Once More Unto the Breach
Eugene sat by his father's bedside, his father's hand clasped in his own.
His father had slept all of the day past, his rantings and his ravings, his madness and his anger and his sorrow all subsided into sleep. He no longer called out for Vanessa, he no longer cursed Eugene or Cinderella, he just lay, with his eyes closed, slumbering as best as anyone could tell. Better than he had slept since this vile business began. Passion had made him fitful and restless in the past, but now he slept quietly and calmly. Perhaps it was a fool's hope, but Eugene hoped nevertheless that when his father woke he would be cured of his affliction.
Then it will remain only to bind up the wounds she dealt you, if they can be bound. Would it be possible? Could the nation's new impression of his father as an old goat at best and a violent brute at worst ever be erased? Could Cinderella ever come to trust her father-in-law again, let alone love him? Could Grace's damage ever be undone?
She won. She may have paid with her life, but she won. What she did to us will linger on for years like a stinking, infected injury.
But if his father would only wake and be himself again then it would be a start. It would not be a resolution but it would be a start.
As if Eugene's thoughts cried out, and in so crying out disturbed the slumber of the King, his father began to stir. His eyes flickered open and he began, with grunting of effort, to sit up in bed.
"Father?" Eugene asked, clasping the old man's hand a little tighter. "Your majesty? How...are you feeling?"
Father blinked, and looked around him in amazed confusion. "I...I am too tired for one who has slept so long as I have."
"You have slept many hours, but-"
"Hours?" his father said. "No. No, not hours alone. I wake as if from a dream of many weeks duration...or do I sleep still, and dream on yet?"
"No," Eugene said. "No, you are awake."
"Would I could be sure," Father murmured. "Would that I could be as sure that I had dreamed away all the while before, for I am very much afraid that it was no dream at all."
Eugene looked down, and his face was transformed into a kind of scowl or cringe of pain. Would that he could let his father believe it was a dream...but that was an illusion that would not endure a moment's contact with the wider world. "I fear your fears are quite correct."
His father closed his eyes a moment, before he looked upon Eugene as if for the first time. "I...I know your face, and if I am sane again I think you are my son, Eugene."
"I am, Father," Eugene declared. "I am your son, and-"
"And foolish fond," Father said. "You...as I remember now, I have done you great wrong, and greater still to your dear Cinderella; you and your wife have cause to hate me."
"No," Eugene said emphatically. "No cause, and never hate."
Father looked down. "You are very kind, to turn the other cheek against my fury. Where...where is Cinderella? I would apologise, if she will hear me."
"Cinderella isn't here, Father. She's gone to the Summer Palace these three weeks past," Eugene said.
"Fled in terror of me?"
"Retired for her health," Eugene corrected him. "Recent events have wearied her beyond endurance."
"And the child?"
"The children are well, last I heard," Eugene said, with a slight smile upon his face.
"The children?"
"She bears twins," Eugene said. It was a prospect he found both exhilaratingly delightful and terrifying at the same time. Delightful because they would have two children if all went well, and terrifying because of the greater risk involved to Cinderella and to the children. If all did not go well, if something went wrong...how easy would it be for Cinderella to be lost to him?
I won't let that happen. Cinderella knows to take care of herself, and so does everyone around her.
"Twins?" Father murmured. He gave a little chuckle of delight. "Twins, praise God." He frowned. "Where is Vanessa? I...I did so much for her and yet now...now when I think of her I feel only revulsion."
"She is gone," Eugene said. "She will never trouble you or any of us again I guarantee it, but…best not mention the revulsion too often. The world believes you have been heartbroken for her these past weeks."
"Heartbroken?"
"We have a lot to talk about, if you are well enough to do so."
"I..." Father sighed. "I have so much to think about. So much time that I have lost and must account. Leave me be, I'll send for you when I am feeling more rested."
Eugene got to his feet. "Of course. I...it's wonderful to have you back, Father."
He turned at the sound of feet running up the stairs towards them, and had just started towards the door when Etienne Gerard burst in.
"Forgive the intrusion, your highness," he said, before he noticed Eugene's father sitting up in bed. "Your majesty, are you well?"
"I am well enough to realise how sick I was, general," the King murmured. "What brings you here so urgently."
"Trouble, I'm afraid," Etienne said. He brandished a newspaper in front of him as he advanced into the room. "I think you're both going to want to read this."
After her ladies had, with some reluctance, given her the newspaper, Cinderella found that she had to read it twice in order to grasp what the Duke of Cornouaille was advocating for. Once she understood, she also understood the reactions of her ladies-in-waiting to the plan.
What the Duke wanted, and what he was using an open letter that had been given the front page of the Daily Post to argue for, was that her marriage to Eugene was so obviously and inherently unequal, that the difference between their stations was so unbridgeably vast, and Cinderella so unworthy of the crown by virtue of her low estate that her marriage should be regarded as a morganatic one, depriving her and any children she might have of any claim on Eugene's titles, estates and property. That, claimed the Duke, ought always to have been the status of their union and the fact that Eugene had been able to wed Cinderella equally was 'a black mark against the courage of the entire nation that did not dare refuse a prince his most egregious folly'. To bolster his case, the Duke of Cornouaille made great play of Vanessa, proof both that no good came from permissiveness in romantic entanglements between royals and commoners, and that the senior line of the royal family had by their own folly abrogated their right have their wishes respected. It was time, apparently, for the nation as a whole to look to its best interests and sever the diseased branch of its royal family from the vine before the rot could spread.
The duke did not mention that his branch of the royal family stood next in seniority, but Cinderella remembered it nonetheless.
Cinderella set the paper down on her lap and looked around the room, where her ladies-in-waiting sat all around her. "This can't be possible," Cinderella cried. "I mean, Eugene and I have been married for almost a year, surely no one can just say that doesn't count."
"If you had married without the consent of the King then His Majesty could annul the union no matter how long lasting it was," Christine said. "Longevity, I fear, is no defence."
"But Eugene and I had the King's consent, enthusiastically," Cinderella said.
"Indeed, your highness," Christine said. "That may be why the legality of the marriage itself is not called into question."
"The legality of the marriage isn't being called into question because it doesn't suit the duke to call it into question," Augustina growled. "He doesn't want to annul Prince Eugene's marriage in case he married another woman-"
"Augustina!"
"Clearly he wouldn't treat you that way," Augustina said quickly. "But the risk that he might...it suits the Duke much more to trap Prince Eugene in a marriage that voids any claim his heirs might have upon the crown; in such a way he and his children would become Prince Eugene's heirs."
"But can it be done?" Cinderella asked. "It sounds absurd. We married equally, Eugene and I, and I became his princess. I have been a princess ever since and no one has questioned that. I've governed Armorique as Princess Regent. That must mean something."
Augustina folded her hands together in her lap. "I've never heard of anything like this being done before-"
"But just because something has never been done before does not mean that it cannot be done, your highness," Christine said. "I fear that it is not prohibited."
"In ordinary circumstances I'm sure that this would be seen for the self-serving move that it is," Augustina said. "But...these are not normal circumstances. Your unpopularity abated somewhat in the face of Vanessa's odiousness but you are not well liked among the court. Combine that with the damage to the prestige of the King caused by Vanessa and...I'm sorry, but I can see this idea catching on with many people."
"But Cinderella is loved by more people than dislike her," Marinette said. "Many more. And anyway, wouldn't it need the King to present a law to the Chamber stripping Cinderella of her rights?"
"I suspect that's what all the stuff about His Majesty having discredited himself is for," Augustina observed. "If asked to clarify His Grace would probably say something about a regency council to handle affairs in place of an incapable sovereign."
Cinderella's brow furrowed. "So...what you're telling me is that it could be done to us, whether we want it or not?"
"With sufficient support, I'm afraid so," Augustina murmured.
"Can it be stopped?"
"Surely the first question is do you want to stop it," Angelique said.
Marinette, Augustina and Christine all looked at her in astonishment.
"Angelique!" Marinette hissed.
"You ask for honesty," Angelique said, gesturing at Cinderella with one hand. "And so the honest question is 'would this be such a terrible thing if it came to pass'? It's better than what Serena had planned for you."
"That's not a fantastic recommendation," Marinette murmured.
Angelique cringed. "Bad choice of words. What I mean is...nobody's proposing to take your marriage away. You'd still be Prince Eugene's wife, you just wouldn't be a princess, and...sometimes it seems to me that that tiara brings you more trouble than it's worth. Murder attempts, jealous rivals, everything that made you so tired that you had to come here to get away from it all. I know this fellow isn't doing it to help you, I know he's only doing it to help himself but what he's suggesting...you'd still be married to the man you love, you'd still have your children, your home in the palace, your jewels and dresses; you might even still have us if we wanted to stay with you." Angelique paused for a moment, and she licked her lips uncertainly. "I'm not telling you that you ought to give up I'm just saying...before you decide that this is a terrible thing you want to avoid, think about it. You're only here because being a princess has gotten to you; you have the chance to throw that away. Keep the good for none of the bad."
Cinderella was silent for a while. What Angeliqe had said might horrify her other ladies - judging by the expressions which they wore - but there was force and sense in what she said. Why was she here, after all, if not because the strain had threatened to become unbearable for her. She had told Eugene herself that she was weary of being the princess and wished to be Cinderell again for a little while. If the Duke Henry got his way then she would be Cinderella again for the rest of her life. And she would still have her loving husband, the promise of her children, her stepson, her friends and her fine things. She would have all of that without having to worry that those who smiled to her face turned those smiles to snarls the moment her back was turned; she would no longer incur the envy of those who could not brook the humiliation of curtsying to a scullery maid; she wouldn't have to watch her every step and word for fear of what kind of message it sent; she wouldn't be observed at all times, nor have her actions poured over for evidence of scandal or wrongdoing.
She wouldn't have to think or speak or concern herself with anything beyond her own family.
She couldn't, even if she wanted to.
"They want to take my voice away," Cinderella murmured.
"Your highness?" Christine asked.
"They want to take away my voice and silence me," Cinderella said. "As the princess of Armorique...I can speak and be heard, but as Eugene's wife...my voice will be lost."
She would become what they had always wanted her to be: a doll, to be seen and not heard, Eugene's pretty wife to hang from his arm at balls and galas. Would they return to the state their marriage had been in in its early days, she and Eugene, in which he was so preoccupied by his duties - duties in which she could not assist him - that they barely saw each other? Would she be confined to her lofty tower like Rapunzel and only descend upon extraordinary occasion? It was all very well to say, as Angelique did, that she would be better off if she let them take her crown away, but the more that Cinderella thought about it the more - and she did not censure Angelique for her opinion, she said what she believed and did so without malice as she always had - the more she thought it was not so. It seemed so, certainly, at first; but to give up her crown was not just to give up the source of her many troubles, nor even to give up the source of her power but to give up her dignity to give up what had become a part of herself. She had not been a princess for very long - her first wedding anniversary was still a few days away - but to be a princess had become a part of her.
She was not just Eugene's wife; she was his princess and being his princess she had become his partner, his confidante, his fellow councillor. Would his morganatic wife have a place on so august a body as the Privy Council? Cinderella doubted it. She would languish in silence, like a book abandoned on a dusty shelf, her cover fading while her words, as fresh as on the day of printing, languished unread, unthought of.
Jean had asked himself what Cinderella would do if she came into lands and wealth. What would he say if the answer to that question turned out to be that she would abandon all responsibility and care unfought in exchange for a peaceful but ultimately unfulfilling life?
And, to be perfectly honest, it galled her. Ever since Eugene had knelt before her and asked for her hand in marriage people had been talking about her the way that the Duke wrote about her in the Daily Post: unequal, unworthy, unfit. It had distressed her, upset her, reduced her to tears, put her at her wits end and now it was starting to annoy her just a little.
All the more so because she no longer believed it.
Cinderella let out a chuckle.
Marinette frowned. "Cinderella...I'm not sure what's funny about this."
Cinderella sighed. "Nothing, Marinette, really; it's just...I was thinking about how, when Eugene and I first became engaged I probably would have agreed with everyone that an unequal marriage was the best that I deserved, that I should consider myself lucky to be Eugene's wife never mind trying to become his princess as well. None of you knew me in those earliest days but I was so scared."
"Scared, your highness," Christine said. "Scared of what?"
"Scared that Eugene would realise what a terrible mistake he'd made deciding to marry a simple, stupid girl like a me, a servant, someone...someone who had nothing at all to offer him. Even after we were married I still worried that he'd come to his senses and see me for what I really was."
"He did," Angelique said.
Cinderella laughed. "Well, thank you Angelique, that's a lovely compliment; and I might even believe that now. Certainly, now...I don't believe that an unequal marriage is the best that I deserve. I love Eugene but I don't believe that he's so much better than I am that I should be satisfied with his left hand. I don't believe that I should give up on my dreams, on who I am, just because some duke tells me to. I'm not unequal, and I won't be told that I am, not by anybody, not anymore."
"Bravo, your highness," Christine declared.
"So you intend to resist this then?" Augustina asked.
"If I can," Cinderella said.
"And if Prince Eugene agrees," Christine said.
"He will," Cinderella said. "I'm his princess as I'm his wife, and Eugene will fight for me, if I ask him too."
"Are you sure?" Angelique asked. "I mean, I know that you...I watched you work yourself down to the bone for this country and its people once before, I found you collapsed in your room from exhaustion because you were trying to push yourself through illness for duty; and you weren't carrying two children then. I don't...is it really worth what this fight could take out of you? You could give it all up, live the easy life."
"You mean the life where everyone will be free to treat Cinderella as badly as they always wanted to, since she has no royal title to protect her?" Marinette asked.
Angelique blinked. She snorted. "What kind of a world are we coming to when you're more cynical than I am?"
Marinette looked down. "I just think...if my father taught me one thing it's that you only see how people really feel about you, how much they actually care about you, when you've lost everything. In his case, in the case of my family, it turned out what everyone really felt was indifference. I'm worried it might be worse for Cinderella."
Angelique frowned. "Maybe," she conceded. "I'm just worried that...sometimes I think you think you owe this country your body and soul and you don't."
"Perhaps not," Cinderella said. "But there's also the question of what I owe myself."
Angelique stared at her for a moment, and then she smiled. "Well, if this is what you want then I'll be right behind you just like always."
Cinderella smiled back. "I'm glad. I couldn't do this without you, Angelique."
"Now who's flattering who?"
Cinderella covered her mouth as she laughed. "Still, the question remains, what can I do? How...how can this be stopped?"
"It's a battle of opinion," Augustina said. "This won't happen without overwhelming support. The entire Establishment will need to come together to demand this in order to impose it on you. You and Prince Eugene just need to win hearts faster than His Grace can."
"So simple, but probably so complicated at the same time," Cinderella said. "Marinette, will you please make the arrangements for us to leave tomorrow? We're going home."
"I'll start at once," Marinette said.
Eugene's fist struck the wall. "This is absurd! They can't possibly do this!"
"They have no legal means to compel you, that's true," Etienne said. "But they can make life pretty untenable if they all choose."
"They?"
"The Establishment," Etienne clarified.
Eugene's scowl deepened. They had repaired from his father's bedchamber because Father needed his rest more than he needed to see Eugene get angry about the latest underhanded plot to attack Cinderella.
An overturned table and a broken vase nearby testified to how upset he was.
"On the bright side," Etienne continued. "At least nobody's actually trying to kill her this time. Or you, for that matter."
Eugene glared at him. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Doesn't it?" Etienne replied. "At least she's in no physical danger."
"Not particularly," Eugene said, in a voice as cold as ice. "I'm afraid it's hard to see the positive side when all you can see is red at this dirty, despicable, utterly unjustified...how dare he! How bloody dare he! You know he's only doing this because he'll be king when I am gone if he succeeds."
"Obviously," Etienne said. "But the question that you need to ask is...does that matter? After all, you'll be dead."
Eugene glared at him with such force that Etienne retreated back a step. "Here me out," he said. "For just a moment."
Eugene took a deep breath which failed to bring him any calm whatsoever. "Go on, but be quick about it."
"You fell in love with Cinderella when she was nothing at all-"
"Cinderella was never nothing."
"You know what I'm saying," Etienne insisted. "You fell in love with her when she was just a girl, you married her when she was just a girl, why does she need to be a princess now?"
"Because she's my wife now, and she deserves to be my real wife, my equal wife with no qualifications or second bests or consolation prizes to appease the snobs who have never liked or appreciated her!" Eugene snapped. "And because...because morganatic marriages are awful for the bride. Do you know Prince Adam of the Franche-Comte?"
"Not personally," Etienne replied. "But I know of the Franche-Comte. Despite its small size its prince is one of the Imperial electors."
"He married morganatically, the rules for equal marriages in the Empire are cast-iron and he'd fallen in love with a village girl...a pretty thing but I can't recall her name," Eugene said. "I attended their wedding, do you know where they sat at the wedding feast?"
Etienne blinked. "I'm guessing the answer isn't as obvious as 'together'?"
"He was at the head of the table, the Emperor hadn't bothered to grace the marriage," Eugene explained. "And she was more than halfway down the table, far closer to the bottom than the top, separated from him by every royal guest and every titled relative and every...she looked so uncomfortable. I don't remember her name but I remember the way she looked. I don't doubt they loved one another but...I won't put Cinderella through that, I won't let her be treated that way."
"Don't you think you ought to ask her what she wants first?"
"You can't possibly think that Cinderella will want this?" Eugene demanded incredulously.
"She left because the strain had gotten too much for her," Etienne replied. "This...your cousin deserves many foul epithets but he's offering her a way out from that."
"And at what cost?" Eugene demanded. "To Cinderella...to me?" He sighed. "It's selfish, but...not having her around these last few weeks has brought home to me how much I've come to rely on her. She's not just my lover any more, she's my partner. I'm not sure if I could do this without her. She has so much to offer this country still."
Etienne was silent, and as still as stone. "You do realise that if you fight this, if you dig your heels in over it...you could lose more than Cinderella's crown."
"The thought had occurred to me," Eugene said. He turned away from Etienne and leaned against the wall. "But I'd rather give up my own rights than meekly surrender Cinderella's without a fight."
Etienne said nothing.
"You disagree," Eugene said.
"I didn't say that."
"Your silence spoke eloquently on your behalf; you think I'm making the wrong decision."
Etienne shifted uncomfortably. "I...oh, who am I to talk to you about this, I turned down a title from Cinderella rather than put Lucrecia in this kind of position. But I'm sure some non-royal duchy would be found for her, it's not as if she'd be a mere Madame. You say that she'd be badly treated but let's face it, she already is."
"Things can always get worse."
"Perhaps," Etienne said. "The truth is...I'm worried that you can't win this. Neither of you are popular enough with the right people to muster the support to block this."
"And Henry is?"
"People don't have to like him," Etienne replied. "They just have to dislike Cinderella."
Eugene's face twitched with irritation. If he had had his cousin in front of him right now he would have quite cheerfully strangled him. "Why does everyone have to treat her this way? Why do so many have to hate her when Cinderella is so easy to love? Tell me honestly, do you think it would be a good thing for this country if Cinderella were to be stripped of her rights and claims upon my titles."
"Honestly? I think it would be a minor tragedy," Etienne said. "She may not have noble blood but she has a nobler heart and mind than most of the actual nobles."
"Then why are you trying to talk me into this?"
"Because I don't want to see you both get hurt," Etienne declared. "Because I don't want to see you forced to sign away your own place in the line of succession as well as Cinderella's rights, because surrender is less humiliating than defeat in certain circumstances...and because I don't see how you can win. I just...I don't see a way. Too many are against you."
"They can't all have made up their minds already," Eugene said. "There must be some way that they can be persuaded, if only to oppose Henry's power grab. There has to be." He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "I'll talk to my father, and I'll write to Cinderella, but unless she tells me that she wants this I intend to fight for her rights."
"Steep odds."
"Too steep for you?"
Etienne snorted. "Since I can't talk you out of this fool thing I suppose I'll have to follow right behind you. Do you have a plan?"
"Not yet, I'm afraid," Eugene said. "I have a few ideas, but nothing firm. I know what I need to do - make us popular - but that...that's easier said than done."
Frederica set the newspaper gently down in front of her. Retroactively morganatic marriage. Who would have imagined? It was unheard of, in her experience, but then she supposed that - since morganatic marriages could be retroactively declared equal within the bounds of house law, consent of the sovereign and such things - there was no logical reason it couldn't work the other way.
That didn't mean that she was in favour of the idea.
What fools these people are. It was a thought that had crossed Frederica's mind more than once as she had observed the hostility of the Armorican court towards, quite frankly, one of the best princesses they could have gotten or where ever likely to get. Yet still they were determined to bring her down, like a ravenous pack of dogs.
"Anton," Frederica murmured. "Do we have anyone in the household of the Duke of Cornouaille?"
Her faithful retainer bowed his head. "I fear not, highness; they were not here when we arrived and there seemed little need after."
"Quite," Frederica said. "But there is some need now so see to it, will you? The more highly placed the better, of course." Suborning servants to confess the secrets of their master to you in exchange for money was one of the best and most reliable ways of getting inside information, not least because most servants were paid so badly that they would readily accept any approaches made their way, but the quality of information obtained could vary tremendously. A cook, for example, was too far removed from the goings on of the master of the house to offer more than rumour and gossip passed down from other servants, whereas a gentleman's valet could tell you everything about his master if you could get to him.
On the other hand, of course, there were risks involved in reaching too high. A gentleman's valet - or a lady's maid - might feel more personal loyalty to their master or mistress than a more lowly servant, and either refuse the offer or worse reveal the game. It was for that reason that, when Frederica had decided that she wanted a pair of eyes in Cinderella's chambers - it wasn't that she didn't trust Cinderella when she said that there was nothing to worry about, it was just that Frederica found trust alone insufficient medicine to mitigate her concerns - she had recruited the chamber maid Penny rather than Cinderella lady's maid Duchamp; the risk that the latter's loyalty might be to Cinderella made it unwise even to approach her.
But Anton knew what he was doing; she trusted him to strike the right balance when it came to the household of the Duke and Duchess.
Cinderella probably wouldn't approve, anymore than she would approve of Frederica spying on her for Cinderella's own good; but what Cinderella didn't know wouldn't hurt her, or their friendship.
Morganatic marriage. Frederica was of the opinion that if this was allowed to happen it would be a disaster not only for the ungrateful nation of Armorique but also - and more importantly - for Cinderella herself. Morganatic marriage was something about which the only positive thing that Frederica could say was that it was better than a flat refusal of permission or inability to marry 'beneath your station' at all; by every other measure, however, it was an appalling thing which frequently led to an appalling life for the bride (and it almost always was the bride in these situations). She wondered if Prince Eugene recalled Prince Adam of the Franche-Comte, and his wedding to a certain Mademoiselle Belle, a girl of no particular family from one of the villages nearby his seat. When Frederica's father discovered she had attended the wedding he had let her know that he was displeased with her, but Frederica had been feeling rather down after Toulon and had hoped that a wedding party might lift her spirits. What it had done was match her own self-pity with pity for the poor girl who was forced to spend her own wedding feast seated on the other side of the room from her husband, surrounded by ghastly people who weren't even making an effort to conceal their contempt for her, by the strict observance of royal protocol.
Frederica remembered how the young lady had attempted to shrug off the discomfort and discourtesy. She had always been an outcast, so she claimed, she was used to being seen and treated differently. She was in love, and she would be loved and understood and appreciated in this place once all the guests were gone. Maybe that was true, for the girl's sake Frederica hoped so, but if so...it suggested what Frederica had already been inclined to believe, that in order to survive a morganatic marriage you needed to have a thick skin and a carefree lack of concern for the opinions of other people. Cinderella didn't have either of those things. She was getting better at learning when not to care what other people thought about you, but she still cared and she could still be hurt by the scorn of others. She wasn't the sort of girl who could be content to hide in the sanctuary of her palace, where the knowledge that one man recognised her for the treasure she was outweighed the fact that the rest of the world could not perceive her worth. She would hate to be placed in such an invidious position: neither fish or fowl, condemned to a life of having backs turned upon her and doors slammed in her face. It would be unbearable for her.
I will save her from it, if I can.
If I can.
If anyone can.
Author's Note: I'm not sure, contra Frederica, that a scheme like the one Anne has come up with would actually work in real life; but you know, this is a fanfiction set in a mostly made-up country about a girl whose fairy godmother made her a dress that turned to sparkles at midnight.
I kind of like this plot line because it doesn't involve anyone trying to murder anyone else; there's nothing wrong with violent plots but because Cinderella isn't a violent character they tend to leave her a bit of a damsel in distress. This plot will play to more of her strengths, or at least allow her to be more of an actor in it.
Plus, I have to admit, that a lot of this springs out of the fact that I find the idea of morganatic marriages quite fascinating. I almost wish I'd started the Rose and the Crown with an attempt to force Cinderella and Eugene to have one, but I'm not going to go back and re-write that story for the third time.
A few chapters ago Cinderella sounded a lot more sympathetic to the idea of morganatic marriage than she does now; I admit that is partly because since then I've done a little more reading on it and come to realise how awfully the women who had to make do with such marriages got treated by their new in laws.
Lastly, what did you think of the Beauty and the Beast reference? I'm considering an actual crossover story once this one is over so I'd like to know your thoughts as readers.