Cinderella Is Dead

by Kalynn Bayron

  “The men you see before you are some of the most upstanding members of our community,” says the king.

  “I doubt that very much,” I say under my breath.

  “They have journeyed from near and far to see what the young ladies of Lille have to offer, and I must admit, gathered here tonight are some of the loveliest faces I’ve ever seen.” He pauses and cocks his head to the side. “Except you.” The king narrows his eyes and raises a long slender finger, pointing it directly at someone. Anger flashes across his face, and for a moment he appears gaunt, pained. I blink several times and look to the girls on either side of me. Surely they’d seen it too, but their expressions remain unchanged.

  “You there. Step forward,” the king commands.

  A guard passes behind our line and pushes one of the girls forward. She stumbles into the open space at the bottom of the platform.

  Liv.

  “Your—Your Majesty,” she sputters. She curtsies and then stands, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist.

  Erin’s breathing becomes frantic, and I take a half step forward.

  “I see so many beautiful gowns, beautiful faces. And then I see you.” The king glares at her. “Were you not aware that this is a formal event?”

  The men on the platform laugh, and so do many of the other girls. Luke is silent, staring ahead. My heart races as I take another step forward. The king’s lips curl into a hideous smile.

  “My—my parents, they couldn’t afford—” Liv starts.

  “Excuses are for the weak,” the king says. “The ball was obviously not a priority.” He takes stock of her again, his face twisting into a mask of disgust. “Do your parents care that now, looking as you do, you will not be picked by one of these fine gentlemen?”

  Liv sobs. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness. I’d hoped a fairy godmother would see fit to visit me.”

  The king descends the steps to stand in front of her. Just behind my shoulder a hulking guard looms over me.

  “Get back in your place,” he says, just above a whisper. I hesitate. He doesn’t look at me as he speaks and seems much more concerned with what the king is doing. I slowly step back into line.

  “You are indeed sorry,” says the king. “You didn’t earn a visit from a fairy godmother. Didn’t you consult the book? Didn’t you do as Cinderella would have done?” His tone is taunting, sarcastic, cruel.

  No one makes a sound. Even the men on the platform quiet themselves.

  “I did, Your Highness,” Liv says, her voice choked with what I can only imagine is some combination of fear and dread. “I study the book every day. I have worked my fingers to the bone in service to my father, to my king—”

  “And here you are,” says King Manford. “Disgracing us both.” He walks around Liv like an animal circling its prey. My stomach turns over. He touches the fabric of her dress, running his hand over the seams of her sleeve. He stands in front of her again. “Did you make this dress yourself, or did you find it in the gutter somewhere?”

  Nervous laughter erupts from the men on the platform. None of the girls laugh this time. It could easily have been any one of us standing up there.

  “I made it,” says Liv. “I—I didn’t have a choice.”

  “There are always choices. They may not be ones you like, but there are always choices. You could have worked harder, couldn’t you? Your parents could have sold something. You could have gone out to work in Hanover. They are always on the lookout for talented young women like yourself.”

  Girls who voluntarily go to Hanover instead of attending a second or third ball must get a pass from the king himself, and many of them never return.

  “Alas,” the king sighs. “You chose to wear this abomination to my ball. A terrible choice. But …” He leans in so his face is almost touching Liv’s. “Now that I look a bit closer, I can see that you are quite lovely.” He reaches out to pull her hair through his fingers, sighs, and gazes past her. “While your beauty surpasses some of the other faces here, I simply cannot allow you to come dressed like that. What will people say? They’ll think I’ve lowered my standards, and that, my dear, simply will not do.” The king nods to a nearby guard, who steps forward and loops his arm under Liv’s.

  “Wait!” she screams as the guard drags her toward the side door. “Please—I’m sorry!”

  The king claps his hands twice as he ascends to his throne. A barrage of men in white coats and matching toques blanches come in, pushing carts with silver platters piled high with succulent hors d’oeuvres. The band starts to play a chipper melody.

  “Let the festivities begin!” says the king.

  The crowd disperses as the men descend from their platform to mingle with the girls. I’m frozen. I can’t breathe. I pull at the corset, but it won’t budge. Looking across the room, I gauge the distance to the door to see if I can make a run for it, but there are too many guards.

  I watch the king surveying the room as he sits atop his golden chair. He runs his long, thin fingers over his chin. Suddenly he stands and his servants scramble behind him as he descends the platform and disappears through the door where the guards had taken Liv.

  I grab Erin by the wrist and duck away, weaving through the crowd until we end up beside an elaborately decorated table with a gleaming glass bowl filled to the top with bloodred liquid.

  “What will they do with her?” Erin asks.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know where they took her.” I look toward the door again.

  “They probably put her out. Oh, Sophia, this is terrible. What will she do now? This is already her second ball. I don’t know anyone who’s actually gone to a third. She’ll be a forfeit.”

  “Don’t say that. Maybe we can find a way to get to her and then leave.”

  “We can’t. They haven’t even started the selection ceremony yet.” Erin dabs at her eyes.

  “No. I mean I want to leave Lille. I want to leave Mersailles. I want to get as far away from here as possible.” We have to run. Fear envelops me as I take Erin by the arm.

  “Shh!” Erin looks around to see if anyone heard me. “You can’t say things like that. People are listening.”

  “I don’t care.” A few people glance in my direction. I lean in toward Erin. “We have to get out of here.”

  “I can’t leave,” she says through gritted teeth and a fake smile. “My parents have invested so much, and so have yours.”

  “They can’t keep us safe. Look around you, Erin. Who are our parents to do anything? They won’t defy the king. And I don’t care what they’ve invested.”

  Without warning a hand grasps my shoulder, and I turn, expecting to see some bumbling idiot ready to make a claim on me.

  “Sorry,” says Luke with his hands up. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I exhale slowly, relieved, but then I remember his words from the other day. “Were you lying to me? You said you didn’t plan on coming here.”

  “No, I knew you’d be here, and I wanted to see you.”

  “Sophia?” Erin watches Luke with the eyes of a hawk.

  “Miss Erin.” Luke gives a little bow.

  “Do we know each other?” Erin asks, an edge of anger in her voice.

  “Yes. Well, no. What I mean to say is that you know my sister. Mila.”

  “Your sister? I wasn’t aware the Langleys even had a son.”

  “Uh, surprise?” Luke spreads out his fingers and shakes his hands awkwardly. He turns to me. “I knew you’d be here, and I was worried.”

  “You’re worried about me?” I ask, a little surprised. We’d only just met, and while our conversation had been intense, I didn’t expect him to feel any obligation to me. “What did you plan to do once you found me?”

  “I was going to choose you. If that’s all right, I mean.”

  “What?” Erin asks, taking the word right out of my mouth. Her entire demeanor changes. Her body goes rigid as she looks back and forth between Luke and me.

  “You w
ant us to be … together?” I ask, utterly confused.

  “I thought if you and I could be matched, you’d be spared from having to be with one of these dolts. It would be a ruse, of course, but it could buy us some time.”

  He is willing to pretend in a way that might benefit us both, and a glimmer of hope springs to life inside me. “This could work.”

  “Nothing has changed. I meant every word I said to you in the other day.” He lowers his voice. “We could get out of here, and then we could make a plan to leave Lille for good.”

  Erin makes a noise like she’s choked on a bit of food. Her jaw is set, her eyes narrow. “You’ll never make it past the towers.”

  “We can try,” I say, echoing what I’d told her in the carriage. We have to try. We have to do something. “Come with us. She can come with us, right?” I look at Luke.

  “I don’t know how, but I’m sure we can think of something.” I can see he isn’t at all convinced of that.

  “I don’t want to go with you,” Erin says angrily. “Go get yourself killed if that’s what you want, but I’m staying here and doing what my parents and the king expect me to do.”

  “Erin, please, I—”

  Out of the crowd appears a young man, about the same age as Luke, who wedges himself between us.

  “You look absolutely ravishing,” he says to me, taking my hand and kissing it roughly. He winks at Erin. “And you’re quite pretty, too. I think this may be my lucky night.”

  10

  The man moves his lips down onto the inside of my forearm. I snatch my arm away and move to Luke’s side.

  “Excuse you,” I say sharply. “But I’m spoken for.” Saying no isn’t good enough, but he might respect another man’s claim on me.

  The young man looks at me and then at Luke. I peer around him and catch sight of the back of Erin’s head as she disappears into the crowd.

  “Luke Langley,” the man says.

  “Édouard.” Luke says the man’s name as if it leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

  “I hear you’ve had a run-in with my brother,” Édouard says. From behind him steps a bruised and gap-toothed Morris.

  “Shit,” Luke says.

  Morris frowns.

  “I bet he thinks his name is Shit,” I say to Luke. “It’s the first thing you say whenever you see him.”

  Luke bites back a smile.

  “What did you say?” Morris asks. He seems dumbstruck that I can form actual words.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” I say. “The name suits you. Just embrace it.”

  Morris is furious, but Édouard seems amused. “Settle down, Morris.” He looks to Luke. “I must admit I’m surprised you’re here. After all, none of the prospects are boys.”

  “And I’m not surprised to see you here,” Luke says. “And seeking more than one girl? That seems about right.” Luke squares his shoulders and leans toward Édouard.

  “Seems like you’ve come into your own, Luke. Where is that scared, pathetic little outcast I used to know?” Édouard lurches at Luke, forcing him back a step. “Ah. There he is.”

  Édouard laughs and then reaches out, slipping his hand under my chin. I move to bat him away, but Luke beats me to it. He catches Édouard by the wrist, wrenching his arm down. I grab a small cup from the table to my left, dip it into the punch bowl, and toss the drink at Édouard.

  The red liquid cascades down the side of his ivory jacket. Édouard’s face twists into a mask of rage as he looks at his ruined clothing. Luke puts his arm under mine, and we rush off, leaving Édouard in a sputtering, hissing fit.

  I frantically search for Erin as we cut through the heart of the crowd and end up on the opposite side near the powder room entrance. I catch a glimpse of her just as the band strikes up a waltz, and the young women pair off with different men. Everyone moves in a dizzying circle in time with the music, and I lose sight of her again.

  My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I lean down and put my hands on my knees. “How did one family end up with two complete fools in the same generation?”

  “They get it from their father,” says Luke. “He gave up their mother as forfeit when we were in school so he could take a new wife. He was cruel to her, and still Morris and Édouard want nothing more than to be exactly like him. Their family has gained favor with the palace. They support everything the king does, without question.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Morris and Édouard’s family have ties to outside traders in cities beyond the Forbidden Lands in the west. They support the king, sharing their profits, and in return the king lets them do whatever they want. Sometimes they invite envoys to bring their goods to trade and then rob them on the way into Mersailles.”

  “How do you know all this?” I ask. “It seems like something you’d want to keep secret.”

  “It’s Morris. He loves to talk about his special privileges and thinks that he’ll never have to face any consequences. He’s probably right.”

  Luke puts out his hand, and I take it. He pulls me into the swirling mass of couples, and we spin to the tune of the waltz. I glance toward the king’s throne. It’s still empty.

  “We need to get as far away from here as possible,” I say.

  “Exactly.” Luke lifts his arm as I duck under it, stepping back to take his hand again.

  “And how do we get past the watchtowers? Even if we’re married, the king would never allow us to just walk away.”

  “I think we could sneak out. We could find a way. I’m sure of it.”

  I remember how the guards had called for the executioner when a runner had tried to cross the border. “I’ve never heard of anyone leaving without the king’s consent.”

  “Neither have I, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. We’ve also rarely heard about people like us and yet here we are. Just because they deny us doesn’t mean we cease to exist.”

  It’s entirely possible that someone has attempted an escape and the palace had hushed it up. But could someone actually escape? Has anyone ever actually done it? That would be a secret worth keeping. I think of the circle of blackened grass at the fountain. Maybe there is something to what Luke is saying.

  “The border is guarded all the way around Lille,” I say.

  Luke lowers his mouth to my ear. “Less so on the western edge.”

  “No,” I say. “The western edge of the city butts up to the White Wood, and we can’t go through there. It’s too dangerous. No one is stupid enough to actually try and escape that way.”

  “We shouldn’t go through there,” Luke says. “But we can. We have to decide if we’re willing to take that risk.”

  The alternative is staying here, falling in line, being at the mercy of the king and his rules. It’s not a way to live. I’m willing to risk leaving by any path necessary.

  “I need a minute,” I say. My head is spinning. We’re going to do this. We’re going to make our escape.

  Luke gestures to the powder room door, and I nod.

  “When you come back, I’ll let the registrar know that I’m going to make a claim on you.” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry that I have to say it that way, and I’m sorry that you can’t be with Erin.”

  I smile at him, and he kisses me gently on the cheek before I duck off.

  The powder room is bigger than some of the houses in town. In the center sits a circular sofa covered in fabric decorated with pink roses. It smells of lavender and fresh flowers, and girls are lounging about, talking among themselves.

  “No one has even looked at me,” one girl says. “Is it my dress? My hair? I did everything my father told me to do.”

  “You look gorgeous,” says her friend, glancing at her shyly. They clasp hands and go out arm in arm.

  I go to the mirror and stare at my reflection. I will allow Luke to choose me, and together we’ll find a way out of the kingdom. I’ll convince Erin to come with me, and we’ll have to find Liv first, but what about the others? All the girls left behind
will be at the mercy of the king and his deplorable cohorts.

  My painted face stares back at me like a stranger. I dip my hands into the basin and splash myself with water. The rouge runs down my cheeks in thin rivulets, and I pull my hair out of its coils, letting it fall around my face. Other girls come into the room and look at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

  A loud bang, like someone dropped a stack of plates, comes from the ballroom. Shouts ring out as the other girls scurry from the room, and I follow behind them.

  A crowd gathers in the grand ballroom, all pressed together, staring at some commotion. As I push through the crowd, I glance toward the door where they’d taken Liv. The door stands open. Through the forest of people, I see the king walking briskly from the room, and I catch a glimpse of an old woman with hair as white as snow being propped up by a palace guard. The door closes, and I move to the front of the crowd to see what the commotion is about.

  Two guards stand holding another man between them. He struggles against them, and the guard on the left delivers a swift punch to the man’s ribs. He doubles over. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  Luke.

  Édouard, in his stained jacket, his brother Morris at his side, stands in front of Luke. “This man thinks he can make a mockery of this time-honored tradition, and I will not stand for it!”

  The king appears at the other side of the crowd, flanked by his guards. He smiles as he watches the scuffle, and I am taken aback by how happy he looks. His eyes seem lighter than they had when he was perched atop his throne, his face seems less stern, and his entire demeanor has changed.

  “Luke knows full well my brother intended to claim—” He searches the crowd until his gaze lands on me. “Her.”