A Cinderella Retelling

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  The prince gave me a look that weakened my knees and sent my mind tumbling. Up until the end of what was between us, he was always able to do that, always able to turn me to mush with just a look from his precious, perfect face. He reached out a hand and gently pulled me to him, holding me close even as he tried to finish pouring the wine.

  “You know, it’s well past midnight,” I whispered, suddenly unable to use my voice any more than to scratch those few words out.

  The prince bent over to kiss my forehead. “I’m just being cautious.” And he held me even tighter to him.

  He placed a cup in my hand and I peered into its plummy contents. The liquid was warm, and the sweet scent of mulled cinnamon-and-spiced wine drifted up to me. I really wasn’t in the mood for wine, or drinking, or anything of the sort, but I also didn’t want to tell my husband ‘no’ right after we’d been married.

  I looked at him. “What is this?”

  My prince smiled down. “Wine,” he answered. “From the year you were born,” he elaborated.

  I wasn’t about to refuse the drink then.

  I took a careful sip and sputtered. Beneath the spices, and cinnamon, and other delicious flavors was something acrid and bitter. I hadn’t much chance to taste wine before, but this one wasn’t about to convince me things should be otherwise. The one Lyla had brought the previous night had been much more palatable.

  I glanced up at my prince who seemed to be enjoying his cup. I took another sip and coughed, and he looked down at me with an ill-hidden smirk. “We’ll have to teach you to get used to some of these finer wines, my love.”

  I didn’t like the way he said that, or what his comment had implied, that I had grown up differently, that my palette, my taste wasn’t refined enough for palace finery. At the same time, I didn’t want to disappoint him further, so I upended the contents in my mouth and swallowed as quickly as I could. I offered him the finished cup and he took it with a large smile. At least the wine helped calm some of my nerves.

  A quiet pause.

  Then my prince swept me up in his arms and carried me off to bed.

  My first two years at the palace were a constant blur of newness, but there are some memories that starkly stand out to me. Memories of the prince rocking me to sleep with lullabies of what he wanted his kingdom to be. Memories of my little fingers skittering across his broad, muscled chest, tracing each scar imprinted in his torso like a path penciled onto a map.

  “What is this from?” I’d ask, tracing a long, river-like scar that wound from one shoulder to the bottom of his neck.

  “Dragon talon,” he’d reply.

  I traced dull pink scars shaped like short dashes above his belly.

  “Ogre mace.”

  I winced, and the prince chuckled at my reaction. I traced another scar above his heart.

  “This one?”

  “That,” he said, giving me his full attention, “is from when you took my heart.”

  I had never known such adoration could be real, let alone that I could be the lucky recipient of it. Of course, it would turn out that it wasn’t.

  Not only was I adjusting to being someone’s wife, but I had to learn how to be the wife of royalty along with all the protocol for the next in line for the crown. Madame’s etiquette lessons were only able to carry me so far, so there was an abundant more I needed to learn in my new position.

  I had to learn of a history and places I’d never heard nor cared to know of before. I had to memorize family trees and diplomatic behaviors, those spoken and those not. I had to find new levels of patience and new outlets for kindness. I had to learn how to be alone despite being surrounded by so many people and how to safely maneuver between all those people. I had to learn phrases in new languages, formal court speak, and the political tongue. I took lessons in art and music and games from all over the realms. It was, quite frankly, usually boring. I was rather adept at remembering anything that could be found on a map, though.

  There were some bright spots among it all. There were days when I felt that I had been staring at a book so long, my eyes would never detach from it. Then my prince would come sweeping into the room announcing his intent to rescue me, which he did by ushering me out of the room toward a romantic picnic, horseback ride, or quiet walk in the gardens. During those first two years, the prince was as perfect as could be: attentive, patient, and all around charming.

  By then, I’d grown comfortable enough in my role as princess and didn’t only call him ‘Charming’ anymore. Whoever was allowed to use his real name called him Alex, but I called him Alexander, rolling the syllables off my tongue like a slowly melting caramel.

  For his part, my husband rarely called me Ella. Rather, it was always some version of ‘love,’ ‘my love,’ ‘my heart,’ ‘darling.’ It was as if calling me by my simple, single name was a painful reminder of my lower class origins. I do think he tried to mean all those pretty little endearments, though as it turned out, he was only using them to convince himself.

  But there were some interesting things I learned from those first few years at the palace, too.

  For one, the royal family has too many names. Most aren’t used and when I saw my name painted beside my husband’s on the large family tree that took up nearly the whole of a two-story wall in the library, I felt as little and insignificant as my size had always made me believe.

  For two, there are way too many rooms in the royal palace. Most aren’t used, unless there’s a big occasion, like a crown prince’s wedding.

  For three, Queen Alaina has insomnia and doesn’t sleep more than three or four hours a night. She doesn’t know I know, but I caught sight of her many a night in the garden beneath my window. Through asking the right people the right questions, I was able to confirm my suspicions.

  For four, though now a human, the frog king will bend down to the floor and leap like a frog when he thinks no one is looking. I’d never believe it had I not seen it with my own eyes when he was a guest at our wedding.

  The point is that I learned that while we were all supposed to be safe and content in our magical ever afters, most of us would never be able to fully escape how we got there. None of us, not even the prince, could ever be rid of the residue left by our pasts.

  Sugarplum Days

  Those years, my life was a swirl of happiness. On each wedding anniversary, we held a masked ball, which always stopped long enough for all to listen as the clock chimed midnight, then we’d remove our masks and toast each other into the early morning.

  It was only after the start of our third year that I noticed some changes, that I began to suspect that not all masks had been removed. Much of it happened so slowly, so gradually that it was difficult to recognize how our lives were shifting even as they did. I am ashamed to think of how slow I was to regain a sense of reality; how reticent I was to let go of the dream. I had been called a nothing my whole life and I was finally beginning to feel like a something, like a someone. So I believed what I wanted for as long as I could.

  Until then, once the initial excitement of becoming a princess and living in the palace settled, I was able to see that living like a princess wasn’t always as grand as I’d once dreamed. There was the drudgery of lessons, the need to spend hours on my dresses and the way I looked, the constant surveillance of every word and every look that passed my lips and face. I was shy around the other women of the court, attempts at conversation made me feel clumsy, and their attentions made me feel like an object on display, so I struggled to make friends in those early years. I would like to say that I could be myself whenever I was alone with the prince, but that wasn’t entirely true. I always felt, and still do now, that I had a standard to live up to, an unspoken expectation that had to be met, for those in the court and for those outside of it.

  I had mistakenly thought that all the good that was in my life was from the prince, so I did everything I could to make him happy, like drinking that acrid wine I never acquired a taste for each time h
e came to spend the night with me. Oddly, he never seemed concerned that I didn’t conceive an heir. Maybe he thought we had plenty of years ahead of us. I certainly did. I lost myself in those first few years, lost the girl my mother had dreamed I would one day be. I only found her again when I was forced to, when it was too late to undo what else had been done to her.

  I can recognize all these things for what they are now, but my life then was too busy for much thought. There was always something to do and someone to see, so it wasn’t long before I longed for the days when I had a quiet corner of my own. Even as a princess, I couldn’t lock myself in my room whenever I needed to, and not just because the guards or Javotte were always there. If I did, people would talk, and talk was not always a good thing for the royal family. That everyone was always watching me was a hard and unwelcome fact I only begrudgingly came to accept. Before then, I had always been too small to notice.

  There was also the time I decided I had been away too long and finally determined to resume the visits I had once gone on with Mother. Madame couldn’t hold me back now, and I had every resource at my disposal. I was still thinking too small in their regard, but I knew then that a true mark of kindness would be to give when I actually had everything.

  I was leaving my chambers, wearing the simplest dress I owned, which wasn’t very simple at all, when my husband appeared.

  “Where are you off to, love?” he asked.

  “I—” I hesitated. But then, why should I be ashamed? Surely, he would approve. “Mother used to take me with on her visits to some of the less fortunate families in our area,” I explained.

  The prince simply looked at me.

  “I haven’t been in a long while,” I continued haltingly, unnerved by his lack of response.

  The prince finally smiled and gently pulled loose the ribbons of my bonnet. “Darling,” he said slowly, “if you have any concerns, then you need only let me know. Otherwise, we can’t have you visiting those areas anymore. The commotion it would cause would be untenable, and besides,” he added with a glance at my middle, “your health is too precious to the kingdom.”

  “But—” I tried to protest. Neither Mother nor myself had ever fallen ill from our visits.

  The prince silenced me with a finger to my lips. “They will be taken care of,” he assured me.

  I trusted what he said to be true, but reluctantly… I didn’t like that this simple action had been taken out of my hands, that I still didn’t have the freedom I had so often yearned for, that this one connection to Mother was being denied me. Realizing I wouldn’t gain any ground with further protests, I pushed the matter to the back of my mind, not to be forgotten, but to simmer. I would come up with something, I would come up with some way to help them personally. In the meantime, there had to be somewhere in this maze of a palace where prying eyes couldn’t reach me.

  Eventually, I came to find sanctuary in the shaded limbs of my pear tree. It was private enough for me to be comfortable, public enough not to worry the guards, and safely enough in the palace so my precious health wasn’t endangered. The first time I scurried away, I was too scared to try and climb up, but staring at it long enough day after day I convinced myself that I didn’t have to climb so high to hide. I was pretty small, after all.

  The third time I escaped into the tree was to avoid a dance lesson I had neither the time nor patience to attend. And why did I need to learn all those other dances anyway? By now, my prince and I had waltzed more than two nights away and I would never tire of it. He was so tall, so strong, and yet we fit perfectly together. I didn’t even need to know how to dance because I was content to simply follow wherever my prince led. As the skilled dancer, he need only take my hand and my feet would automatically follow his.

  Besides, the instructor was also trying to blend the lessons with comportment, always urging me to stand taller, to lift my whole frame higher. I don’t know what stubborn tick in his brain was refusing to accept that I could grow no more than I already had.

  “You must be seen to be admired,” were one of the things he was wont to say. “A princess stands above all others.”

  No, she doesn’t, I wanted to bite back in irritation.

  “A prince is a gem, and a princess its sparkle,” was another nonsensical motto.

  I’m more than just a description! I wanted to yell at him.

  Was this why it was so hard to find my footing at the palace? Because whoever grew up in this life was taught to always stay at arms-length? Yet the prince seemed to always have his own court of followers buzzing around him. Perhaps it was only me. Perhaps it was the halo of magic around me that kept others at an awe-filled distance.

  And I couldn’t well expect to become real friends with any of the servants either. I saw the prince’s expression anytime there was a reference to my past life. I knew it wouldn’t stand. Even Javotte, who was always there, kept a remove of propriety between us.

  I have more than I ever had, I reminded myself. I have the prince, that is enough.

  I told myself that for far too long.

  I didn’t want to bother with the circle of those thoughts that day, which is why, on my way to the lesson, I made a sharp turn off course and didn’t stop walking until I’d gone straight to my garden. I said a quick hello to my goldfish before looking both ways to make sure no one saw me hike up my skirts and clamber up the tree. Years of scrubbing at already clean surfaces for Madame made me strong enough to tuck myself away without much hassle.

  It was wonderfully quiet in the sheltered boughs of the tree. The branches were overgrown with lush greenery, though there wouldn’t be pears for another month or so. I thought about ways I could at least send my pears to the homes I used to visit, even if I couldn’t bring them there myself. Sitting in the tree for the first time since I left my old life behind, I was transported back to the days when Mother was still alive, when every buzz of a bee was a tiny trumpet call and every flower a faery home.

  I was thus lost in innocent reflection when I was found out.

  I didn’t react to the first shakings of the tree limbs. Actually, I went still, hoping that whatever man or animal had decided to call would soon go away. But the shaking became more determined, which was made obvious by the sudden appearance of a black leather glove and the top of a thick brown head of hair. I watched impassively as the captain pulled himself into the tree, settled himself onto a nearby branch and tucked his feet up so his long legs wouldn’t be seen. He sat easily on his branch with the same confidence and assuredness he displayed when riding a horse, giving orders, or just walking.

  I didn’t want to be the first one to break the silence, but I wanted to stay in control of our strange encounter.

  “How did you find me?” I asked.

  “It is my duty, Your Highness,” he replied seriously.

  “Don’t you have better things to do?” I pressed, not sure if I was annoyed or flattered that he had in fact bothered to look long enough to find me. I suppose it was a bit of both.

  The captain chuckled and grinned impudently. “Absolutely not, Princess.”

  It’s odd to think back on that first conversation in the tree, the first of a handful or so. There was so much I didn’t know about the captain, so much I didn’t yet understand—still, because he had been the first to recognize me, I felt almost comfortable with him. Perhaps ‘safe’ would be the better word. But not just physically safe, safe to be myself as well. Maybe because he’d been the one to break down my prison door, at my lowest, most desperate point, I thought then I had nothing left to lose before him.

  I was horribly wrong. But that was later.

  “Have you known the prince long, Captain?”

  The captain considered me and the question. “My father was a duke and a dear friend of the king’s,” he began. “We used to visit each other often, particularly because my father had three sons and the king approved of us as worthy playmates for his son.”

  “You are the same age then?�
�� I clarified.

  “About,” the captain replied. “One night, all four of us were bundled into the prince’s antechamber, camping out as it were, and my oldest brother told us a particularly unsavory story about ghosts and witches and such things. Throughout the telling, we pretended we weren’t scared, but that wasn’t the case at all. That night, I reassured the prince I’d protect him, and he slept while I kept watch.”

  “How noble,” I commented with mock gravitas.

  “It was,” the captain agreed. A man of few wasted words, his tongue, I would learn, loosened easily whenever he had a story he thought needed to be told. “Our fathers found us like that the next morning. I’d fallen asleep sitting up, still holding the butter knife I intended to use to protect His Highness from the terrors of ghosts and witches. As the youngest son, I didn’t have much awaiting me by way of land or title at home. It seemed best to train for the prince’s guard, so I went with him to the Academy. Considering, it was the right decision.”

  “So you know the prince rather well then,” I confirmed.

  I thought about it for a bit, how the captain had tried to stay up to protect his friend, how even as a child, he’d found someone he thought more important than himself to watch over. I hadn’t had that in a long time, not since my mother passed at least.

  “That will all change now,” the captain said, and it took me a moment to understand he was responding to the thoughts I had unintentionally spoken out loud. “You’ll have a different kind of life now, Princess. You’ve become important to…a very many people.”

  The tone of his voice kept me from meeting his eyes, so I rushed to speak instead. “I don’t miss my old life, but there are some things I’m sorry I had to say goodbye to.”

  “Are there old friends you’d like to see again, Your Highness?” the captain inquired with sincerity.

  I shook my head. “I never had any friends,” I whispered into the wind breezing through the leaves.