A Cinderella Retelling

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  He turned back to me. “Aren’t you going to let the bird in?” he asked softly.

  I flushed and turned quickly to the window, clambering up the row of crates to let Iris back in. He calmed as soon as I took him in my arms. Turning to climb down, I was startled by a black-gloved hand in my face.

  It was the captain’s. With one hand keeping the crates steady, he offered me the other. I took it in a loose grip and clambered down as quickly as I could.

  “Are you all right, Miss—?”

  “Ella,” I said quickly.

  The captain tried the name out. “Ella.”

  A moment of silence.

  “Captain!”

  A voice from beyond the steps broke the silence, a voice whose musical refrain I would recognize anywhere.

  I blushed and tried to duck my head into Iris’s little body, hoping to hide my reddening cheeks in his far redder feathers. The captain glanced at me, and I didn’t understand then the mix of emotions swirling in his eyes. Like a fine mist, it was gone as soon as I noticed it.

  The captain looked at me seriously. “Are you ready, Miss Ella?”

  I took a deep breath and nodded yes. No more needed to be said. He—only he—already knew. Too much it would seem.

  The top of the stairway was too narrow for both of us, so the captain went down before me to prepare the prince. And by that it just meant that he handed me down the last few steps and told him, “I found her, Your Highness.”

  The prince didn’t react at all when he initially saw me. I knew then that he didn’t recognize the girl from the well, couldn’t place me without my magical dresses and jewels as the one he’d singled out each time at the palace. How could it be that the lady who shone like silver and glittered like gold was one and the same with the tiny, sooty girl before him?

  “She is nothing but a Cinderwench!” Madame protested snidely, her voice coming to me through the haze that overcame me the moment I locked onto the prince’s beautiful cerulean eyes.

  He must have heard her clearly though, because a cloud passed over the skies of his eyes before he managed to push it away. My heart ached seeing him again, and I knew then that I never could have been happy again in my life if I hadn’t. He was as handsome as I remembered him, his cheeks slightly flushed, his sandy hair adorably mussed, as perfect as he could ever be.

  He was here. For me.

  I dropped a perfect curtsy. “Hello, Prince Charming,” I said softly.

  A grim smile of recognition tugged at the tight lines of his lips.

  “So this is you, and this is where you live,” he replied just as quietly, though I couldn’t decipher the tone of his voice.

  “This is my father’s house,” I said in a rush, somehow feeling the urge to explain away my current state, to assure him that looking like a Cinderwench didn’t mean I always was one.

  “And the dresses?” he asked.

  My mind flashed to the moment when Princess Lyla warned me that the prince didn’t like magic, but the truth was the only thing to say.

  “My faery godmother,” I admitted.

  “Magic?”

  “The dresses were,” I emphasized.

  I was too young to know that I didn’t have to explain such things; no, that I shouldn’t have had to explain such things. The invitation had been open to everyone, after all.

  “Sire?”

  From somewhere behind, Sir Percival’s voice cut into whatever was going on between us. My heart had almost stopped beating at the sight of the prince, but I couldn’t decipher what was going on in his heart. Though he was in my house, wasn’t he? Hadn’t he traversed the kingdom to find me?

  Sir Percival’s voice, or perhaps something in it, jolted the prince back to being His Highness, restoring his poise and graciousness. Then he no longer hesitated to take my hand from the captain, to lead me to the front door where he ushered the valet to bring the shoe up for me to try on. The prince, the captain, and I all knew it was unnecessary at that point, but so much significance had gone into trying on the shoe that it had to be done. Considering the looks on Madame, Maybelle, and Calliope’s faces, though, it was evident they were finally realizing this wasn’t my first time meeting the prince.

  The moment the valet bore the little glass slipper aloft in the late morning sunshine, I knew that it was mine. There was no mistaking the pure work of Castarrean glass, the way the slipper grabbed the light of the sun and fractured it into endless prisms and rainbows that radiated around the pillow and even spilled over onto the valet himself.

  To my surprise, Sir Percival appeared right behind the valet, following behind him with a thick rolled up parchment, possibly his list of all eligible maidens who didn’t fit the shoe. We waited for them to reach us at the top of the step, and I didn’t comprehend the extent of my stepmother’s pride and jealousy until the moment she pretended to fall forward and tripped the valet carrying the little glass slipper.

  The valet tried valiantly to stay upright, but he lost his footing and even the captain wasn’t quick enough to catch the slipper before it smashed upon the steps.

  Total silence descended upon all present. Myself, my stepsisters, the valet, Sir Percival, and the rest of the entourage were quieted by the impudence of what Madame had done. The prince wavered between wondering if it even mattered anymore and wanting to punish Madame for her insolence.

  The captain was the only one with any sense left among us.

  “Surely,” he began slowly, looking at me as he spoke, “surely, this slipper was only one of a pair?”

  That jolted me back to reality. The answer was simple. A happy smile stretched across my face and I pulled from my pocket the slipper I’d stuck there earlier.

  I will forever rue that moment. I should have feigned ignorance, should have pretended the mate was missing and then left the final decision to the entourage to decide. But once I pulled that slipper out, once that unmistakable Castarrean glass sucked and fractured the light, once the prince delicately slid it onto my foot, he had no choice but to marry me. Too much ceremony had been made for it to be otherwise.

  Time has given me perspective now and I can look back and see all that really unfolded then through the clear magnifying glass of hindsight, no longer tinted with a faerytale haze. For in truth, as soon as Madame smashed my little glass slipper, the prince had the out he was looking for the moment he found out that his beautiful mystery lady was nothing more than a Cinderwench bedecked by magic. It didn’t matter who my father was, who my stepmother was, it only mattered that I was a lowly servant girl with a faery godmother.

  No one remembers, because in the rush of things no one noticed, how Sir Percival put a hand on the prince’s shoulder as I was steered to a seat in the house. No one remembers how he leaned over to whisper a few words in the prince’s ear, how the prince nodded in resignation, then took a breath to steel himself before he knelt down to slide the shoe on my foot.

  No one remembers that the prince was willing to leave me among the fragments of shattered glass.

  What everyone does remember, and loves to tell over, is how I had the other slipper hidden in my apron pocket. How perfectly the little slipper fit my little foot and how, after, the prince gathered me in his arms and carried me away from my wretched home.

  Well, he didn’t quite carry me.

  After we confirmed the slipper fit, the prince pulled me into his arms and I heard him take a deep breath I mistook for relief. Then, smiling widely, he efficiently gathered me up and carried me down to his horse, brusquely brushing past an indignant Madame and shocked Maybelle and Calliope.

  He bounded down the stairs as best he could, eager as I was to get away from the house that had so long held me prisoner. He lifted me onto his magnificent white stallion and swung up onto the saddle behind me. He flicked the reins and off we rode, never once looking back.

  I never said goodbye to my father. I don’t even know what he knew or didn’t. The man who had once loved me, who’d taught me
how to wield a sword and taught me how to laugh had been buried eight years ago with my mother. The man he left behind was no father to me.

  We made straight for the palace, the prince riding tall and regal, confident in who he was, his place and power in the world. And I? I nestled into his warmth and rode with eyes clouded with faerytale love, straight into the arms of my treacherous happily ever after.

  Only Faeries Live in Faery Tales

  The next few months were a flurry of preparations during which I hardly saw the prince at all. The wedding was set for the beginning of fall when the days were just beginning to cool, and much work was needed to get everything ready, especially to get a Cinderwench ready.

  Once the prince brought me to the palace, I was home, and I never returned to the place where I had grown up. Fortunately, as the soon-to-be princess, I didn’t have to. I had a bevy of servants eager to please their new mistress with just a ring from a little gold bell that was never too far from my side. At first, I was uncomfortable with all the attention, didn’t understand why I needed so many people to serve me, but live with it long enough and it’s easy to get used to such things.

  My personal maid was Javotte and she was mistress of all my servants and ladies-in-waiting. She was a straightforward middle-aged woman, strong, capable, and very dedicated to her duties. She was always deferential, always respectful. She would save me from court humiliation more than once in the coming years, usually with a sniff at my dress, my hairstyle, or my shoes and a simple, “Are you absolutely sure, Your Highness?”

  I knew she was just a maid, but it wouldn’t be long before I would consider her a friend, too. One of the few I ever had.

  My quarters, handpicked for me by the prince—or so I was told—were lovely, too large for a tiny girl like me, so for the first few months I feared getting lost inside them. As it was, I was having a hard time navigating the endless corridors of the palace.

  My sitting room had wide, large windows framed by thick, purple, gold-tasseled drapes that looked out over a side garden I would come to adopt as my own, not least because my prince ensconced my famed slipper in a glass case in the center so I could always see it from my room. For the first two years, and especially the first three months until my wedding, I would glance out to see all manner of people stopping by that case. Some stayed longer than others, some dared to touch the glass, others only let their hands pass over, but all came for the same reason, in hopes that some of the magic would rub off into their own lives. No matter the person, no matter the circumstance, there’s always need for a little magic.

  In better weather, all the windows were propped open, turning the bedroom into an atrium of sorts as sunlight and fresh sea air poured in. A grand four-post canopy bed took up about half the room, and the first morning Javotte came to wake me, she missed me buried in its warmth and thought I was already out of bed. It would be almost unnecessary to add that from the carpets to the tapestries, from the coverlets to the fine tables and chairs, I was unused to being around, let alone possessing, such finery. It would take a while for me to get used to using the delicate and expensive items without a lingering fear that I would ruin it all with my touch.

  I hadn’t seen the prince in over a week when he finally came to call upon me in my quarters one day, unannounced, it must be said, elegant and upbeat as always. His eyes were the sky, his smile the sun, his whole face the Heavens that looked upon our frail world.

  I was standing before a trio of mirrors that had been propped up in another one of the too-large rooms when the prince poked his head in before the valet could announce him. I was enduring the fitting of a lovely purple dress for one of the endless days of official banquets and parties that would follow our wedding day. This wasn’t just the wedding of a crown prince, this was the wedding of a king’s only child, his only son, the continuation of his dynasty and all that meant for the future of Laurendale.

  The purple of the dress brought out my eyes so strongly that they took on a navy blue hue. As such, Javotte and I were deciding if I should wear blue, gold, or purple earrings with it. The platform I was standing on as my royal seamstress pinned my hem at least gave me some height, so I was eye-level with the prince when he came to take my hands in his. The prince tenderly kissed each one then held them wide so he could admire the progress.

  “Lovely, absolutely lovely,” he sang, and I beamed adoringly at him. “You look much more like you should.”

  That should have been my first clue into the true nature of the man I thought I was madly in love with. Actually, I was rather mad to think myself in love with him, but it took hindsight to clarify that. Instead, my whole being soared from his praise rather than plummet from how little he really knew about me.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” I murmured.

  The prince brought my fingertips to his lips and pretended to think even as he focused on bringing them to his lips one by one.

  “My love, what can I do to make you happy?”

  “I don’t know that anything can make me happier than I am now,” I replied, unable to think clearly in my delusion.

  The prince pretended to pout. “Even marrying me?”

  “Only marrying you,” I reassured him.

  The smile on the prince’s face showed how much he liked my answer and I smiled, too, happy and content in the knowledge that I had the power to bring that much joy to his face. I was ecstatic then. I gag at the memory now.

  “Yet,” the prince pressed, still holding onto my hands, as if I would be silly enough to run away from him now. “Yet, there must be something.”

  There really wasn’t anything more I could have wanted. Even thoughts of my mother weren’t able to penetrate my present fog of happiness. Scrambling for something, I realized that there were only two things I still missed.

  “My goldfish and my pear tree,” I finally said.

  The captain had already brought my sword along to the palace and didn’t waste time bringing it to my chambers with a carefully guarded smirk and, “Be careful who you wield that against here. Not everyone would approve.”

  From the look on the prince’s face at my requests, though, it seemed I had asked for acceptable things.

  And that was how my goldfish, which Calliope apparently kept alive to duck my royal wrath, was given a pond of its own near my pear tree in the garden beneath my window. In time, between them and the shoe, it would come to be known as “The Queen’s Garden.”

  I met the king, too, of course. It was odd to look at this aged man who was my sovereign and also see a man who would be my new father. In the beginning, I was very quiet around him, not quite sure what to say, how to act, where to put my hands.

  I also tried not to think of what Princess Lyla had said about the prince’s belief that magic had ruined his father. Outwardly, the king didn’t appear to be anything less than the monarch he was supposed to be. It made me wonder at how deep the prince’s dislike for magic really was. Surely, he didn’t fear that whatever he thought had befallen his father would overtake him. Surely, he knew that I had left all magical tricks behind when he carried me off to the palace.

  For his part, the king readily embraced the idea of having a daughter, glad for there to again be “a lovely young woman like yourself to brighten things up again.”

  I did my best, though I really couldn’t do much, because the servants generally had everything in hand or there were official court rules about the rest of it.

  His Majesty also told me very pointedly that he was “looking forward to hearing the pitter-patter of little feet about the palace,” and “couldn’t wait for the first morning his grandson woke him too early to play at being soldiers.”

  I appropriately responded by turning red and praying the conversation would be over soon.

  When I later told the prince about it, he chuckled. “He’ll see his grandchildren, from this world or the next, he’ll see them.” Then he spun me into him and leaned close, “For now, however, let’s enjoy
just you and me.”

  With such talk, it was a wonder I never saw the future coming. Then, everything was a dream, every word a mirror of my imagination. I never once stopped to think that perhaps it was all a little too perfect to be real.

  All throughout summer, they prepared me for my new position with an endless parade of tutors meant to teach me about my new obligations and the way to behave around the respected guests from other kingdoms. The wedding ceremony would be followed by almost a week of parties, banquets, picnics, hunts, and games, which Javotte informed me were not just for celebration, but also to keep the hundreds of arriving guests busy and out of trouble. She also told me that the day of the wedding was to be a public holiday during which shops and businesses would be closed and people all over would gather in their towns for a day full of festivities.

  I was overwhelmed by what she was describing. This was still in the beginning, when I had yet to fully appreciate how an action of a prince could shake an entire kingdom. I was baffled at how high I had risen, how my good fortune became the people’s good fortune, too.

  Because of the endless festivities, because of the visiting allies and dignitaries, because I was to be the wife of the crown prince, I had to have a wardrobe befitting my station. The purple dress was only one of myriads that had to be sewn in time to make me presentable. Unlike other more appropriate choices for a prince’s bride, I hadn’t anything in my closet to give me a head start when I came. A team of seamstresses worked around the clock to have everything ready, making sure I had at least one new dress a day for the first three weeks. As if the rush of the wedding wasn’t enough, I went to bed exhausted every night just from the fittings and stylings.

  The night before my wedding, my chambers were oddly quiet. All stray bits and scraps of material had been cleaned up and twenty-two new gowns were pressed and put away. Not even an odd bead or pearl remained from the flurry that had overtaken these rooms until now. My wedding gown was hung up in my bedchamber where I could stare at it all night if I wanted to, which is what I was doing in the silence, wondering about what the prince was up to.