So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  She was barely listening to Charles’s speech until she heard the words:

  “This is the woman I have chosen to marry, Father.”

  At that, she perked up. A merry smile replaced the king’s grim expression, and the prince held up the glass slipper she had left behind for all to see. It sparkled, catching the lights of the chandeliers, and Pierre brought a cushioned stool for Cinderella to sit on so that she could try the slipper before all the guests. But before she could sit, a woman’s voice, low and malicious, rang out from the assembly:

  “The prince cannot marry her!”

  The music stopped abruptly, punctuated by the screech of a violin bow careening off the strings.

  Cinderella felt her back go rigid. Even without turning to look over her shoulder, she knew who had spoken. A hush came over the crowd, whispers buzzing.

  “Guards, restrain her!” ordered one of the king’s ministers.

  At her side, Charles tensed, but the prince prodded Cinderella forward, urging her not to glance behind them and to continue walking toward his father. But she couldn’t. Her legs were wooden, the blood in her veins ice. Besides, she didn’t need to turn around. She knew exactly who had spoken, and it was time she faced her.

  Turning on her heel, Cinderella rushed back into the ballroom to confront her stepmother.

  “The prince cannot marry her!” Lady Tremaine repeated vehemently. She bowed low before the king. “Please, Your Majesty, listen to what I have to say.”

  “This is an outrage!” exclaimed the king. “My lady, you do us all a disservice with this spectacle. I will not hear any more. Guards, take this woman away.”

  “Sire,” the Grand Duke spoke, “perhaps we should give the lady a chance to explain herself.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” said Lady Tremaine. “Cinderella was under my care for many years.”

  Ferdinand frowned. “So she is your daughter?”

  “No, she’s a servant. A nobody.”

  “I’m not a nobody,” Cinderella said firmly. If her stepmother thought she would remain meek and silent as she had while under her care, she was wrong. Cinderella had changed, and she refused to let this woman ruin her dreams once again.

  A sneer touched Lady Tremaine’s mouth. “That is true—you’re not a nobody. You’re a thief.” Without warning, she snatched Cinderella’s necklace. “Ask her where she got these beads. They’re my daughter’s.”

  “No! They’re—”

  “And the glass slipper, and the dress. They were stolen. A girl like her could never have afforded such fine clothes. Why else did I dismiss her from my home? She’s a thief and a liar!”

  “No!” Cinderella exclaimed. “That isn’t true.”

  “Then—how did you get this?” Lady Tremaine held up the green beads. “And the glass slippers? And the gown you wore? You have no friends, no family, no money.”

  “Yes, child,” repeated the duke. “How did you get them?”

  Cinderella was at a loss for words. Fearing for Lenore’s safety, she couldn’t very well reveal that it’d been her enchantments that had given her the dress and the glass slippers. Not when magic was forbidden in Aurelais.

  “It doesn’t matter.” The prince’s tone was cool, his dark brown eyes focused coldly on Cinderella’s stepmother. “Lady Tremaine, you disrupt the happy occasion of my father meeting my future wife. Where Cinderella procured her garments is of no concern to you. As of tonight, she is no longer under your guardianship, and I would ask that you apologize to her for your accusations.”

  “Apologize?” Lady Tremaine spluttered.

  “Yes, then kindly leave. My guards will escort you and your daughters out.”

  Anastasia and Drizella tugged on their mother’s sleeves. “Mother! Do something, Mother.”

  Lady Tremaine gawked at the prince. “Your Highness,” she began, “I’m merely trying to save you from making a terrible mistake. I’ve known Cinderella ever since she was a child. She is a manipulative, horrible little—”

  “That is not true!” Cinderella cried again. Taking a breath to calm herself, she explained, “For nine years after my father died, I did all that my stepmother asked. I would never steal from her, or lie to her. She was the only family I had left, and I treated her and her daughters with respect.”

  “Even when Lady Tremaine made her a servant in her own father’s home,” added Charles, loud enough for all to hear.

  A gasp came over the assembly, and Lady Tremaine whirled to deny the prince’s accusation. “Her father placed her under my care—”

  “My lady,” interrupted the Grand Duke, his tone suddenly harsher than it’d been earlier. “I distinctly recall that when I visited your manor with the glass slipper, you said you only had two daughters. Where was Cinderella?”

  Cinderella glanced at the duke, surprised he was taking her side.

  Before them, Lady Tremaine pursed her lips into a thin line. “Come now, Your Grace, there must be a mistake. You cannot truly believe this—”

  “There are records,” Ferdinand interjected. “Your Highness, if you’d like to see—I have proof that Lady Tremaine has flagrantly disobeyed the king’s proclamation to bring forth every eligible maiden in her household.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” said the prince, raising a hand. “Guards, escort Lady Tremaine and her daughters from the palace. Come tomorrow morning, they are to leave Aurelais and never return.”

  Anastasia’s and Drizella’s faces went ashen, and they glanced nervously at the disapproving crowd around them. Their looks were met with narrowed eyes and lips curled in contempt.

  A chord of pity struck Cinderella as she remembered how Lenore and her kind had been similarly exiled from Aurelais. She placed a hand on the prince’s arm. “Don’t banish them. They’ve been humiliated enough as it is. For me, please.”

  At her touch, Charles’s expression softened, and he turned to her stepmother and stepsisters sternly. “By the grace of our future princess, you and your daughters may remain in Aurelais, but you are never to set foot in this court ever again.”

  “Guards!” called Ferdinand, motioning for them to resume escorting Cinderella’s stepmother and stepsisters away, but Lady Tremaine raised her chin.

  “My girls and I will see ourselves out,” she declared to the guards, motioning for them to step aside. She lifted her skirts, and her daughters mimicked her, all three gathering their pride.

  “Wait.”

  Cinderella barely recognized her own voice. She sounded strong, firm—nothing like the girl she’d once been.

  “Stepmother. Anastasia. Drizella.”

  They halted in their step, turning slowly to face her. Cinderella caught her breath, not at all surprised by Lady Tremaine’s upturned nose and lifted chin. She used to fear that expression, used to fear displeasing her stepmother.

  She no longer had that fear.

  The crowds had gone silent, but even if they hadn’t, Cinderella wouldn’t have noticed the dozens of onlookers in the chamber. A strange sense of calm had flooded her; the words she was about to say were ones she’d never dared before, but she’d dreamed of them for years. No longer would they be fantasy.

  “I wish we could have been a family,” she said, her voice strong yet quiet. “Ever since my father married you, it’s what I wished for most. Instead, you neglected me, you made me serve you, and then you tried to sell me.” She paused. “But I’m not angry with you.”

  Now she had Lady Tremaine’s attention.

  “I thought I would be,” Cinderella admitted. “I was. But then I realized that it would only make me unhappy. And after being unhappy in your house for so long, I would never choose to feel that way again. I’ve accepted we aren’t a family, and that we never will be. I’ve also accepted that I cannot forget those years that you were cruel to me.”

  The height of Lady Tremaine’s chin wilted ever so slightly. She wouldn’t look at Cinderella, but her stepsisters lowered their eyes, shame tingeing their ch
eeks.

  “I forgive you, Stepmother, Anastasia, Drizella. I am not angry with you; if anything, I pity you. You can’t know happiness if your life is built around resentment. For your sakes, I hope your hearts change.”

  There. That was all she wished to say, and a soft murmur swelled across the room. Their heads bowed, her stepmother and stepsisters hurried out of the palace, and Charles returned to her side. As conversation resumed among the court, the Grand Duke slithered toward Cinderella and the prince.

  “Come now, Your Highness, you ought to take a moment for the unrest from this unfortunate debacle to settle down before you introduce your bride to His Majesty.”

  Cinderella barely paid attention as the duke led the couple away from the ballroom and toward an anteroom blocked off by velvet curtains.

  All her years with Lady Tremaine had come to an end, and she was free—for good. She’d never have to see the woman ever again if she didn’t wish to. Cinderella sank onto one of the cushioned chairs, glad she had a moment to collect herself before going back out to meet the king.

  “Are you all right?” said the prince, sitting beside her.

  A mess of emotions tugged at Cinderella’s thoughts—sadness, relief, pity. She wasn’t sure how to sort them out yet, but one thing she was sure of was her love for Charles, and she managed a smile for him. “Thank you for letting her stay.”

  “Anything for you,” said Charles. “Though I have to say, she’s terrible, even more than you let on.”

  “Indeed,” cut in the Grand Duke, reminding them both that he was there. Cinderella jumped in her chair.

  “That was very elegantly done, Your Highness,” Ferdinand said. “Imagine, the nerve of making a maid out of her own stepdaughter! Best to expel such ruffians from the future princess.”

  “Yes,” replied the prince stiffly. “And thank you for your help, Ferdinand.”

  “It is my pleasure. I vividly recall visiting the Tremaine household.” He shuddered. “Who would have thought there was such a lovely maiden there?” He smiled widely at Cinderella. “Rest here now, and I will ensure that Pierre has retrieved the glass slipper for safekeeping. Allow me also to see to it that order in the ballroom has been restored, and then I will escort you both to His Majesty.”

  “It’s unlike Ferdinand to be so helpful,” murmured the prince when the duke had left. Charles stroked his chin. “The Tremaine household was on his list of homes to visit. I wonder why he couldn’t find you.”

  “He couldn’t find me because I was hidden away,” said Cinderella softly. “My stepmother locked me in my room when he came to our estate with the glass slipper. I shattered the one I kept so my stepsisters couldn’t use it to get you to marry one of them.” She swallowed. Her mouth was dry, her chest still tight from the encounter with Lady Tremaine and her stepsisters. “Your father doesn’t think I’m a thief, does he? I didn’t steal the glass slippers—”

  “I know that,” replied Charles. “My father will understand once I explain it to him.”

  “But will you ask him about my fairy god—”

  “Ahem,” interrupted the Grand Duke from the doorway. He really had a knack for catching people unaware, and Cinderella wondered how much of their conversation he had heard. “Your father wishes to see you.”

  Charles sent her an apologetic look. “I’ll tell Father everything, then send for you.”

  “Go,” said Cinderella to the prince. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  But as soon as the prince left with the Grand Duke, royal guards appeared out of nowhere, wearing dark and menacing glares.

  Cinderella tensed, her thoughts sharpening with fear. They weren’t the same men who often accompanied Prince Charles; Pierre wasn’t among them. Cinderella was about to remark on it when one of the guards addressed her with a bow:

  “For your safety, milady, we’ve come to escort you from the ball.”

  “From the ball?” Cinderella repeated. “I’m waiting for the prince. He’s gone to see his father.”

  “Orders.” The guard pushed her toward a side door that she’d never taken before.

  “This way,” he said gruffly, leading her into a dim, narrow hallway.

  They’re walking too fast, she thought, panicking. “I think I should wait for Charles.” When she tried to turn back, the guards grabbed her shoulders.

  “Wh-wh-where are we going?” she asked, her voice thick with apprehension.

  “The Grand Duke will explain. He wishes to have a private word with you.”

  Cinderella frowned. “I thought he was with the prince.”

  The guard eyed her, but instead of responding, he tightened his grip on her shoulders and nudged her to walk faster. The music from the ballroom had grown so faint she couldn’t even hear it anymore.

  She bit her lip, unable to shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The windows seemed to be getting smaller, and the halls shorter. They’d made so many turns that she’d lost track of where they were in the palace.

  She held her chin high. Whatever the Grand Duke meant to tell her, however he meant to humiliate her and taunt her that she wasn’t good enough to become a princess, he wouldn’t be able to change her mind about marrying Charles.

  “The Grand Duke will see you here,” said the guard, gesturing inside the room.

  Someone closed the door behind her with a thud. Cinderella glanced back, but none of the guards had accompanied her inside, leaving her alone . . . with the Grand Duke.

  A chill settled over her. The room she’d entered was sparsely furnished, with a square wooden table and two velvet-upholstered chairs that seemed out of place amidst the starkness of their surroundings. In the center of it all, framed by two tall candles and comfortably wreathed in shadow, sat the duke.

  “My child,” he said in greeting. Ferdinand set down his pen and folded in half the paper on which he had been writing. “Have a seat. I must apologize for taking you away from the ball tonight, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

  Cinderella glanced at the offered seat. “I’d prefer to remain standing, thank you.”

  “Very well, very well.”

  “You didn’t take Charles to see the king,” she said flatly. “You lied, didn’t you?”

  The duke took out his monocle and twirled the chain around his finger. Then he clasped it and curled his fist tight.

  “My child,” he repeated, “it is my misfortune to be the conveyor of bad news, but it is my duty to see to the future of this kingdom. You see, a nation is a fragile thing, and in these times . . .” He let his voice drift.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I am afraid there is no delicate way of putting this, but it has come to my attention that you have cast some dark and ancient enchantment upon His Royal Highness, our noble and beloved Prince Charles Maximilian Alexander, to make him fall in love with you.”

  Cinderella’s hand shot to her mouth. “That’s a lie. I—”

  “Young lady, you may not have been aware of this, but magic is prohibited in Aurelais, and all magical persons are banished and expressly forbidden from practicing their craft. As such, your use of enchantment, and particularly upon a member of the royal family, is an act of high treason. Without further ado, you are under arrest.”

  The three guards that had brought her to meet the Grand Duke returned, this time with thick ropes slung over their shoulders.

  Cinderella’s eyes widened with alarm. She started for the door, but it was futile. The guards surrounded her. One muffled her mouth with a cloth, and the other two tied her wrists behind her back.

  “A moment,” said the duke, his voice cutting through her muffled cries.

  Cinderella caught her breath. Maybe this was all a mistake.

  But as the Grand Duke turned to address her, her heart sank. There was a gleam in his eye that suggested otherwise.

  “Don’t look at me like that, my dear,” he said. “I wish it didn’t have to be so. But the crown
prince of Aurelais cannot marry a servant. Order would be disrupted, and centuries of tradition and propriety would be upended. It simply wouldn’t do. You will come to understand in time.”

  It sounded like he was speaking more to himself than to her.

  “I gather from your encounter with Lady Tremaine that you have not had an easy life,” the duke went on, schooling his features into an expression that resembled sympathy. “I am not without pity, my child, and I certainly am not without reason. I am prepared to offer you a generous deal.”

  At the flick of his wrist, the guard closest to her pulled her toward the table and yanked off her gag and bindings.

  Ferdinand touched his finger to his lips, warning her not to scream. “Listen to what I have to say first: I’d like you to pen a note to Prince Charles, informing him that you have had second thoughts about marrying him, and that you never loved him.”

  “Never.” Cinderella squirmed, trying to escape the guard’s hold, but he was too strong. “He wouldn’t believe it even if I did.”

  “Young lady, you have known the prince for but a few days. I have known him all his life.” The duke pushed a pen into her hands, but she flung it away. The guard tightened his hold on her shoulders.

  “In exchange,” he continued, ignoring her, “I will see to it that you are provided for. I will arrange for a generous estate in the southern region of Aurelais to be gifted to you, with a healthy annual reparation of ten thousand aurels. Surely, that would be more than enough to appease a young lady of your . . . upbringing.”

  “No amount of money or jewels or land will make me change my mind. I don’t care about any of that.” Cinderella shook her head. “Go ahead and send me away. Charles will never stop looking for me.”

  “Oh, young love,” said Ferdinand, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I take it you refuse my generous proposal?” He sighed. “Then we must move on to my alternative plan.”

  Ferdinand seized Cinderella’s hand, and the guards held her firm so he could remove the ring that Charles had given her.