A Cinderella Retelling

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  I studied it now with new eyes and realized that it was actually quite small and simple. Not the sunlit slice of paradise I’d once believed it to be, but just an ordinary piazza with a well whose screechy chain echoed annoyingly against the stones of surrounding homes.

  I don’t know how long I stayed there. I don’t know if the king cared I was gone, if the carriage awaited my return, or if he’d given the nod, this time to turn the horses home regardless that the queen was missing. The shadows shifted in the piazza, afternoon dwindled, but it was still light when I heard the familiar clip of a royal horse.

  It was no shock to me when it was the captain of all people who stepped into view.

  “Won’t you come home, Your Majesty?” he asked, offering me his hand.

  I glanced up at the single horse, and it took a moment for the captain to realize his presumption.

  “I can walk,” he assured me quickly.

  I shook my head at him. “No need,” I said.

  I gave him my hand, forgetting about the crown in it until he carefully released it from my grasp. He polished it with the corner of his tunic, and I was glad I couldn’t see the narrow streaks of blood he lifted off the sharper points. The pain inside me then was too great to feel what the crown had done to cause that.

  “Please help me up.”

  The captain complied. He knelt as I raised my foot to the stirrup, his hands ready to boost me, to steady me as I gave a little hop and somehow managed to swing my tiny frame onto his huge horse. The captain was seconds behind me, softly resetting the crown upon my head once he was set. As I sat uncomfortably sidesaddle, I could see the blush bloom in his cheeks when he had to reach around me for the reins, essentially holding me to him.

  I didn’t even blink.

  The captain turned his horse toward home and keeping an eye on the first few streets we passed, I knew he was choosing the quickest and safest way back.

  It didn’t matter much to me at that point.

  All I could think was that the last time I had ridden to the palace on the same horse as a man was when my charming prince had swept me into his arms and carried me off to a life brimming with hope and promise.

  This time, there was no promise awaiting me. Only the scattered pieces of one.

  I made straight for my little garden as soon as we arrived, the captain close on my heels, holding back his stride to keep pace with me. Once there, he tried to reach out to me, but I didn’t want to speak with him. I needed time to think.

  “Leave me,” I commanded.

  He hesitated, torn in his loyalty between doing my bidding as queen and fighting it as a friend. I had to pity him then, but I still didn’t want him there.

  “Please?” I asked again, much softer.

  The captain nodded and left me to myself, and though I heard his footsteps retreat, I knew he wouldn’t be far away.

  Caring little about my clothes at that moment, I hiked up my skirts and clumsily clambered onto the decayed limbs of my once beautiful pear tree. It wouldn’t be much longer before the bark would shrivel, the trunk crack from thirst, and the gardeners would drag it away and turn it into kindling, because a dead tree did not belong in the queen’s garden. Or so they would think.

  I still had it for now, and though it was a shadow of its former self, I pulled leaves and pears from my imagination and tenderly draped them along the branches in my mind. Thusly settled, I began to think. After some time, I finally forced myself to accept the uncensored, unvarnished truth, going all the way back to the beginning of my life in the palace.

  Because of the situation he had lifted me from, I was grateful to the prince for every little thing I had. Therefore, I only wanted to make him happy, only wanted to do what he wanted, only wanted what he wanted. But while focusing on his perfection, I had missed the bigger picture. The prince hadn’t brought us together. Heaven had given us an opportunity and we had taken it, Heaven had given us options and we’d chosen, just as the prince was doing now.

  It really wasn’t that different from when I lived with Madame. I was so grateful for any glance, any attention she’d give me, that I had allowed myself to become enslaved to her because I thought that if I would only do one more thing for her, if I could only make her happy, then she would be happy with me. But Madame never wanted to find any good in me. She never wanted whatever happiness I could bring her.

  Then I thought how because of all that, I had only ever seen myself as too small, as too little, as not worth all that I’d been given. But there were those who had believed in me. My mother. Marie. Princess Lyla, Javotte, the captain, even Queen Alaina and Princess Kiara. So why had I never believed in myself? Why did I need the prince’s approval to validate who I was?

  So what if I hadn’t been raised in court? So what if I had the body of an overgrown faery child and no magic despite my purple eyes? So what if I’d scrubbed the skin off my hands again and again with hard work and unwarranted labor? Did that mean I wasn’t worthy? That my best wouldn’t be something to be proud of, at least? Why did I need to wait for others to tell me what I could do? Why was I once more sliding into submission instead of rearing up in defiance?

  What had I done with all the faith that had been placed in me?

  I saw clearly then, as I’d never seen before, the map of my life from Heaven’s eye, laid so plainly before me that I wondered how I could have mistaken the route I’d been pushed along, the route that had brought me here. I saw as well the paths that lay before me, the offshoots of roads that could have ended differently. I didn’t want to be pushed along anymore. I needed to make changes, and I had to take a leap, do something big to make that happen. I would choose my way, and my eyes would be wide open to see where that road would take me.

  Thusly, I came to a number of simple conclusions.

  For one, this was my kingdom too, and therefore it was my duty to protect it and its citizens from all harm, including any stemming from the king himself. The king who would execute a possibly innocent man.

  For two, the people had raised me up, had called me their CinderElla and I would regain my strength for them. I would raise them up with hope, even if I had none left for myself. In the same vein, I could let no harm happen to that CinderElla, or the people’s hope would shatter as surely as that other glass slipper had on the steps of my old home.

  For three, there were many people who had done much good for me and I could only repay them by showing that their faith and kindness had not been misplaced.

  For four, I really, really, really did not like being poisoned.

  I had tried to be kind to Madame, and she had belittled me, took all I owned, and locked me in my attic. I had given my entire self to the prince, and he had rejected it, wanting nothing more than to be rid of me. I was done with being kind to those who had been so cruel to me. It was time I made a definitive move to protect myself from cruelty and not just think about kindness for others, especially those who jeopardized me body or soul.

  I didn’t know how my mother would have reacted to such an assessment. She’d given me so much, brought me much farther than anyone would think possible from beyond the grave, but this was my life, my decision, my move.

  So it was that I returned to my rooms invigorated by the new course I’d mapped for myself. A few days later, I snuck into the king’s private quarters alone.

  Although I’d been in my husband’s rooms before, it hadn’t been often, because he usually came to me. Standing in his rooms, everything felt distant and familiar all at once. All things here belonged to the man I had married and lived with almost five years, and yet I was only now getting his full measure. If I didn’t know his mannerisms so well, every flicker of his eyes, every quirk of his lips, he could very well be a stranger for all I had known of the heart that beat inside.

  I had timed my visit so the rooms were quiet when I came, and I didn’t expect the king back for a while still. I had begged away in middle of dinner, my declined health excuse enough to
allow me to leave without question, though there were always those who would talk. No one yet knew of my new resolve to live, and to live well.

  I wandered around the king’s rooms, taking everything in, looking at nothing in particular Finally, I made my way into his bedchamber and stood for some time in the doorway thinking about the man who slept there. His room, as I expected, was neat and orderly, a perfect mirror of the outwardly perfect man it sheltered. The bedspread was a royal purple etched with gold brocade, the curtains were purple with gold tassels, the colors successfully declaring how noble and wealthy the occupant was. With so much purple, I was surprised that the fire had been allowed to maintain its orange and blue glow. All the purple could not hide how similar those colors were to the captive dragon he hadn’t hesitated to order slain.

  I wandered over to a window and looked down at the grounds below. It was only after a few minutes that I realized the view from these rooms included an angle of the queen’s gardens, but from a different side. The way this floor was built, my rooms were located at one end of the palace, and the king’s rooms took up the center, so although his view was more expansive, it still shared some of mine. From where I stood now, I could just catch the glint of moonlight off the goldfish pond, but more important, I had a clear view of the encased glass slipper.

  For a moment, I imagined myself as the king staring down at the blasted slipper that derailed my life. I could feel his annoyance, his anger, percolate each time he saw the singular reminder of his misguided actions. If I stood like this long enough, I would begin to hate myself, too.

  So I turned away from the window, turned completely away and came face-to-face with my reflection, framed by the blasted window overlooking that blasted shoe. I studied myself curiously, studied the degeneration that was surely a secret source of pride for my husband. Standing there, scrutinizing myself, my eye caught onto something out of place in the window frame. I squinted, then turned around to closer examine what looked like a chip in the wood.

  Bending down I ran my fingers along it and was surprised not to find it uneven because it sank in, but because it pushed out. I tapped my finger against it and soon decided it wasn’t wood I was feeling. Sliding my tiny fingers along the height of the white piece, I dipped over with it as it crested the top of the frame and found my finger could get behind it as well. I pushed and wiggled and after some effort, popped up part of the frame so a flattened square of parchment could fall through.

  Even before I picked it up I knew I would see a dealer’s green seal. Even before I opened it, I knew I would smell the acrid, bitter bloodapple poison. Even before I had seen how little was left, I knew the prince had used the rest on me.

  Once I confirmed all this, I knew the choice I would make.

  My current way of life would not last. I could live in fear forever or do something to stop the force working against me. I could coax, persuade, cajole my husband, but it would be to no avail. Even his father, in his odd way, had warned me about him, warned me about the poison in his blood. I had been foolish enough to think my love would make a difference. I had seen the darkness of his cruelty manifest in different ways since I met him. My devotion would do nothing but continue to make me weak.

  For too long I had been too kind to my prince. I had loved him, I had excused him, I had forgiven him, and I had turned a blind eye to his most grievous faults. And I had been given poisoned wine in return. My next act of kindness would not be for my prince, but for my people. I could no longer be kind to the cruel, allowing him to be cruel to the kind, the unfortunate, the innocent, the struggling, day after day. I had to withhold kindness if I wanted there to be anything left to hold onto.

  Even so, I didn’t really expect the night to turn out the way it did. Even then, I held onto the invisible strands of a thin, battered belief that maybe, just maybe, there was still something left between us, something worth saving. Even then, I thought one small kindness would be enough to reawaken the prince’s heart, even if I would never fully hold it again.

  I quietly left the king’s room and waited in my own for the night to darken.

  I returned to the king’s chambers a few hours later, when the palace was so quiet that even the swish of my dress seemed too loud. I had wanted to wear the grand purple dress from our coronation, but I needed help putting it on and didn’t want to alert Javotte about what I was about to do. Instead, I wore a simple gold dress, without jewels or beading, without extra stitching or embroidery. I though it appropriately understated.

  I had to be careful slipping back in unnoticed. It wasn’t easy but considering how many years I’d snuck around unnoticed before, I managed.

  Stepping into the king’s chambers, I stopped long enough to grab a half full decanter of wine from a small table. I was sure it tasted like cherries. Then I quietly crossed the threshold into my husband’s room and gave my eyes time to adjust to the dark.

  Once ready, I stepped toward the window and set down the wine so I could pour two glasses. I still wasn’t convinced that I would have need for them, but I wasn’t convinced that I wouldn’t. I didn’t bother to wipe up the few crimson drops my shaking hands spilled.

  I drew open the curtains so the dim light from outside filtered in, illuminating my handsome, charming prince where he slept. The noise stirred him, and he began to roll over when he must have sensed something was not right. He noticed me there, standing with a glass of wine in one hand, my faery sword, void of magic but still lethal, in the other, my own balance of justice for the man who’d betrayed his kingdom.

  His face worked through surprise, curiosity, anger, and finally settled on amusement. I studied the way the moonlight played across his once breathtaking features. He looked like an angel, illuminated as he was by the ethereal glow from outside. And wasn’t it right to think he’d fallen from the sky? To return me to my once-lost Paradise? For so long, I had felt we were dancing on stars, but stars are made of fire after all. Dance there too long and someone will get burned.

  “Hello, Ella,” he finally said, devoid of any expression, despite using my real name for the first time in years.

  “Hello, Prince Charming,” I replied.

  We watched each other a moment, a moment long enough for him to realize that I came with one intent. His amusement turned back to anger in the same flash that he lunged for me, hands flailing to grab my face, my hair, my dress, the hilt of my sword, anything. His fingers managed to swipe just above my wrist, leaving a trail of scratches that made it look like I’d tried to pet a tiger.

  The sword in my other hand shot up and dug its point into his neck, drawing out a few thick beads of blood to match the spilled wine. I had to force my hands to remain strong and steady, force my eyes to stay clear so he wouldn’t read any uncertainty, any crack in my resolve. Inside, my heart trembled with every nick of the sword. Five years ago, I could never, ever imagine the day when I would hold a sword to my beloved prince’s neck. I was seeing it and I still couldn’t believe it.

  “Don’t bother calling for the Captain,” I hissed at him. “He let me in.”

  It wasn’t true, but it could have been. I felt no regret at adding one more lie on top of the many that were already between us. I only thought then of keeping the upper hand.

  “What are you doing?” the king growled, his voice a faded refrain of the melody it once carried.

  “I’m here to say goodbye,” I said simply.

  Alexander actually smiled. “So you figured it out,” he said.

  I only nodded in reply.

  He leaned back languidly, haughtiness overtaking his expression, a sneer overtaking his lips. Having preyed on my kind and willing nature for so long, he probably didn’t think that night would be any different. Obviously, he was wrong.

  “I tried to love you once, I really did, but whatever folly encouraged that silly notion is gone, long gone,” he said, his words jabbing me like his own invisible sword. “I finally realized it wasn’t worth it anymore. Rather, you
weren’t worth it anymore.”

  Through sheer and stubborn will, I kept my face blank. I wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of reacting. Inside, my thoughts roiled. I came here to give him a chance to prove my suspicions wrong, but he was only making things worse, much, much worse.

  “Did you know that we knew who you were after the grand ball?” he asked suddenly. “Maybe we didn’t know your exact identity, but the good captain trailed you on foot from the streets of Camallea, after your pumpkin exploded on the promenade. He spotted you in the alley, you and your blasted goose, and followed you home. Of course, then he only thought your dress was torn because you’d have taken quite a tumble from your mysteriously vanished carriage.”

  Actually, I hadn’t known any of that, but I wasn’t about to tell him.

  “Imagine, while we took the shoe all over the kingdom, you were anxiously waiting for your prince to show up, and I was taking my time. That’s why your house was one of the last ones we visited. Sir Percival may not have much sense of fun, but he certainly has a flair for the dramatic.” He paused in his memory, then his face puckered like he’d unintentionally tasted wine meant for me. “Of course, you pulled one over on us when we came to your house and found out what you really were. A Cinderwench dressed by magic.” He had to stop and swallow down the bile that came up with those words and I couldn’t tell which one was more hateful to him. “Sir Percival had to convince me to put the shoe on you. He knew it would make for a good story, would rally the kingdom around me and all that; necessary, but loathsome nonetheless. I will admit to feeling like a hero for a while for having rescued you from that pitiful place. Even if you did deceive me,” he added with a glare.

  “You fell in love with a dress,” I countered, “not the person within.”

  “I was as weak as my father,” the king admitted bitterly. He smirked. “Though, the same could be said of you.”