise a good, kind son in the little time that had been allowed to her.

Jean groaned, sounding not so in pain now as he done a few moments earlier. "Maman."

Angelique closed her eyes and sank into the chair by Jean's bedside. He's delirious. He doesn't know where he is or what's going on.

"I…I tried, mother," Jean said. "I remembered what you said. I've never forgotten. You…you asked me to be a good man. A better man than…and I tried, Maman. I tried to be a good man, like…like the knights in those stories you used to tell me. The ones I loved. I tried."

"And you did," Angelique said. "You did become a good man, you…you're the best man I know."

Jean almost smiled, and despite his delirium it seemed to Angelique that he laughed. "I even found a princess. A princess to serve, like this is a story. Can you believe that, Maman? Can you imagine me, serving a real life princess? With a sword and everything. There are times when I can't believe it myself. I think…I think every night when I go to sleep that this…this will be the day the dream ends. I'll wake up…and everything will be the way it was. But it never does."

"No," Angelique said. "And it never will. So long as you stay here, so long as you come back, then the dream won't ever end."

"The princess," Jean murmured. "It's like…it's as if she stepped out of the pages of those story books herself. She's so beautiful and kind and wise and brave and…and she doesn't have a single flaw."

Angelique snorted. "Oh, come on. I like Cinderella, don't get me wrong, but let's not get carried away, shall we? She's too nice for her own good half the time and she trusts too many people without waiting for them to prove that they deserve it and she…yes, she's wonderful, and maybe she wouldn't be if she didn't have those faults, but…that doesn't mean that they're not faults, does it? Or does it? If your flaws make you who you are does that mean that they're not flaws any more.

"Sometimes I think that you're too nice, too brave, and that you don't think enough about your own safety…but if you weren't those things you wouldn't be you. You wouldn't be my Jean. So…does that mean that you don't have any flaws after all? No, that can't be right. Else that would mean that none of us have any flaws and that's ridiculous isn't it?"

"I have to protect her," Jean said. "I have to do it, Maman, because there are times when it seems as though the whole worlds wants to own her or hurt her or corrupt her and I have to stop it from happening.

"Or at least I help Angelique to do that. Did I…did I ever tell you about Angelique?"

"Um, Jean?" Angelique asked. "I'm right here, you know, and I can hear every word coming out of your mouth so-"

"I wouldn't be alive without her, mother."

"You were managing before I came along."

"She's so clever, she always knows what to do."

Angelique felt herself blush. "That's not true, I just like you to think it is."

"We take care of each other. I don't know what I'd do without her."

Angelique smiled. "Me neither."

"I think you'd like her. At least I hope you would. I…I love her, Maman."

Angelique stared at him for a moment. "You…you…well why couldn't have said that to me sometime when you weren't delirious! Honestly you are the…I love you too." She kissed his hand and pressed it to her mouth. "I love you too, so please come back to me."

"But she doesn't love me," Jean said.

Angelique's eyes widened. She was stunned into speechlessness for a moment. "You…how could you…I…I never told you, did I? Well, to be fair, you didn't tell me either, so…we're both idiots, I suppose." She sighed. "Come back, Jean. Come back, so that we can be honest with each other."

After the conclusion of their business, Cinderella remained in Frederica's town house, talking of nothing important but simply spending time with a friend whose company she enjoyed. Eugene had encouraged her to do this - his exact words had been 'If Father is going to neglect his duties in order to serve his own enjoyment I don't see why you shouldn't do the same every now and then' - and so Cinderella didn't feel guilty about whiling away the hours with the Princess of Normandie, talking about books and music and theatre and anything else that caught their interest. It began to rain while Cinderella was there, but she didn't really pay any attention to the worsening of the weather until the wind began to howl outside, blowing on the window panes while the plants growing outside tap-tapped upon the glass as they were buffeted back and forth. When Cinderella looked up she found the sky had darkened while she wasn't looking. Though it was only the mid-afternoon the clouds were so heavy in the sky above that it was as gloomy an autumn's evening.

Frederica got to her feet and walked to the window, leaning her forehead against the window pane as she glanced upwards at the darkened sky. "You should probably get home, Cinderella; if this gets much worse it might become unsafe and I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you on the way back from mine. Anton! The princess of Armorique's carriage."

"At once, your highness."

The rain was falling heavily when Cinderella left, forming puddles on the streets that were only getting deeper as the falling water drove people off the street and into their homes. Cinderella almost slipped descending the wet and slippery steps from Frederica's house, and had to conclude that Frederica was right to send her away.

As the coach bore her home, Cinderella could hear thunder beginning to roll in the skies above, and at one point she even saw the world illuminated in blinding white by the flash of lightning. The horses whinnied and neighed in panic, and as she heard the coachman try to calm them Cinderella couldn't deny - at least not to herself - a frisson of fear and a sense of gladness that the journey from Frederica's house to the palace was not far. If she had to travel she would have become very concerned.

The rain had only intensified when the carriage clattered through the gates and up to the palace steps, and yet as they approached the palace Cinderella could see a number of horsemen outside, dragoons and hussars and horse grenadiers, their distinctive and colourful uniforms all wet with the pelting rain, and oilcloths pulled over their shakos and helmets and bearskin hats. Eugene was amongst them, swatched in a red cloak lined with fur, and General Gerard too. When he saw her carriage approaching Eugene leapt from his horse and ran, splashing through the puddle as he went, to the door to help Cinderella.

"Cinderella," he cried, as he took by the waist and half led, half pulled her up the steps and into the palace before she got soaked through to the skin - although the rain was so intense, and journey not long enough to have dried her out, that Cinderella was still left dripped water from her sodden frock onto the red carpet. "Thank God, you came back not a moment too soon."

"I didn't realise how bad it was getting until it was almost like this," Cinderella explained. "What's going on? Why are all those men outside?"

"Father hasn't returned yet," Eugene said. "And he doesn't have a carriage to shelter in. Alone, on horseback. I'm going to look for him, and Etienne as well, and the cavalry you saw out there."

"Oh dear," Cinderella murmured. Her first instinct was to offer to help herself, but she knew in her head that would have been a foolish thing to say. She couldn't ride - her first few attempts hadn't gone terribly well, and everyone agreed it was better that she stop trying before she had a serious accident, so she contented herself with enjoying the company of horses from places other than on their back - and if she went out in this storm that was gathering Eugene would only worry about her, and he needed to focus wholly upon his father. "I hope he's alright. Be careful, won't you? The weather sounds as though its getting worse all the time."

"I know," Eugene said. "That's why I have to find Father. I'll be back as soon as I find him, but I don't know when that will be and I can't come home without him." He placed his hands gently upon her face, and kissed her. "Try not to fret, or worry, and make sure that you eat, even if we've not returned." He gave a nod in the direction of Augustina, who entered the hall from a side room. "I was going to ask Mademoiselle du Bois to keep watch for you, if you hadn't returned before I left. You should change out of those wet clothes."

"I will," Cinderella said. "Please be careful."

"As careful as I can be," Eugene said, before he kissed her again. "I love you. Goodbye." And then he turned away, his great cloak swirling about him, and dashed back out into the rain to remount his waiting horse.

"Hie!" Eugene cried. "Away!" And with that the whole party of horsemen set off, hooves clattering upon the stone.

Cinderella watched them go, water dripping from her dress, until the pouring rain and the dark sky and the palace walls contrives so that she could not see them any longer.

Augustina took her by the arm. "Cinderella, you need to change out of that before you catch cold."

Cinderella nodded, as she allowed Augustina to guide her towards the stairs leading to her rooms.

Be safe, Eugene. And Etienne, and you, Your Majesty.

Be safe, everyone. God keep you all.

This is a fitter day for devils to ride than men, Etienne thought as the wind whipped across his face, blowing his cadenettes across his eyes so that he had his own hair as well as the water of the rain to wipe from them.

Lightning crashed down, briefly illuminating the fields around as it lanced down to skewer the earth beneath it, and the growling peels of thunder followed after like day followed night.

It was dark enough that he could have believed it were night now. The clouds were so thick and dark that the sun had been completely stolen away from them. The illumination of the lightning was the only time he could see more than gloom all around.

He was all alone, lacking any precise knowledge of where His Majesty might be or even where this shepherdess he went to visit lived, the searches had been forced to split up to spread a wide net. A net that had become even wider than intended once they started losing one another in the murk.

"Your Majesty?" Etienne bellowed, struggling to raise his voice above the wind, rain and thunder. "Your Majesty?"

At least his horse remained steady, for now. He had heard the way the princess' coach-horse had been neighing, much longer and they would have bolted from discomfort and Cinderella would have been in real trouble; but Tamburlaine was a warhorse, trained to withstand and fire and fury of the battlefield, and just as the cannonfire of the American war had not discomfited him, neither did the thunder.

All the same, Etienne was wary. It was almost dark enough to be mistaken for night, and the best horses became skittish in the darkness. He should be alright as long as he didn't push the black stallion too hard, but if Tamburlaine started to grow troubled he wasn't unprepared to leap off before he was thrown.

"Your Majesty?"

Another lightning flash, closer this time, close enough that Tamburlaine let out a snuffle of concern as he sidestepped away from it. Etienne rubbed the steed's neck, while his eyes were focussed on something else the lightning had briefly illuminated.

The flash had been too brief for him to get a good look, but it had been a dark shape, a shadow by the side of the road, a form that looked uncomfortably like a person.

"Your Majesty?" Etienne shouted, as a way of controlling the worry that was beginning to rise in his throat. No. No, please, God, no. The thing that he had seen was not moving, and if it were the King...Eugene might make a good king, and Cinderella a good queen, but Eugene shouldn't have to lose his father before he was thirty.

Etienne dismounted, hoping that Tamburlaine would stay where he was, and began to advance in the direction of the shape he'd seen. He stepped forward slowly, cautiously; he'd do no one any good, least of all the King, if he tripped into the roadside ditch and twisted his ankle.

"Your Majesty?" Etienne said, hoping that if he had indeed seen a person they were competent enough to answer him. "Hello? Is there anyone there?"

No answer, not even a cry of pain.

Rising dread twisted Etienne's face as the rain fell upon it and the rain battered it. He drew a book of matches from his coat pocket, and struggled to shield one of them from the rain as he lit it. The first swiftly became too damp to use, and so did the second, but he managed to strike the third and he cradled it, covering it with his hands, protecting it from the rain as though it were a light of hope.

He crouched down, and used the light of his precious match to light the way as he scuttled along the roadside until he came to it, what he had seen in the light of the lightning strike.

"My god," he whispered.

It was not the King, Lord be praised, but it was a body. Someone had tried to bury it, but it looked as though the rising wind had blown the dirt from off her face - it was a woman, as best he could tell. Etienne's match went out, and he cast it aside as he fumbled for another. Call him superstitious but he didn't want to be so close to this poor woman and yet unable to see her. He struck another match, and in the flickering light he was confronted with the woman's eyes, her lifeless eyes staring up at him from out of the dark. Etienne Gerard could not suppress a shudder of distaste.

He couldn't tell how old she was. He could tell practically nothing about her because of the state of the body, which was what had disturbed him most from first he set eyes upon her.

It was as though the body had been drained, as though blood and fluid and life itself had all been leeched from this poor woman, leaving her a wrinkled and desiccated husk. He had never seen anything like it, and he hoped he never would again.

Who in creation could have such a thing? Or should that be what?

"Father?" Eugene yelled as he urged his horse Scipio onwards. "Father!"

Lighting struck, and Scipio neighed, but Eugene didn't slow the steed, nor even consider it. He was moving swiftly, cantering across the fields, crying out to the heavens as he went. Foolish it might have been, but he was heedless and beyond caution. His father was out here somewhere, in this cold and wet and howling wind, his father who was no longer a young man nor one in perfect health. He could not fail him now, not when he was depending on his son more than ever.

I should never have allowed this foolishness, Eugene thought, reproaching himself that the conditions for this awful situation had ever existed.

You do not rule your father, you couldn't have prevented this.

I should have tried.

What could you have done?

Insisted that he stop visiting this woman!

And when he refused?

I should have...I should have done something!

He had known that this was a mistake. It wasn't the fact that she was a shepherdess - alright, it wasn't really the fact that she was a shepherdess - it was the fact that she was young enough to be Eugene's sister, it was the fact that she lived out here, it was the fact that his father went alone, it was the fact that something like this could happen. No matter how Eugene tried to ignore them, his mind was filled with images of his father lying alone, abandoned in some field somewhere, injured with no one care for him, or simply catching his death from the rain and the cold.

"Father?"

Eugene saw something out of the corner, something yellow and - a light! A fire, flickering amidst the storm. Eugene tugged on Scipio's reins, guiding him in that direction, for no one would light a fire and then abandon it in a tempest like this, and whoever had made the fire could tell him something. They might know where Vanessa dwelt, they might have seen his father, they might have...they would certainly know more than him, they could hardly know less.

As he approached, as Scipio carried him closer and closer to the fire, Eugene could see a shepherd's hut beside it, and a little wooden paddock where a ram and a score of ewes fretted at the noise. The sound of their baa-ing was whipped away by the wind, but he could hear them as he got closer.

Could it be her? Had he stumbled upon Vanessa through some accident on providence? Eugene dismounted not far from the hut, running through the rain to push aside the animal skins that served at the hut door before ducking into the reed and wooden structure.

A second fire, much smaller than the one outside, burned within; and through the flickering light of that fire Eugene could see his father, slumbering peacefully beneath a blanket of hides. From what Eugene could see it appeared his father was naked.

"Your concern for your father is touching, but you needn't have worried, your highness," Vanessa said, and it was only when she spoke that Eugene noticed her sitting against the hut wall, not far away. She was also naked, absolutely so, uncovered by anything and yet the cold did not seem to trouble. "Louis has been safe with me."

Louis? "You should show some respect for your king."

Vanessa chuckled. "I apologise, your highness; it's hard to maintain proprieties regarding someone with whom you have been intimate. Please, sit down, wait out the storm. It's hardly safe to riding in weather like this."

Eugene sat, though reluctance rendered his movements slothful and sluggish. He did not know for certain, one way or the other, whether his father had ever sought comfort in the arms of another woman since his mother died. He hoped not, but he could not confirm it; it wasn't the sort of thing one talked about with ones father. Eugene hoped not but, if his hopes had previously been unfounded, he supposed had no grounds for complaint.

But this...to be so close to his father in this state, to have come upon the scene of his indiscretion, to sit down feet away from where he was sleeping off his lovemaking, his own father it...it seemed indecent to Eugene, skin-crawlingly so. If there was no objective offence in it the fact remained that this was not how he wished to see his father, think of his father. He wanted nothing to do with this and yet he could not escape it.

And with this woman, too.

"What happened?" Eugene asked, keeping his voice soft and low so as not to awaken his father.

Vanessa shrugged. Her blue eyes were guileless. "The storm came upon us in all its fury, and we comforted each other."

The way she phrased it seemed to place more responsibility for the act upon the weather than on either participant. Eugene was willing to accept that if only because it allowed him to hope that it wouldn't happen again. He didn't meet Vanessa's eyes, instead fixing his gaze just above her head. That meant there was less chance of him being distracted by her more southerly charms.

"Have you nothing to cover yourself with?" he demanded.

Vanessa giggled. "Is something wrong, your highness? Am I too beautiful for you to withstand? Do I tempt you too much? Do you desire me?"

"I am a married man," Eugene said sharply. "I have made solemn vows, pledging fidelity."

Vanessa giggled again. "You have sworn to fondle only a single peach that grows from the tree, but does that mean the juice of other fruits do not excite you? If you are so pure, your highness, why don't you look at me?"

He did not look at her because he was far from pure. He didn't look at her because the sight of her naked form excited him. She was not so fair as Cinderella, not so lithe nor as slender about the waist - before the pregnancy, anyway - as Cinderella was, but she was slender still and her breasts were of a greater size, like melons compared to bunches of grapes. He could feel his member stiffening in his britches.

Eugene shut his eyes. "I am a married man," he repeated. "I love my wife, and I will not dishonour or betray her." Cinderella possessed the kindness of an angel and the patience of a saint but even she would not forgive such a violation on his part; just the thought of how she wounded by such cruelty touched him to the quick, imagining the pain in her eyes so beautiful and so trusting when she learned how he had abused that trust doused his ardour more effectively than any bucket of cold water could have.

"Nor would I ask you to," Vanessa replied, as though the very notion shocked her to the core. "Any more than I would betray your father."

"The situations are hardly comparable," Eugene said coldly.

"They may not seem so now," Vanessa said. "But who knows what may come to pass? Should your father be less true than you to the woman he loves?"