III

Why Me

Cinderella's hands tightened around her apron as the carriage carried her through the streets of Nantes towards the glittering spires of the palace.

She could feel the Grand Duke's carriage bumping over the cobbles of the road, apparently enchantment had done a great deal to make her previous carriage-ride go so much more smoothly. She could hear the horses trotting along in front of them. But she heard them without paying attention, for all Cinderella's thoughts were turned inward, towards herself.

At first, when they had left the chateau that had been her home before it became her prison behind, Cinderella had been barely able to conceal her excitement. It had taken a great store of self-control to keep from smiling, from laughing, from singing even. But with every turn of the carriage wheels that carried them closer to the palace, the more doubts overtook Cinderella's thoughts, until it was now taking all her effort not to display her nerves by shaking.

It did not help that a silence had settled between His Grace and herself. The duke had asked her a few questions, when the ride had begun: her name, her age, her birthday; but the questions appeared to have stopped now. There was nothing to distract Cinderella from her fears, from her concerns.

What would happen to her if she was turned away?

When she had felt a touch upon her hand at the ball and had turned, startled, to see who it was...she had stared into a pair of beautiful brown eyes, and as this strange gentleman had bowed to Cinderella had felt her worries melting away. When he had taken her hand in his grasp and kissed it she had felt joy blossoming inside her. When they had danced, with his hand upon her waist, she had trembled with delight.

And when she had heard that that man, who had been so handsome, so gallant, so kind, the man who had for some span of four hours become for her the entire world, had been so taken with her in turn that he desired her hand in marriage, Cinderella had become so lost in happiness that she had lost all her wits and betrayed herself and her secret to her stepmother.

And yet he was a prince. The prince, in fact.

And she was Cinderella. She had been born to a gentleman, but she had no money, no land, no title. She came from no great house who would promote her fortunes. She had no alliances to bring, swords to place at the feet of the throne. She was simply Cinderella, with a horse and a dog and a passel of faithful mice to stand as her supporters.

The last time she had walked into the palace she had been clad in a gown of white and silver, with glittering earrings covering her ears and a hairband of white silk on her head, wearing glass slippers on her feet. Now she wore a torn apron, a dusty skirt and a well-worn blouse, with black working slippers on her feet and her hair hanging loose down to her shoulders, without even a ribbon in it.

The prince had fallen for a highborn maid in silks and petticoats. Would he not the think it cruellest joke when she stood revealed to him as a scullion in threadbare rags?

If the King were to say to her, 'Begone! You are not fit consort for my son, to be his wife and bear his children.' Cinderella would not blame him.

If the Prince were to say to her, 'Who are you? You are not the maid I fell with whom I fell in love. Go.' Cinderella would not be surprised.

That did not mean she was particularly anxious for the humiliation, or for the unenviable choices that would confront her. She had no desire to go back to her Stepmother's house, to the mockery of Anastasia and Drusilla. But where else could she go? She had no friends who would take her in, she could sew but she had no formal training in it...she would be reduced to tramping from manor to manor, seeing if anyone had a position open for a maid; even then, her Stepmother was unlikely to give her a good reference.

Cinderella suddenly realised that His Grace had spoken and she had ignored him. "Forgive me, Your Grace, I am afraid I did not hear." She hoped he did not think too ill of her unforgivable rudeness.

The Grand Duke smiled. "I was saying, my dear, that it is not mere loyalty or flattery which leads me to name His Highness Prince Eugene as the foremost gentleman in Gallia, nor to say that, despite his unrestrained demeanour, His Majesty is in many respects a most excellent judge of character."

His smile was kindly, and Cinderella read into his eyes that he had sensed her fears and was trying to reassure her. The King, he seemed to say, would see beyond her straitened circumstances, and Prince Eugene beyond her tattered clothes.

Cinderella very much hoped that that would turn out to be the case, but she could not give herself to hope completely, not yet. Her hopes had been dashed too often for her to put all her weight upon them so easily.

"You are a very astute observer, Your Grace," Cinderella murmured.

"I have had little choice but to become one, my dear, living as I have," the Grand Duke replied.

Not too long after, the Ducal carriage passed through the palace gates - which closed behind them - and stopped near the front steps. The Duke dismounted first, and held out his hand to help Cinderella down.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Cinderella said softly as she stepped down onto the gravel path. The palace towered above her, the marble spires rising upwards into the clouds so steeply she could scarce see the top. Before her, the steps lead into the great gaping mouth of the palace itself. Strange, that it should see more imposing in the daylight than at night. Or was it simply that she felt herself to be less than she had been.

"Come, my dear," the Grand Duke said. "I shall escort you to His Highness."

Cinderella took his proffered arm. "Please, Your Grace, you must call me Cinderella."

"Indeed," the Grand Duke said. "Such a pretty name, if I may say."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Cinderella allowed His Grace to lead her up the steps, her delicate footfalls making no sound at all upon the crimson carpet, and into the palace itself. The corridor was guarded, as it had been last night, by a long row of soldiers in blue jackets and white crossbelts, with tall red plumes in their shakoes and pikes gripped in their gloved hands. Last night they had seemed to stare at her in amazement and admiration. Now it seemed to Cinderella that they were looking at her with contempt. She kept her face to the front, keeping her expression fixed with a stillness that these cold soldiers might have been proud of, and allowed the Grand Duke to lead her past their ranks.

He led her, not up the staircase towards the grand ballroom, but through a side door not far from the stairs, and from there through a confusing labyrinth of corridors that Cinderella soon stopped trying to remember. She found herself comforted somewhat by the fact that, although she was undoubtedly to be taken before him straight away, she was not going to be presented before the gaze of the entire court. It seemed that she was to have a private audience.

Cinderella felt her heart beating faster with every step she took. It was not that he was a prince, although to have been presented to a prince would undoubtedly have been course enough for nerves. But she had not known he was a prince last night, when the sight of his eyes was enough to calm her anxiety and make her aflutter with excitement, when the feel of his hand in hers had been enough to tell her this was right, when sheer joy of dancing with him, of walking with him, of being with him had been sufficient to rob her of all sense of time. All of that was what was making her both nervous and excited at the same time as the Grand Duke led her back to him.

Cinderella was not well acquainted with men. In fact, she could not say that she had really known a man since her father died. Her Stepmother had sent her into town, and she had exchanged pleasantries and the occasional kind word with the shopkeepers; she knew that the green grocer was worried by how delicate his wife's health seemed, she knew that the butcher disapproved of his sister's beau because he was a cavalryman, she knew that the candle-maker's son had won a scholarship to a public school. But these were mere acquaintances, such as one might have with someone they passed regularly on the street, she would not call it knowing. Occasionally a man would stop her in the street and ask her to join him for a drink or some such, but Cinderella had always refused, lest her reputation suffer and shackle her forever to her Stepmother and stepsisters even more securely than she was already. She did not know men; so how could she tell if she loved this man? She felt...something, but was it love? Cinderella had no idea, she had never felt anything with which to compare this feeling. She thought it was love, it had felt like love at the time, she had sung of love...but was it? She hoped it was, if only because the Prince clearly thought that it was.

Whatever it was, it was something, and if it was not love it was something almost as precious, for Cinderella had never felt so happy as in those few hours.

Yet what if, when he saw her, the Prince did not agree. What if his feelings, conjured in the night, melted away under the harsh light of day?

What if she did love him, but he no longer felt the same?

The Grand Duke stopped before a white door, gripping the brass handle lightly. "I am afraid that I must leave you here, my dear."

Cinderella took a deep breath and composed herself, fighting down the emotions swelling and swirling in her breast. "His Highness is..."

"Yes," the Grand Duke said. "Good luck, Cinderella."

Cinderella curtsied. "You have been very kind, Your Grace."

His Grace smiled fondly, and opened the door.

Cinderella lowered her eyes, keeping them fixed on the floor as she stepped through the open doorway. Only when she heard the door close behind her did she look up.

And there he stood.

He was nearly exactly as she remembered him. A little more rumpled-looking perhaps, a little more tired, but there was no doubt that this man - the prince of Armorique - was the same man who had kissed her hand, who had taken her in his arms, who had stolen her heart away in the span of a single night. She had only to look into his eyes to know the truth.

Cinderella did not look long. Humility would become her, in the circumstances, and she did not wish to disconcert the prince by staring at him too long. So she lowered her eyes, bowed her head a little, and curtsied.

"Your Highness," she murmured.

Inside, her soul was singing. It was he! He truly was the Prince! She was the girl he had been seeking! She would be free!

Provided he was not dismayed by her homely dress, her lack of wealth, her poverty.

The moments flew by. The room was silent as a mausoleum. The Prince said nothing.

Cinderella felt her mouth begin to dry. She waiting, looking down at her feet in their common black slippers, waiting for him to speak, either to summon her - though that seemed unlikely now - or to dismiss her from his presence.

He said nothing.

Cinderella closed her eyes, and hoped that her dismay did not show too much on her face. It was too much to hope that it would not show at all. So. After the talk of love, it had all come to nothing after all. It was her gown and slippers, her glimmering hairband and her long gloves, her borrowed air of elegance and sophistication that he had loved, not her.

Of course it was. He had not even known her name, nor she his. How could she have imagined that he would desire such as she, would choose to turn his back on the princesses and ladies who desired him and sweep a scullion to a better life. Foolish girl, had not her Stepmother's rule taught her that life was not a song?

She would not go back. Cinderella swore that to herself. She would go anywhere else, but she would not go back to her Stepmother's house. Anywhere, even to sleep on the street with the sky as her blanket, would be better than facing the humiliation of returning to that place, rejected and empty-handed, to laughed at by her stepsisters, to see the cruel, triumphant smile upon her Stepmother's face. She would rather die, at this point.

But she would have to go somewhere, for she could stay here no longer.

Would she live, after this...for love had fled, would hope fly with it? Perhaps not, but she would love no other now, she knew that for sure. At the very least she would not love like this, so purely and so strongly. Anything else would be as a candle to the sun.

Yet it would be candles, for the sun did not want her. And why should he, when he had the stars clamouring to be his consort? All she could now was spare His Highness the embarrassment of having to dismiss her, to tell her that a terrible mistake had been made, that he did not wish to take her as his bride.

Cinderella curtsied once again. "I apologise, Your Highness, for the mistake. And for my presumption. I beg your pardon." She turned to go, one hand reaching for the door.

The Prince hummed. Specifically he hummed the first bar of the waltz that had been playing when they had begun to dance.

Cinderella stopped, half turned away from the prince and half towards the door. Upon her right was poverty and shame, rejection and dismissal; upon her left was acceptance, desire, love, happiness. She closed her eyes, and hummed the next bar.

"So this is what makes life divine," the Prince whispered.

Cinderella turned her face towards him, at last looking him in those beautiful brown eyes. "I'm all aglow." She hummed a little more. "And now I know."

"And now I know," the Prince whispered. "It is you." He crossed the distance between them in three quick strides and took her hands gently in his own. "My lady." He raised her right hand, and kissed it as he had the night before.

Cinderella smiled, even as she looked away in embarrassment. "I fear I have a confession to make, Your Highness. As you can see from my dress, I am no lady. I am only a poor maid named Cinderella, and I no more have a title to adorn my name then I have diamonds to adorn my neck or pearls to deck my hair."

The Prince smiled. "Your hair needs no peals to shine bright. Your neck needs no diamonds to be fair. And your name needs no titles to be lovely, and lovelier than the word itself."

"Your Highness is too kind," Cinderella murmured.

"Though I have titles to adorn my name, in multitude," the Prince said. "Still they are only adornments, and not the name itself. My name is Eugene, and I would be honoured for you to use it, my lady."

Cinderella's eyebrow rose. "You would be Eugene to me, but you would have me be your lady?"

"If you will," Eugene said, with amusement in his voice. "Will you walk with me, my...Cinderella?"

"I will," Cinderella said, allowing Eugene to take her arm in his, and lead her out into the palace and into the spacious gardens.

"I hope you will not think it untoward," Eugene said nervously. "If I ask you-"

"How I can look like this today, when I looked as I did last night?" Cinderella said.

Eugene nodded. "You must admit that it may seem confusing."

Cinderella looked away. "I am afraid that it must remain confusing for a little. I'm afraid..." I'm afraid you would think me mad if I told you it was all the work of magic. "Do you trust me, Eugene?"

He looked into her eyes. "I do."

"Then trust me, and remain confused for a little while, if you will," Cinderella said. "Can you?"

Eugene bowed. "I can."

Cinderella smiled. "I think, that when you learn the truth, it will also answer the other question I think you want to ask."

"Will it?" Eugene said with a laugh. "And what is my second question?"

"Why did I leave?" Cinderella said.

Eugene snorted. "Am I so obvious or are you so astute?"

"The question is obvious, I think," Cinderella said.

"I was afraid the answer would be that I had driven you away," Eugene confessed.

"Driven me away?" Cinderella said, chuckling. "With what, pray? Your hideous looks?"

"My poor manners?" Eugene said.

"You were a perfect gentleman," Cinderella said.

"A perfect gentleman would not have grabbed you by the arm to prevent you going," Eugene said.

"Very well then," Cinderella said. "An almost perfect gentleman."

Eugene laughed. "You have a clever tongue, Cinderella."

"You are too kind," Cinderella said. "Eugene, I know I have not answered your questions, but nevertheless, may I ask one in turn?"

"Of course." Eugene smiled. "Though I may give as cryptic a response as you have given me."

Cinderella snorted. "That would be only fair, and I can hardly complain. Why me? Out of all the girls at the ball, why did you ask me to dance with you?"

"Why did you say yes?" Eugene replied. "You did not know who I was, but you took a stranger's arm and spent all night with him. I could as easily turn your question upon you."

"You could, if I had not asked first," Cinderella said.

Eugene was very still, as still as any of the statues that decorated the gardens. When he spoke, his voice was soft, and quiet, as if he feared that what he spoke might be heard. "Because you did not know me. Because something about you drew my eye. Because you are beautiful. Because...who can know what fate intends? Because you are you. It sounds absurd but there it is; there is no one thing about you that I can point to and say that that is what I love, because I love you all."

He dropped to one knee. "And I will love, if you will allow it, for all the days that we shall live from this day forth. Cinderella, will you let me care for you when you are sick, protect you when you are in danger, lift you up when you are sunk in misery? Will you live with me and be mine as I am yours?" He reached into his pocket, and produced a band of gold, topped with a diamond of brilliant cut, flanked by a pair of sapphires. "Will you be my queen, my princess, my bride?"

Cinderella's smile was dazzling as a tear of joy pricked at the corner of her eye. "With all my heart, I will."