Serenity Rode: On the Fairy Godmother, my view of how it works has always been that the Fairy Godmother only appears when there are no other options. She doesn't appear to help Cinderella at all during the years she was being abused by her stepfamily because Cinderella was never without hope then, and she only appears after the stepsisters have destroyed Cinderella's original dress and gone to the ball because that is the point at which it really is hopeless: friendship has failed, Cinderella is out of options, her spirit has finally been shattered and if she doesn't get out now she never will. That's why - or so I would justify it anyway - the Fairy Godmother doesn't show up to bail Cinderella out from Serena or Grace or these other dangers, because Cinderella is never completely out of options. She has friends who are willing to go to the wall for her, she has support amongst the people...she has options even if she doesn't always realise it.

From an authorial perspective, of course, there's also the fact that if the Fairy Godmother just appeared whenever things got a bit tense I feel it would kind of spoil the story a bit, not to mention make it very hard for any non-magical antagonist to be much of a threat. Unless they all got fairy godmothers of their own in which case the whole thing spirals out of control and the mortal characters become irrelevant bystanders in a fairy fantasy.

Eugene Alone

Eugene gripped the arms of his chair tightly as he regarded the man sitting in front of him. Monsieur Valis, of the Breton Gazette had the look of a slightly unwell and insalubrious character about him, with his greasy-looking hair, small eyes and a suit that he probably ought to have replaced if he could have afforded to do so. His newspaper - the newspaper that employed him, better to say - catered more to the popular end of the market, and was not generally too well-disposed towards the royal family or even the idea of monarchy. In point of fact Eugene was generally inclined to dismiss the Gazette as a populist rag. But on the other hand the man in front of him was also the closest thing Cinderella had to a friend in the press, and Eugene had to admit that he had no friends of his own to call upon in the fourth estate. There were newspapers that were more supportive of the monarchy in general, but they were also the ones that had been loudest in condemning his father, and frankly Eugene didn't want to give them the opportunity to throw him a lot of questions about the King's recent behaviour. He had some hope, based not only on the man's regard for Cinderella but also because the lower classes were generally less inclined to judgement - that Valis would give him an easier ride.

On the other hand, the man's first question had been to ask him why Cinderella had gone into hiding, which was not the most auspicious start.

"As was announced in the most recent circular," Eugene said, trying to remain calm. "Princess Cinderella has retired to the countryside for the sake of her health."

"Is her highness ill?"

"Not as such," Eugene said. "But the strain of recent events has taken its toll upon her constitution, and in her condition..."

"Of course, your highness, I am sure that all my readers will send the princess their best wishes for a swift recovery. Just as they will be delighted to discover that their beloved princess, who has captured so many of our hearts, has not been hidden away until the bruises stop showing."

Eugene's grip upon his chair was now so tight that his knuckles were white. "And what the devil do you mean by that?"

Monsieur Valis wiped his nose with a grey handkerchief. "There are many rumours, highness, which I should be sorry to believe. Rumours that the princess has suffered violence from those who ought to treat her most tenderly-"

"If you mean to suggest that I beat my wife then have the courage to come out and say so," Eugene snapped.

"Please, sir, I meant to imply no such thing; the mutual devotion of yourself and the princess is most evident in your public appearances. I am suggesting that you allow your father to beat your wife."

Eugene surged to his feet. "How dare you? I will not sit here and be-"

"You may not be aware, sir, but newspapers less discerning than my own have already reported on these allegations," Valis declared stonily. "I expect that if they have not already linked the princess' flight with the question of abuse they will do so. It took her highness a little time to learn that a rumour left unaddressed is like a wound untreated: it does not heal, rather it festers. If your highness has any comment to make upon this the time is surely now."

"You expect me to believe that you're doing me a favour with this line of questioning?"

Valis shrugged. "If your highness does not speak then your silence will speak for you."

Eugene sat down heavily, and with a scowl on his face. "I categorically deny these ridiculous allegations. His Majesty is not in the habit of battering his daughter-in-law; my wife and my father enjoy a most affectionate relationship." Or they did, anyway. He told himself it was not quite a lie; he had said that Father did not make a habit of hitting Cinderella, which was true as he had only done it once. In truth he should have expected something like this: Father had attacked Cinderella in a room with plenty of witnesses - the staff and guards - and it would only take one of them to have the idea of selling their story to some yellow gutter rag. What else will turn up in the worst newspapers over the next few days? He might have to start reading them to find out.

"That is very good to hear, your highness," Valis said, scribbling something down in the little book that was open on his knee. "All of us who admire the princess were deeply concerned that she might be suffering mistreatment."

"I'm sure Cinderella would be delighted to find out that she has so many friends and admirers eager for her wellbeing," Eugene growled.

Valis nodded. "Now, your highness, on to the matter of our new queen...or rather to the fact that we will not be having a new queen after all. Would you not agree that it has been a strange sequence of events that has led us to this point?"

"I suppose you could say that," Eugene said.

"Princess Cinderella is attacked by a bear - though such a beast has not been seen wild in Armorique for many years, not since my grandfather's time at least - and saved by a mysterious shepherdess who is as great a mystery as the princess was when first she stepped onto the stage. She becomes His Majesty's lover, and then she becomes engaged to be his wife. Now we learn that she has fled and cannot be found. You do not find this a strange tale?"

"I can see that you might think it so," Eugene said. "It seems less strange to me, monsieur, having lived through it as it happened." Eugene wasn't quite sure how he managed to say that with a straight face; it had all felt incredibly strange to him even while he was living through it. Strange, bizarre and frequently discomfiting. At least it's over now. All I need to do is brazen this out so that everyone believes it. "As far as the bear goes, we're considering the possibility that it had escaped from a circus or a bear-baiting. That would explain its sudden appearance."

Valis scribbled something down. "Perhaps. In any case, sir, that is far from the greatest of mysteries surrounding these events. That would fall to the sudden appearance and equally sudden disappearance of the woman Vanessa, and His Majesty's infatuation with her."

"The King," Eugene said. "Is a man of great passion. Sometimes that passion leads him astray, as unfortunately it has here."

"And the woman?"

"She was a gold-digger," Eugene declared. "She took her gold and left. I doubt we will see or hear of her again."

"Yet she did not want the even greater wealth and opulence that would come from being Queen of Armorique?"

"I can't see into her mind but I doubt she wanted the responsibility that would have come from being Queen of Armorique," Eugene replied.

"Hmm," Valis murmured. "And His Majesty...he is indisposed?"

"I'm afraid so, he has taken the betrayal very hard," Eugene said. "It has made him sick at heart. I am doing what I can to ease his burdens while he recovers."

Valis' eyes narrowed a little. "I am reminded that His Majesty kept working when Queen Isabelle, your mother, passed away. Despite his mourning His Majesty continued to attend to the business of government."

"I can't pretend to be happy about this state of affairs," Eugene growled. "But it is what it is."

"Indeed," Valis said. "There are some who might call this very convenient, sir."

Eugene took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. "Convenient?"

"It has been suggested that a new queen would have been difficult for you in a great many ways," Valis said. "And, indeed, for the princess who would have been forced to cede primacy as the woman of this palace. The banishment of that spectre is...convenient."

Eugene fought back the desire to yell at the man, or simply have him thrown out. "Yes," he said. "I will admit that I wasn't looking forward to the marriage, and I will even admit that neither was Princess Cinderella. But if you mean to suggest or imply something, monsieur, I cannot guess at it."

"With the announcement of the royal marriage there were those who suggested that His Majesty was unfit to continue exercising the powers of the king; now here you are, exercising them on his behalf."

"I have no official standing as the King's proxy, nor is there any need for such," Eugene said. "His Majesty will resume his duties as soon as he feels able. I have no ambitions to succeed my father before his time."

"But you will be standing in for him?"

"I will be doing my duty to Armorique."

Valis nodded. "One last question, your highness. Princess Cinderella has proven and established herself as a friend of the people in the councils of the high. There will be those who wonder, perhaps with some concern, what her departure from the stage will mean for the direction of public policy."

Eugene sighed. "Monsieur, you are too dramatic by half. Princess Cinderella has no more departed the stage than His Majesty has; she is taking her ease for a while to recover her strength and when she feels recovered she will return. I hope that those who claim to be her friends would not begrudge her a rest from trial and tribulation.

"I am a great admirer of my wife's intelligence and conscientousness," Eugene continued. "I value her advice greatly and I will miss it while she is not here. It is true that Cinderella's views are not always the same as my own, but I promise that her values of compassion and understanding will continue to animate the policy of this country and our attitudes towards His Majesty's loyal subjects."

Valis took his leave after that, for which Eugene was very grateful. He loosened his collar as he strode out of the sitting room and set off towards his father's chamber.

Etienne was waiting for him outside, and fell in behind him as he walked. "How did it go?"

Eugene shrugged. "Not wonderfully, I think. He knew that father had hit Cinderella."

"It's the kind of sensational thing that the yellow press pays for," Etienne said. "You denied it."

"Of course, for whatever good it may do," Eugene replied. "Whether he believed everything I told him or not...I really couldn't say." He scowled. "Perhaps if I'd made some effort to court the press myself I could have had a tame correspondent round to ask me easy questions and blindly accept all of my explanations."

"I don't think her highness set out to court the press," Etienne said.

"Then why does the Gazette like her so much?"

"I think it's more that their readers like her and the paper wants to keep on their good side."

Eugene frowned. "No, that can't be right. People take their cue from their newspapers, not the other way around."

"Either way, if you want to be popular perhaps you could try doing something popular?"

Eugene stopped. He half turned towards Etienne, thrusting his hands into his pockets as he did so. "You know, before all of this madness got under way my father told me that he was very unpopular when he came to the throne; apparently he had to marry my mother in order to leech off the esteem in which she was held."

Etienne snorted. "Are you worried that you're following the same path? Or does the fact that it all worked out in the end encourage you?"

"Both," Eugene murmured. He was silent for a moment. "It would never occur to me to thank the servants for the work they do. I look at the world and see something that works perfectly well, not something in need of improvement."

"There's no shame in that," Etienne said. "One of the two great parties in the state is built around the idea that things are working perfectly well without the need for improvement."

"I know," Eugene said. "But I'd rather not rely on Cinderella to make me likeable."

"You're not unpopular," Etienne said. "And amongst the army you are very well regarded. To be honest..."

"What?"

"The people like the princess because they can tell that she's sincere," Etienne said. "If you tried to behave that way you'd probably seem very fake."

Eugene let out a laugh. "It's our collective unpopularity with the nobility that concerns me at the moment. A lot of bridges have been burned recently, a lot of work. Father's reputation is in tatters, the monarchy has been left isolated...Grace might not have killed us all but you could argue she took her revenge all the same."

"There's always..." Etienne trailed off.

"There's always what?"

"You aren't going to want to hear it."

"That doesn't usually stop you."

"You're really not going to want to hear it."

Eugene's eyes narrowed. "I'll be the judge of that, go on."

Etienne took a cigar out of his pocket and began to play with it between his fingers. "Abdication," he said. "A fresh start, with a new King and a popular young Queen."

"No," Eugene declared emphatically.

"Do you think His Majesty can ever recover his reputation after this?"

"I think that we can't know until we try," Eugene said. "I think that he is the anointed king chosen by God to sit upon the throne; I think that less than a year as a princess has worn Cinderella to the bone, can you imagine what becoming queen at this stage would do to her? I think that the King is my father, and that I would be the worst son in Armorique to snatch the crown from off his head now. Besides, he'd never agree to it."

"Very well," Etienne murmured. "I shan't mention it again. Though I can't promise that no on else will. What next?"

"I'm going to see how he's doing," Eugene said. "And after that, Lord Roux and Princess Frederica in that order or it'll look as though I care more about Normans than our government."

"We don't have a government."

"Hopefully we will, if Lord Roux agrees to play along."

Eugene, with Etienne in tow, went to the King's Tower, where he climbed the steps up to his father's chambers. It was unfortunate, and not at all a good sign, that he could hear his father as he walked up the stairs, and that he sounded little better now than he had yesterday.

"The dear father would with his son have speech!" Father bellowed from his room so loudly that Eugene could hear him from at least a floor below. "Commands! Tends service! Is he informed of this? Where is he? Does he sleep still in the wanton's arms? Go tell the prince and his wife I'll speak with them at once!"

There was a crashing sound, like something being thrown across the room.

Eugene quickened his pace. He had assigned a couple of strong soldiers to watch his father, and make sure that he didn't hurt himself, but it seemed that they might be having a little trouble with him.

If he doesn't get better soon I might…I might have to consult a doctor about this. He had been holding off on that for the sake of his father's reputation, but if Grace really had driven him mad, then…would there be anything else for it? What else could he be expected to do?

He arrived at his father's door, and flung it open without knocking. Eugene ducked as an inkwell was hurled across the room to shatter on the wall a few inches away from his head. A table lay upturned upon the floor, the objects that had adorned it lying scattered or broken all around.

His father was in his nightgown still, ruddy-faced and panting. The men Eugene had set to watch him stood nearby, waiting, seeming uncertain as to how long they should let him rant and rave before they acted for his own protection.

They fear to lay hands upon him. He is a king, after all.

"Father," Eugene said gently. "Good morning. How do you feel today?"

"Good morning?" Father cried. "Good morning, he says! How do I feel? Be damned to your false concern, sir, your cringing sympathies! I sent for you these hours past! Could you not pry yourself out of-"

"Please don't insult my wife, Father, she doesn't deserve it," Eugene said. "Try and remember that you're talking about the mother of your grandchild."

"My grandchild? Ha! I should divorce me from your mother's tomb for an adulteress, you are no son of mine! Where's Vanessa?"

"Gone, Father," Eugene said. "And I'd ask you not to speak of Mother that way either. She loved you very much." Unlike the woman you're mooning over now, whatever face she happened to wear. He did not have a huge number of memories of his mother, she had left him so young; but he remembered the soothing tone of her voice, the richness of her laugh, the feel of her hands as she picked him up…she deserved better than to be maligned in comparison to a faithless, murderous witch.

"Gone?" Father repeated. "Gone? Gone where, gone when, what means this gone? Love, gone? Hope, gone? Where has she gone? What have you done-"

"Nothing!" Eugene snapped. "She left. She has gone! She never loved you, not for a single minute, can't you see that! I love you, I and Cinderella and Mother too before she was taken from us, all of us who you spit on for the sake of that…" He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Father, for shouting, but please, please can't you understand? Can't you…can't you be yourself once more? I don't understand what she did to make you this way?"

"She loved me," Father moaned. "She loved me, as I loved her. And you…what have you done, you faithless boy? You've taken my love away from me, and all my joy and hope of faithful children. May all the vengeances of heaven fall upon your head! May fen-sucked fogs infect Cinderella's beauty to fall and blister! May the life within her turn to ash and barrenness-"

"Father!" Eugene yelled before he could complete the curse. He was not a superstitious man – or he didn't think he was – but he had been exposed to too many strange and inexplicable things to laugh off the things his father said in his madness. That their child should die within the womb, and Cinderella be struck barren…he found he could imagine Cinderella weeping in his mind's eye, tears deluging her face as she received the news that her child was dead and no seed would ever quicken in her again. Forbid it, God. God, if you have any love or mercy, forbid it absolutely.

"Where is my state?" Father demanded. "Am I not a king? Where are my ministers and officers? Where is my obedience?"

"You are not fit to govern or command," Eugene replied. "Not until you are free of this…this thing that grips you now?"

"Oh, see me here, Almighty God, a poor old man," Father yelled, raising his arms as if to heaven. "As full of grief as of years gone by! Touch me with noble anger and let not woman's tears stain my man's cheeks! Faithless son, if son you be to me, I'll take such revenge on you that the world will…I will do such things…what yet I know not but it shall be terrible! I'll not weep." His breast heaved with sorrow, and tears began to fall upon his ruddy cheeks. "I'll not weep. Oh, Vanessa. Vanessa!"

Eugene turned away, frowning. "Take care of him," he said. "And let me know if his condition improves at all."

"Yes, your highness."

Eugene left, and closed the door behind him.

"No good?" Etienne murmured.

"No," Eugene said.

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Eugene said. "There's a part of me…I deserve the insults that he throws at me for abandoning him like this to…to rule in his place."

"You're doing your duty."

"A prince's duty, perhaps, but not the duty of a son."

"Must I be a prince first?"

"It does come before your name," Etienne said.

Eugene groaned. "Thank you, again, for being here," he said. "With Cinderella gone…I need someone I can talk to."

"Any time," Etienne said. "So…when is Lord Roux coming?"

"Hopefully he'll come as soon as I ask," Eugene said. "But one never really knows with that man, does one?"

Fortunately, Lord Roux only kept Eugene waiting some two hours before he arrived in response to the royal summons. Eugene received him in his father's study, in the vast marble room where the walls were lined with pictures of himself of an ever increasing size, until an entire enormous walls of an enormous room was taken up with an equestrian painting of him galloping off somewhere.

God grant that I may have a son to cover the wall with paintings of one day. He had a son, of course, but he had as yet no heir; no lawful, princely son to follow him.

Let our child live. Let them both live. There was a part of him that hoped for more children, for many children to be born of their love…but not at the cost of Cinderella herself. If this birth proved too hard for her…he would not force her to go through it again, not for anything. He would not risk her that way, for he could not lose her, not after all that he had already lost.

Not to mention I should probably see how many children she would like.

Eugene pushed the thoughts aside for now. It wasn't as though Cinderella was here to discuss it with, and it wasn't the sort of thing that he could talk about with Etienne Gerard.

He needed to concentrate on the here and now, not on his fears or his vague hopes.

Planchet, his valet, stepped into the room and coughed into one hand. "Lord Roux, sir."

Eugene rubbed his eyes. "Show him in. Oh, and Planchet?"

"Sir?"

"Thank you."

Planchet's face did not register any surprise. Eugene couldn't recall if he'd ever seen any emotions on it at all. "Sir," he said, as he left the room.

Eugene got to his feet as Lord Roux entered the study. "My lord, please, sit down."

Lord Roux took off his top hat and bowed. "Your highness, thank you for the invitation. I hope you don't mind me saying that I had rather it came from His Majesty the King."

Eugene sat down as Lord Roux did likewise. Eugene sighed. "Believe me, my lord, I wish that more than you do. How is the Chamber?"

"Fractious," Lord Roux said. "It is not good for the country to be without a government."

"For the second time recently," Eugene pointed out.

Lord Roux had the decency to look embarrassed about the fact. He cleared his throat. "Yes, an…undesirable state of affairs. I don't suppose that you know, sir, when it is likely to be resolved?"

"I'm hoping that it can be resolved today," Eugene said. "Right now."

Lord Roux's eyebrows rose. "If His Majesty wishes to ask me to form a government then…where is he?"

Eugene scowled. "In his chambers, indisposed. I was hoping…I was hoping that we could agree to…pretend that His Majesty had given you the royal commission."

Lord Roux blinked. "You wish to lie to the nation?"

"You are the only man who can form a government," Eugene said. "Sieur Robert does not command the confidence of the chamber, in the liberal coalition there is no other who stands so tall as you do. You are the only choice, and therefore I see little reason not to acknowledge that fact."

"No reason beyond the constitutional and, one might argue, moral violations inherent in the notion," Lord Roux murmured. "Is there no way that His Majesty might be persuaded to rouse himself from his torpor long enough to shake my hand and say a few words."

"I am afraid not."

Lord Roux leaned back in his chair. "Sir…Prince Eugene, we are both men; and I might go even further and say that we are both men of the world. We are not dreamers like your wife, we understand practicalities and realities."

"Perhaps," Eugene murmured; perhaps he was being a little paranoid but the mention of Cinderella put him a little on edge. Too often such mentions turned into insults directed at her. "Your point, my lord?"

"In my youth I suffered somewhat from the pains of heartache," Lord Roux declared, though it was hard to imagine such a thing now. "My first wife passed away after but three years together. Knowing what we now understand of your life prior to your marriage I gather you must have felt the same."

Eugene made a wordless noise with the back of his throat. He wanted to talk about Katherine with Lord Roux even less than he wanted to talk about Cinderella.

"And yet I never so completely lost myself to despair on its account that I was rendered incapable of doing anything else," Lord Roux said, with a touch of sharpness. "I must say, and I think I speak for many when I say, that to think that the King has been so completely incapacitated by a broken heart…it stretches credulity. And now…to hear you suggest-"

"I think that you are on the verge of a suggestion of your own, my lord, one that I would ask you to reconsider."

Lord Roux coughed. "I apologise for any offence, sir, but…if I could but see His Majesty…"

Eugene was silent for a moment. He didn't want to show Lord Roux his father. He didn't want to show anyone his father, he wanted to keep his condition as closely guarded a secret as he could. But Lord Roux, much as Eugene might not care much for him, made a good point, one that Eugene should have spotted earlier. People didn't react this way over a broken heart, or at least not in situations like this. If his father had taken to his bed and seen no one after Eugene's mother had passed away then that would have been one thing, but he had not done so, and now to do it after being abandoned by a strumpet…it would naturally give rise to rumour. It was just as Monsieur Valis had suggested.

He couldn't show the whole of Armorique the truth, but perhaps he could show Lord Roux.

Then the leader of the largest political party in the country would understand what he – what they – were dealing with.

Eugene got to his feet. "Would you like to come with me, my lord? I will take you to the King."

Lord Roux hesitated for a moment, before he too rose from his chair. "Very well, your highness."

Eugene led him up the many steps to the King's chambers. It was quieter now, and Eugene feared the worst until he strode into the room itself to find his father sat on the floor, looking up at a pair of empty chairs, with his attendants ranged around him.

"Now, see, we will arraign them straight. First here's Eugene, I take my oath before the court that he attacked his father, and restrained me painfully. Now, beside him set Cinderella, and on my oath I swear that she corrupted my son with her wanton wiles and turned his heart against me. See how they can not deny it!"

Lord Roux watched all of this with an expression of mingled horror and dismay upon his face. He swept his hat off his head and bowed. "How does your majesty?"

Father turned, scrambling upright. "What? The prisoner escapes! Guards! Guards hold him fast! I…why do you all…" he walked a few paces unsteadily forwards towards Lord Roux. "A visitor! Are you a witness at the trial?"

"The trial, sir?"

"Indeed, sir, we are trying treasons here! The vile fox Eugene and the she-wolf Cinderella are arrayed for their treachery. They took her away, you know, my Vanessa, my lovely girl. She's gone. They…they've sent her from me."

"I…I am sure not, sir."

"I am sure, sir," Father said. "If…if you are not here for the trial then…has your son stripped you of all your rights and powers and condemned you to share this prison with me?"

"I have no son, your majesty."

"Then you are a wise fellow. See it remains so, for he who has a son invites the theft of his house and all his goods. Have you a daughter?"

"Yes, sir, I have three daughters. The eldest has just turned eleven."

"Why, teach them well, sir! Teach them to be obedient to their fathers in law, or else to fall in love with old men and defend them against the cruelty of their sons."

Lord Roux looked as though he would like nothing better than to get out of the room. "Um, sir…the country is without a government."

"And the father is without a son to care for him! Should not the country be chastened, complaining after having looked upon my sorrows?"

"I…indeed, your majesty, I apologise. Good day to you, sir." Lord Roux turned, and practically fled out of the room.

"Heartache? That is not heartache," Lord Roux said, once they were outside again. "He is mad."

"I am loathe to call him mad," Eugene said. "I hope he will recover. Although I hope you understand now, my lord, why I would ask that you…dissemble, somewhat. I do not wish my father's condition to become widely known."

"He is not feet to carry out the duties of the King. A regency-"

"Cannot be promulgated without a government to steer it through the chamber in any event, but that is not what I want."

"Even if I did agree with you, what then? Will you chair meetings of the council, write laws, sign them?"

"I hope my father will recover soon, within weeks if not days. Until then…can you not keep the business of government tiding over until that time?"

"And if His Majesty does not recover?"

"Then…" Eugene sighed. "Then another regency will be necessary; I suppose it will be unavoidable. But until then…"

"Until then," Lord Roux murmured. He looked hesitated for a moment, undecided. But then he placed his hat upon his head and offered his hand. "Until then, your highness, I will endeavour to form a government."

Princess Frederica sipped her tea. "So, Prince Eugene, how are you coping in your wife's absence?"

Eugene smiled. "I…I doubt that Cinderella would approve of the way that I've chosen to approach the task."

Frederica chuckled. "Your highness, surely you're not admitting to having done anything immoral?"

"Immoral? No," Eugene said. "Though I will say…not always righteous."

Frederica shrugged. "I have often thought that righteousness is only necessary in the aim, not the means."

"I'm not sure Cinderella would agree with you."

"She might not want to agree with me, but what was handing over Hispaniola to Normandie but righteousness in the aim through unrighteous means?"

Eugene was silent for a moment. He was not seeing Frederica in the royal study but rather in one of the many sitting rooms, with a pot of tea and a plate of buttered scones lying on the table between them. So far neither of them had eaten a great deal.

"We have not yet reached the point of abandoning our people, I hope," he said after a moment. "Has there been any word from your father about our proposal."

Frederica nibbled on a scone, delaying her reply. "None," she said, eventually. "And I must say that I think it is as likely that it is deliberate tardiness as indecision."

"Meaning?"

"You must admit, Prince Eugene, that recent events do not – are not – giving the impression of the greatest stability in Armorique at present. The various unwise decisions by your father and now his seclusion, the flight of Cinderella-"

"Cinderella has not fled anywhere," Eugene said sharply. "I thought you were more intelligent than to believe what you read in the lowest sections of the press."

"I'm glad to hear it," Frederica said softly. "If I thought that she was being abused then as her friend I might have to take steps."

Eugene raised his eyebrows, but Frederica's expression admitted nothing. Eugene shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His relationship with the Norman princess was…he didn't know what their relationship was to be perfectly honest. At one point she had hoped to marry him, or at least her father had hoped to marry his daughter to him; at another point he had suspected her of trying to have Cinderella killed; now she and his wife were friends and yet…she was a princess of Normandie first and foremost, and he did not forget that.

And yet she just threatened me, so she must care for Cinderella in truth, at least a little.

The thought gladdened him, in spite of the manner in which he had discovered it.

"You were talking about the stability of Armorique," he said. "I can assure you that, whatever might have happened, it is all in the past now. Things will be perfectly stable from here on."

"So you say, but it is still very early days," Frederica replied. "My father may well think that he has nothing to lose from waiting on events for a while longer."

"I see," Eugene muttered. "So you are telling me to expect no reply from Caen for some little time yet?"

"Not until you are proven right and things are stable," Frederica said. "Speaking of which, how is the King?"

"Sick at heart."

"I see, and where did you bury the mistress?"

Eugene's eyes bulged as he nearly choked on his tea. How in God's name does she know about that? They had buried Grace hastily in the garden, and planted rosebushes over her so she could not be found, but they had done it in the dead of night using only men that they trusted absolutely. So how had Frederica discovered the fact? Eugene coughed once, twice, to clear his throat. "Princess Frederica, I don't know what you have-"

"Prince Eugene, if you want to lie to the country that is your prerogative," Frederica said. "If you want to lie to me then I can lie to my father with a clear conscience. But I am not a fool and I am not some naïve ingénue. I know what goes on in the bedchambers of the mighty."

Eugene suppressed a shudder at the thought of what it must have been like for her growing up in the court of Normandie. "Is that why you found it so easy to believe that I might be hurting Cinderella so much she would have to fly to the countryside to escape my clutches?"

"Adultery, cruelty, the murder of mistresses; these are the ways of princes."

"Not my ways," Eugene said. "And not here. If I may say, Princess, you don't know as much as you think about what goes on in the bedchambers here. I should hope that Cinderella has given you no cause to accuse me like this."

Frederica chuckled. "Indeed not, her love for you is most evident…but malice may hide its villainy for a passing while, and a false face of kindness may engender love even from the wisest."

"I assure you that she really has retired to the country for her health."

Frederica nodded. "I will believe you, and when she returns the truth will out in one way or another. Thank you for the tea, Prince Eugene, I'm sorry that I couldn't be of more help."

"It cannot be helped," Eugene said. "Goodbye, Princess; Cinderella is fortunate to have you as a friend."

Frederica smiled. "The good fortune, Prince Eugene, is all mine."

Anne cleared her throat. "Henry, darling?"

Henry didn't look up at her. He continued to devour his steak with great gusto.

Anne waited a moment to see if he would respond. She ate a little of her own dinner.

They had no guests for dinner tonight, and the children did not eat with them. The younger ones made too much noise, their father could not abide it; Anne thought that Charles was old enough – and mature enough – to comport himself at his father's table with sufficient good manners, even if Helene and Louis were not, but Henry insisted, and so Charles ate in his room while the younger children were fed in the nursery.

As a result, only Anne and Henry were at the dinner table and they could talk – she hoped – without being overheard.

Except that Henry gave no sign that he had heard her speak.

Anne cleared her throat again. "Henry-"

"Yes, yes, I am not deaf," he said sharply. "What is it?"

Anne restrained the sigh she felt building up inside her. "I have had a thought."

Henry made a scoffing sound. "Indeed. What have you thought about?"

"The princess," Anne said. "And what might be done about her."

Henry snorted. "It is a pity that my uncle the King could not beat her into insensibility, or kick her in the belly like Caligula."

"Nero," Anne said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"It was Nero who kicked his pregnant wife, Poppaea, in the belly," Anne said. "Both Poppaea and the child died."

"Nero, Caligula, what is the difference between tyrants."

"Do you believe it?" Anne asked. "Do you think that His Majesty does strike her?" For herself, she would hate to believe it. She didn't really want to believe that the princess for whom she felt such mingled envy and admiration, the princess who had managed to escape the bounds placed upon their sex and find a refuge not only of love but of appreciation too, was nothing more than another woman after all: put-upon, abused, ploughed. She had thought, looking at Cinderella, that it was possible to be more and in so thinking Anne had indulged the fantasy that Helene might find such happiness of her own one day. Now it seemed that that had been nothing more than a fairytale, and it saddened her to think that her own marriage might be as good as it could ever be for women like them.

"I think she deserves to be beaten, and worse," Henry said. "Whether it actually happens…I thought them too soft to do such things."

"I'm glad you didn't try and intercept her on the way to the Summer Palace," Anne murmured. Henry had revived the idea of playing highwayman, and once again Anne had had to talk him out of it – gently, of course – for the sake of the children. "I…I have an idea of how this could be resolved without violence, and without the danger that would come from discovery of a violent plot. What I have in mind would not be treason, but it would get the throne, for our children if not for you."

Henry looked up at her. "I confess I am intrigued despite myself."

"There is no need to attack the princess or her child," Anne said. "All you need to do is attack the marriage."

Author's Note: I've been fortunate to see a couple of very good productions of King Lear recently, including one at the Globe last year, and the King's madness was very heavily influenced by that play because I just think it's brilliant.

I went back and forth for a bit on whether to have the Henry and Anne scene, because I don't want to reveal exactly what Anne's plan is yet until Cinderella finds out, but I decided that it was important to show that she's still around.