A Problem Solved

Dinner was over, and Eugene had escorted Cinderella back to her room.

The Queen's Tower was quiet; Philippe had been put to bed even before Cinderella had gone down to dinner, and when Cinderella and Eugene stopped in the nursery they found that Isabelle and Annabelle were both sleeping peacefully in their cradle.

They stood over the crib, Cinderella resting her lithe fingers gently upon the edge of it, looking down upon their slumbering babes.

"I want to pick them up and kiss them goodnight," Cinderella whispered. "But I am afraid to wake them. Annabelle would struggle to get back to sleep."

Eugene smiled at her across the cradle. "You've already kissed them goodnight," he reminded her.

"I know," Cinderella said softly, ever so softly, so as not to wake the girls. "But I want to do it again." She looked down at them once more, their eyes closed, their little hands clutching at the blankets that covered them. "Every time I look at them, I… I can hardly believe it."

"Believe what?" Eugene asked, being almost as quiet as Cinderella was.

"That they came out of me," Cinderella replied. "How could I… how could we make this?"

Eugene reached out, and took one of her hands in his own. "It is a miracle," he admitted. He fell silent for a moment, and looked away from Cinderella and the children both. "God's greatest gift to us."

Annabelle let out a slight noise, and stirred, her arms waving, so that for a moment Cinderella thought that she would wake, and braced herself for her to start crying…but she did not. She did not wake. Though she had stirred, she had not stirred to wakefulness. It was only something in her dreams that had moved her, but it had not woken her. She rolled over onto her side, her dark hair – she had her father's hair, even as Isabelle possessed the golden hair that Cinderella herself had been endowed with in her youth – falling across her rosy cheek.

Cinderella felt herself letting out a sigh of relief. She loved her daughters, but the struggle to get Annabelle back to sleep again… it was not something she was sorry to have avoided.

Eugene smiled, and by his smile Cinderella could tell that he was holding in a chuckle. "We should probably go," he said, "before we do wake them up."

That was probably wise advice, and yet Cinderella bent down just a little over the crib, her regal curls falling around her face. "Goodnight, my darlings," she whispered, and touched the fingers of her free hand to her lips, and with it blew them both a mother's kiss.

Only then did she straighten up, and with Eugene still holding her hand, allow him to lead her out of the nursery and back out onto the landing of the staircase.

"Will you join me for the Children's Hour tomorrow?" Cinderella asked. Eugene did not join her all the time, but he was not completely absent from the lives of his daughters. She sometimes thought that Isabelle and Annabelle preferred their father's singing to their mother's, although Eugene denied it.

Eugene thought for a moment. "I will," he declared. "For more than an hour, if I can manage it."

"I'm so glad," Cinderella said, a smile appearing on her face and lighting up her eyes. "The girls will love it."

"I'm not sure the girls are old enough to realise," Eugene said softly.

"I think they know," Cinderella insisted. "They can tell, even as young as they are."

"Do you have any memories of so young an age?" Eugene asked.

"Well… no," Cinderella admitted. "But I'm still sure that they know that you are their father, and they know when you are there and when you aren't." She paused. "Will you play with Philippe as well?"

Cinderella was a little disappointed that Eugene hesitated. "Please, Eugene," she said, clasping her hands together over her heart. "It will mean so much to him, I know it well."

Eugene sighed. "When you look at me like that, how can I refuse?"

"Wonderful!" Cinderella cried, before covering her mouth with one hand, remembering that it was only a door that stood between them and their sleeping girls. "That's wonderful," she repeated. "Philippe really will love it." She chuckled. "Although you may have to play the wicked black knight."

Eugene smiled. "Is that who you would play if I weren't there?"

"No," Cinderella replied, smiling up at him. "I play the princess, in need of rescue from the tower." She took a step back and twirled in place on the landing, spreading her arms out on either side of her as her skirt and petticoat billowed out around her.

"Then shouldn't I be the one to rescue you?" Eugene asked.

"You have to settle for having done that in real life," Cinderella said, returning to him, placing her hands upon his arm. "Thank you," she whispered, and stood up on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

"You don't need to thank me for something that I ought to be doing already," Eugene told her. "Now, shall we?" he offered her his arm.

Cinderella slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and put her other hand upon his elbow. "Yes," she murmured.

He had told her that she had no need to thank him, and perhaps he was right, but she was grateful nonetheless; she was grateful because, for all that it was disappointing that he needed to think before spending time with his son, nevertheless he was spending time with him – or would, at least, tomorrow – and Cinderella had hope that this would continue. He would enjoy himself, she was sure, and that enjoyment would keep him coming back day after day, until Philippe had forgotten that his father was ever distant from him.

And in the meantime… good things bred hope in her. It had been a pleasant evening, and Eugene had just given her some wonderful news, and as they climbed the last set of stairs to her suite at the top of the Queen's Tower Cinderella had hope that tonight would be the night, the first night since Isabelle and Annabelle were born, when he would ask if he could come inside, and spend the night with her.

But as she stepped inside the doorway, and turned to him, Eugene made no move to follow. Instead, he put his hand upon her cheek, brushing aside her curls, and bent down to kiss her.

It was a wonderful kiss. It was a kiss to make her melt into his embrace, it was a kiss to leave her breathless. A kiss that left her wanting more.

And yet there was no more to come. Eugene bowed to her, and took her hand, and kissed that in turn. "Goodnight," he said, so softly and so sweetly, but it would have been sweeter of him by far to come inside.

He turned to go, but Cinderella reached out with both hands to grab his arm by the wrist.

"Eugene!" she blurted out.

He turned back towards her. "Yes? Is everything alright?"

No, she wanted to say, everything is not alright. She wanted to say it, but at the same time… she didn't know how. Why don't you want to share my bed anymore? Would that be too bold, or too boorish? Was there some sensitive way of broaching the subject that she knew not of? How was she supposed to say it?

And did she really want to know the answer? She wanted Eugene, she wanted him in her bed, she wanted him in her, but… but what if she asked the question and received the answer that he no longer found her as beautiful as she had been, that she had put on too much weight in pregnancy, that her breasts had swollen too much, that she was no longer as desirable to him as she had been.

What if he no longer wished to love her as he had?

Would she really want to know that? Would that really be better than her present uncertainty?

Could it possibly be worse?

Cinderella had no idea what to do, and even less idea of what to say, and so she let go of his arm, and let her hands fall before her. "Nothing," she said softly. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Eugene repeated, and turned away, and this time Cinderella did not reach for him or call out after him. She simply watched as he descended the stairs, away from her.

A sigh escaped from Cinderella's lips, and she turned inside and closed the door into her suite of rooms.

She would need to ring for Duchamp to help her get undressed for bed, to undo her hair out of his updo and curls, to take off her jewellery and put it away, to clean the makeup off her face.

She would need to ring for Duchamp, but not yet. Not quite yet. She could take a moment to herself.

Cinderella picked up her gown with both hands, holding the blue tulle between her forefinger and thumb as she lifted the hem up out of the way of her feet, and walked across the wooden floor, across the ornately woven Persian carpet, and across the tigerskin that sat in front of the dressing table.

It was a pity to let this one thing, this thing that was by no means unique – it had happened every night, after all – spoil the good news from only a little earlier in the night. Eugene was doing something good for Philippe, she shouldn't complain too much that he wasn't doing something equally good for her as well.

She ought not to think about it. She ought to focus on the good instead. She was good at that. It had kept her going through those years in her stepmother's house. Eugene was going to join her to play with the children. Eugene was going to join her to play with Philippe. Tomorrow was going to be lovely, and they would all have so much fun.

Tomorrow was another day, and the new day would bring new hope.

She might even think of a way to persuade the people to open their hearts to the Aquitainian refugees.

It occurred to Cinderella that if they could only meet them, learn their stories, see them as people instead of a problem then… then maybe…

There was a knock on the door.

Cinderella turned towards it. "Who is it?" she called.

"It's me," Eugene answered from the other side. "May I come in?"

"Uh, of course," Cinderella said, after a moment's hesitation.

The door open and Eugene strode in, barely breaking his stride to shut the door behind him as she crossed the room towards her. He reached out, and took her hands in his own. "I'm sorry," he said, as he squeezed her hands. "But I can't just leave things like that. Clearly there is something wrong, though I can't for the life of me guess what it is; in the nursery, with the girls, everything seemed so… Cinderella, what's going on?"

Cinderella looked up at him, up into his eyes. "You… you came back," she murmured.

He smiled. "Improvement may come slowly," he admitted. "But I'd like to think that I can improve. Now come, what's the matter? Why… what's going on?"

Cinderella turned her face downwards. "I… it…"

Eugene cupped her face with his fingers, and tilted her chin upwards until she was looking at him again. "Please," he implored, "tell me."

Still Cinderella hesitated, for a moment, and then a moment more. Eugene stood there, his fingers on her chin, his thumb upon her cheek, looking down at her, silent, expectant. He really did mean to wait until she spoke to him, though she made him wait ever so long, all night if need be.

She would have to speak, despite her fears; and it occurred to Cinderella that if she did speak then perhaps… perhaps it would turn out that there was nothing to be afraid of after all.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "But…"

"Do you have anything to be sorry about?" Eugene asked.

"I don't know," Cinderella replied. "Is it something I've done or haven't done?"

"Cinderella," Eugene said, "I don't understand."

"I'd hoped that you would come in tonight," Cinderella explained, the words tumbling out of her. "After you agreed to spend the day, or part of the day, with the children tomorrow, and then when you kissed me I… thought that perhaps tonight would be the night, the first night after… we haven't spent the night together since the girls were born," she finally stated the point as baldly as it was possible to state it. "You haven't… you haven't loved me since before that-"

"The doctors said it wasn't good-"

"For the children, yes, I know, and just having you beside me was wonderful," Cinderella said. "But I am not with child any more and I don't even have you beside me. I… I don't understand. I've tried so hard to lose all the weight that I put on when I was pregnant and Duchamp tells me that I've got my figure back and I can fit into all of my old gowns and dresses again and I don't understand! Do you… do you not-"

"Don't say that," Eugene said, cutting her off. "Don't… do you really believe that? Can you even consider that? That giving me children would make me love you less?" He let go of her hand, and his fingers fell from her chin as he turned away from her. "I… I love you," he declared, resting one hand upon one of the wooden posts of Cinderella's bed. "I have loved you since the moment I set eyes on you, I love you more each day you show how right I was to make you my princess and my wife, I will always love you-"

"Then why won't you love me?" Cinderella demanded.

Eugene was silent for a moment. "Is it… is it not obvious?" he asked, his voice soft, and quiet.

"Not to me," Cinderella whispered.

"I told you once my children kill," Eugene reminded her. "You… you didn't listen to me then, you didn't take me seriously, but I was right. Philippe killed his mother. Isabelle and Annabelle nearly killed you-"

"But they didn't."

"They would have if it were not for a miracle, and how can we depend on those?" Eugene asked. "What if your Fairy Godmother decides that she has had enough, that you are responsible for your own folly?" He frowned. "I… you are the heart of this family, do you realise that?"

Cinderella frowned. "I'm just-"

"Everything," Eugene said, his voice turning hoarse. "Father dotes on you, and while I understand that you cannot be easy around him as you were nevertheless… it pains him, the distance between you. Philippe adores you, you said yourself, he calls you mother, the only mother he has ever known, and I… I sent my son away because I could hardly stand to look at him but you… you have made us a family, Cinderella, to the extent that we are one. I need you. I need you but I almost lost you to the birthing bed-"

"But you didn't lose me," Cinderella insisted. "I'm here. I'm here and I want you." She paused. "I want you and I… I want more children."

"Even still?" Eugene asked incredulously. "Are the three you have not enough?"

Cinderella smiled. "I'm afraid not," she replied. "I don't want another right away, but… at some point, when Isabelle and Annabelle are a little older… and even if that were not so, even if that were enough, I don't want to spend the rest of my life sleeping alone. Do you?"

"Well, not really," Eugene muttered. "But if I must become a monk for your sake-"

"How can it be for my sake when I am asking you not to?" Cinderella asked. She took a step towards him. "Eugene, I… I love that you love me so but… please, trust me. Trust me to know what I want, and what is best for myself."

Eugene looked away from her, and did not reply. He tapped his hand against the bed post. "You look… beautiful," he murmured.

Cinderella smiled. "I aim to please," she whispered.

Again Eugene took a moment to respond. "May I… may I stay the night?"

Cinderella's smile widened. "I was hoping you would."

Improvement might come slowly, but it came.