A Cinderella Retelling

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  That night, or rather, sometime around dawn when the party finally tapered off, the king came into my room with two glasses of wine and a large smile.

  I dutifully took one sip and almost spat it across the room. “What is this?” I asked.

  The king smiled and took his time carefully tasting from his cup. “It’s a bottle I found from the year my parents were married,” he explained. “I thought it appropriate for tonight.”

  I took another drink and couldn’t help from screwing my face up in disgust. It tasted horrible, even worse than whatever he’d been bringing me until now. “It’s not my favorite,” I said carefully.

  The king pouted adorably. “Don’t say that.” He drank his wine slowly, rolling it around his tongue. “I’m tasting cherries,” he said thoughtfully, “are you tasting cherries?” He made a show of swallowing and licking his lips.

  Raising the glass to mine, I thought his mention of cherries ridiculous, but I didn’t want to say so. I took another small sip and almost gagged, but I managed to keep it together and nod in agreement. The wine didn’t taste like cherries. Frankly, it was even more terrible than the others he’d brought, like something bitter hidden beneath the taste of too much cinnamon and spice, as if trying to cover up for something rotten. But who was I to say that about a wine bottled in such a significant year. None of the past few years would have been possible without it.

  Alexander was enjoying his wine, and if he wanted it to taste like cherries, then so be it. I nodded, and forced myself to sip along beside him, until the glass was drained and we went to bed.

  The Second Clue

  The next morning, I woke up feeling woozy. I could not hope that the nausea and dizziness were from pregnancy, for my body had recently let me know otherwise. Instead, I credited it to the day of nonstop feasting, the cartwheeling emotions, and the whirl of changes and preparations that had consumed our lives the past month. I would have liked to stay in bed until late afternoon, taking my breakfast quietly in my room while I watched the sun shift and play with shadows as the day went on.

  However, I was now a queen, and the palace and kingdom were still celebrating my new crown. Javotte had told me that all shops in the city were closed for a full week to mirror the seven days of festivals and revelry within the palace. Thanks to the money I’d given her, she and the captain had been able to persuade a physician to travel regularly to tend to her mother. She was doing much better, and her daughter, now in training, could do much more for her.

  All this, and more, she reported to me that morning as I determinedly focused on standing while she dressed me in one of the gowns we’d altered. I tried to shake out my feet, tried to focus my vision as the room teetered around me.

  “Is everything all right, Your Majesty?” Javotte’s concerned face suddenly swam into view. “Your skin is very pale.”

  I tried to give her my most reassuring smile. “Yes, thank you,” I replied. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  Javotte frowned at me. “No one would mind if Her Majesty missed—”

  “Absolutely not, Javotte,” I countered. “The king expects me by his side and I will be there. I just need to sit a few minutes. A nice tea would help as well.”

  A chair appeared behind me and the hot drink was in my hands before I even sat down. I took my time, mainly because I was feeling so dizzy I didn’t trust myself to drink without spilling all over my dress. I finally forced the rest of the liquid down and did feel better enough to stand and join everyone else.

  The day’s entertainment was going to take place on the wide lawns of the palace. The sport arena had been rebuilt in the grass along with the stands for onlookers. A special box placed front and center was draped with the king’s standard. From there, we had a perfect, unblocked view of the field below, where feats of strength and courage were set to take place, just as they had on that fateful festival over four years ago. After almost a handful of years at the palace, I knew what to expect, though this would be the first time that the prince, now a king, would be unable to compete as it was deemed unseemly.

  What I didn’t know, and was only to find out too late, was that there was something else planned for that day. Something special for the king’s coronation. Something I wouldn’t like very much.

  I had never seen a dragon before, especially not up close, though I’d heard enough about them from the prince whenever he chose to regale me about the years before we married when he had cut his teeth as protector of the kingdom slaying dragons, ogres, gargoyles, and all other sorts of fearsome beasts. My imagination wasn’t keen on horror stories, but when the prince told them, they inevitably left me smiling because he always came out the dashing hero. No matter that I had a magical faery sword, if a dragon ever snuck into the palace, I’d immediately dive behind my brave and valiant prince. Or the captain. I could trust him to keep me alive. He’d promised as much to Marie.

  The dragon was saved for the end, a fitting conclusion for an already spectacular display of valor. The crowd murmured appreciatively as the shiny cage bearing a mid-size dragon creaked into the arena. Keeping silver spears level at the beast, a pack of knights opened the cage and roughly guided the dragon out. The crowd fell suddenly silent and I clutched my husband’s hand tightly.

  “Don’t be afraid, love,” he said without moving his gaze from the dragon, his eyes gleaming in anticipation. “I won’t let him near you.”

  “I know,” I replied, forcing myself to lighten my grip.

  “The metal’s anyway enchanted,” he continued, his lips curling at the distasteful word, “the silver’s just for show.”

  “Yes, of course,” I agreed.

  I wasn’t really afraid, but a sudden wave of nausea made me feel ready to throw up. That was the only reason I’d grabbed his hand. I turned my focus inward and, by order of the queen, commanded my stomach to behave. Good thing I hadn’t eaten anything that morning or it may not have.

  On the other side of the arena, five knights, armor gleaming, weapons glinting, rode in on fearsome black stallions. Seeing the dragon, the horses didn’t run, but pawed angrily at the dirt as if they too were ready to fight the beast now tied to the ground with enchanted silver coated chains, restricting its movement so it couldn’t fly or attack the hushed, expectant crowd.

  For some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off that dragon. It was a beautiful creature, deep blue and purple, with soulful orange eyes clearly visible from our raised box in the stands. I didn’t pay attention to anything else going on in the arena, my gaze transfixed on that poor creature’s eyes.

  I knew what dragons could do. I’d heard of the villages they’d burned down, of the men they’d eaten, but I couldn’t reconcile stories from the war with the supposed beast before me. This dragon seemed sad and lonely, its bright, sun-colored gaze curious and confused at its treatment.

  “Why are its wings so small?” I whispered to my husband.

  “Not much room to grow in a cage,” he whispered back.

  So this dragon had been raised in captivity. For how long? It had to be four or five years old at least. Did the prince order its capture as a baby so it could be part of the celebrations today? Someone had to anticipate this day if the dragon had been caged before its wings fully developed. Spots appeared before my eyes, and I had to focus my attention to keep them away.

  Without realizing when, the fight started between the knights and the dragon. The king leaned forward in unabashed excitement at the scene below. Surely for him, this was a return and salute to his glory days, when the kingdom sang his praises not for the laws he’d pass, but for the might of his will and the aim of his sword. His face gleamed with a vicious, anticipatory light as the five knights battled the flightless dragon on the trampled grass.

  A silver chain wrapped multiple times around its jaw kept the dragon from breathing fire, but that didn’t stop it from using its spiked tail to whack the knights against the walls of the arena. Despite the numbers, it really wasn�
�t a fair fight, and it was only a matter of time before the knights had the dragon pinned down and cowering before the points of their lances.

  The lead knight raised a sword in victory, then turned toward our box and kneeled to the king. The crowd took up a chant, which I only realized too late as a call to behead the dragon. I looked again at his large orange eyes and pity overwhelmed me. Maybe the dragon wouldn’t have burned villages or eaten men if we had shown it a little kindness. Maybe it would have. There was no way to know.

  The king stood and spread his arms, silencing the crowd as he gazed with triumph at his brave knights below. After a moment’s hesitation, he raised his arms in the air and the crowd erupted in cheers. This being my first dragon fight, I had no idea what any of this meant.

  I found out rather quickly.

  The knight who’d raised his sword to the king bowed and turned back to the dragon, walking carefully toward it to keep the crowd at the edge of its seat. Then, with exaggerated slowness, he raised his silver sword, his blade catching the sun’s rays in a flicker of light, before he brought it swiftly down and removed the dragon’s head.

  I had seen blood before. I had seen animals die. I had killed chickens myself when I was enslaved to Madame. But I had never seen such a beautiful creature needlessly robbed of life, and I was unprepared for the muffled, almost human cry that emerged from its smoky throat when it realized its days were over. I was unprepared for the deep hurt in its eyes, for the feeling of betrayal.

  Without thinking, I stood too quickly. I swayed against my husband’s chair as I tried to steady myself. The king threw me a quick glance, assessing my pale face, my unfocused eyes, and lazily raised a hand to make sure I wouldn’t fall on him.

  He beckoned the captain over. “The queen is unwell,” he said without any discernible emotion. “Pleases see her to her rooms.”

  I searched blindly for the captain’s arm before suddenly feeling his strength holding me up. “I’m here, Your Majesty,” he whispered, as he helped me walk down from the stands and away from the bloody arena.

  We had hardly reached the stone walls of the palace before I had to stop. I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. The captain frowned at me, concerned.

  “I could—” he began, but I cut him off.

  “I can walk,” I insisted. “In a minute.”

  The captain’s frown only deepened. “What happened now, in the arena, it upset Her Majesty?”

  Anger flared strong enough to fill my lungs with breath. “How can we allow such a terrible thing?”

  “Does the queen wish for the dragon to live so it can be caged for another fight? The king acted mercifully in choosing to kill it.”

  “Mercy would be never knowing the inside of a cage,” I retorted.

  The captain tilted his head and eyed me with undisguised amusement. “Dragons are not entirely innocent,” he reminded me, as if I could forget the scars I’d seen them cause, “they destroy crops and villages, harm people…”

  “I know, I know,” I said shortly. “But I am curious, how many villages did this dragon burn? How many people did he eat?”

  A short pause.

  “None, Your Majesty.”

  “And yet we killed it, for sport.” My breath was running out too quickly. “We shackle its jaw and stunt its beautiful wings, all for sport.”

  The captain furrowed his brow, narrowing his gaze as he assessed my words. He didn’t seem pleased with them, and I could guess why. He’d been with the prince when he’d slayed dragons and ogres and gargoyles in protection of the kingdom. His whole life, he’d been trained to attack first and never doubt it later. Why should he have any pity now, especially as he knew and saw much more than I had what kind of damage a dragon could do?

  “Her Majesty is unwell,” he concluded finally, as if that was the only reason for my whitened face, my tumbling stomach, my unexpectedly noncompliant behavior today.

  My hand shot to steady myself against the wall as another wave of dizziness washed over me. I clenched my teeth, forcing my mind to fight against my rebelling body. “I may be unwell, Captain,” I squeezed out, “but I am not entirely wrong.”

  I’m sure he replied with something, but I didn’t hear him. I was only conscious long enough to see him spring toward me, before I collapsed.

  I awoke in my bed some hours later, and caught a glimpse of stars brightening the sky through my window. I stirred quietly, turning enough to see Javotte sitting in a chair beside my bed. She looked frazzled, unkempt, so unlike the Javotte who’d served me faithfully all these years.

  “Your Majesty,” she exclaimed upon seeing my half-opened eyes. “You’re awake!”

  I worked my tongue around my parched mouth and Javotte gently lifted my head to bring it closer to the cup of cool water she was raising to me. I took in a few drops then closed my lips. It hurt to swallow. It hurt to raise my head.

  “The king?” I rasped out, more a shape than a sound.

  “His Majesty was here, but he’s since gone to see after your guests,” Javotte explained. “The king held your hand the entire time he was here, as if his strength would be enough to heal you.”

  A small smile tugged at my lips, but I was too weak to set it free. My husband, my king, ever my Prince Charming. I hoped I hadn’t scared him too much. I hoped I hadn’t ruined the day for him. I closed my eyes and pictured him sitting beside me. As I drifted back to sleep, I hoped his face would be the first I’d see in the morning.

  His face was not the first I saw when I next woke up; rather, it was the worried, haggard expression commanding the captain’s face. Although he’d kept his beard from that day when we snuck into the capital, it looked overgrown now, as if he hadn’t cared for it in days.

  The sky was just beginning to lighten through the windows behind him. If it was just morning, then I’d only been asleep a few hours. It felt like much longer. My body was tired still.

  He sprang to the side of my bed when he saw my eyes open and took my hand in his without asking. I knew, somewhere in the darkness of my consciousness, that something wasn’t right if he was clutching my hand so desperately, as if he were my final lifeline between this world and the next.

  I wanted to say something to him, to ask after my king and for forgiveness for fainting, for the fright I must have given him. I wanted to reassure him that I would be all right. That though I was small, I was not too weak to fight back. To remind him how much I’d survived until now. But I felt too tired to speak.

  Nothing was said as I drifted back to sleep, against his urgings for me to stay awake.

  A familiar warmth burning steadily through my veins pried my eyes open.

  My mind felt stuffed, my body heavy, but as the warmth spread throughout my body those feelings slowly began to dissipate the way a thick morning fog flees the sun.

  Someone was holding my hand. The captain? I turned my head. Marie!

  “Grandmère,” I mouthed.

  “Ella, dear,” she replied in a hush, raising one of her hands to stroke my sun burnt hair away from my face.

  Something didn’t feel right, and it took me some time to realize that it was Marie. There wasn’t anything wrong with her, but she’d been rather adamant about avoiding the palace, and now she was here with me, in my very room. She must have seen the confused look on my face.

  “Matteus called for me,” she explained. “You were unconscious for three days, and the physicians couldn’t figure out what was wrong.”

  Who’s Matteus? I wanted to know. But though I was already feeling better, my throat didn’t yet have the power to speak. I relaxed into my pillows, and lay quietly as Marie held my hand and hummed something that sounded like a lullaby I should have known, but didn’t.

  Finally, I felt strong enough to sit up and did so with Marie’s help.

  My bedchamber was empty, save Marie. The fire was well fed, the room was tidy and warm, a tray of food had been optimistically left for me on a nearby table.

&nbs
p; “Where…is…every…one?” I scratched out.

  “The captain sent them off to bed when he knew I was coming,” Marie explained as she prepared me a hot drink from the tray. “Though Heaven knows he’s barely slept in days.”

  I could only imagine how things must have been if the captain had been forced to call for Marie. How did he feel greeting her under my pear tree, not long after he’d been charged with looking after me in that very spot? How should I feel knowing Marie had to come, even after I’d promised to look after myself?

  “I’m sorry,” I told her.

  “Don’t be,” she said sadly. “This wasn’t your doing.”

  “I was sick,” I protested. “Over three days.”

  Marie shook her head. “Something evil was attacking your blood,” she explained. “Your body needed time to fight it.”

  With that, she rubbed my hand again, and I suspected that the magic in her touch deserved most of the credit. It didn’t seem likely that a frail, tiny girl such as myself could fight this supposed evil alone. Our talk was cut short when a figure silently appeared in my room.

  “The queen’s awake,” the captain said, glancing uneasily at Marie as if to confirm this was lasting.

  “She’s awake,” Marie confirmed, and even I could feel the relief flooding through him.

  “When you—at the wall—then you fell—” he stammered. He stopped himself short and I could see him pulling himself together, could see the control and discipline returning to his frame. “Thank Heaven Her Majesty is well.”

  I reached out my hand to him, and after a moment of confused hesitation, he stepped forward to take it, his strong, reliable hand quickly swallowing my little one.

  “Thank you, Captain,” I said. “You are a worthy friend.”

  The captain blushed and took his hand back. “I was only doing my duty to Her Majesty,” he said modestly.

  “Don’t belittle what you’ve done, Captain,” I admonished. “How is the king?”