by Shea, K. M.
“What do you mean?”
“When you think of the Erlauf Army, I can only guess you picture a mindless hoard of barbarians who kill and slaughter.”
Cinderella tapped a foot on the floor. “Was that why you paraded me through here? To show me they’re still men? That they talk and laugh just like everyone else?”
“Perhaps,” the Colonel said.
Cinderella joined the Colonel at the window. Before meeting the Colonel, it was easy to paint a negative portrait of Erlauf soldiers…but somewhere between helping her break into the library and basket-weaving, Cinderella’s view of the Colonel had altered.
Similarly, it would be easy to look at the soldiers and wonder how many Trieux men they had slain, but it was also easy to see how they were like any other human being.
“Nobody wins in war. At least, that was what my Father said,” Cinderella said.
“I agree,” the Colonel said.
Cinderella looked to the Colonel, surprised he should feel the same. Even Cinderella wasn’t entirely sure what her Father meant by the phrase. The Colonel’s voice was coated with something. Cinderella couldn’t quite identify it, but it sounded like wistfulness. “But it doesn’t mean Trieux wasn’t wronged in the takeover,” she said.
“I suppose you are referring to the taxes?”
“The taxes, the slaughter, the exiles, the new laws. If you meant to show me your soldiers are human too, you have succeeded and softened me some. But you have done nothing to convince me your Erlauf Royalty are anything but brutes,” Cinderella said.
The Colonel coughed. “Of course,” he said.
There were a few moments of awkward silence before Cinderella remembered herself. “Thank you for the book—although the content was not what I thought it would be.”
The Colonel grinned. “I managed to fool you, did I? You’re welcome. I hope you can use it. I have something else for you.”
Cinderella blinked. “Oh?”
The Colonel rolled his eye as he pulled something from a pocket in his jacket. “It is not a book or something for you to sell—you are a merchant at heart, do you know that?”
“What is it?” Cinderella asked, ignoring the teasing.
“Before I give it to you, you must promise you will wear it always.”
Cinderella suspiciously eyed the Colonel. “What?”
“It is a necklace, a token of my affections,” he said, ignoring Cinderella’s huff of disbelief. “You must wear it, all the time. If you don’t wear it around your neck, I want it tucked in your skirts or something.”
“Friedrich,” Cinderella said, shocked by his words.
“I am not joking, Cinderella. You must wear this,” the Colonel said, his dark eye weighing on Cinderella like a draft horse stepping on a blade of grass.
Curious, Cinderella sighed. “As you wish.”
The Colonel passed over the necklace, which was a simple design of a flying dragon hanging from a chain. The craftsmanship was splendid, but it did not look particularly costly. Perhaps it was a way his men could identify her? Cinderella wouldn’t put it past the Colonel to soak the necklace in some sort of oil the patrol dogs could easily sniff out.
“Thank you,” Cinderella said, taking the necklace. “It’s very kind of you.”
The Colonel watched her expectantly, and Cinderella hesitated. The dragon was clearly styled to resemble the royal Erlauf crest—which was also a flying dragon. Hanging such a symbol from her neck felt almost traitorous.
Cinderella looked back at the Colonel. “You said I have to wear it?” she asked.
The corners of the Colonel’s mouth briefly turned down. “I thought you might balk,” he said. “If you find it unbearable, carrying it on your person will do well enough.”
Cinderella studied the Colonel, who rewarded her with a wry smile.
Cinderella had saved his life, and the Colonel had very likely saved hers by taking down the assassin—however little she liked to think of it.
Cinderella looked down at the dragon and briefly clenched it in her hand. Like it or not, he had become a strange sort of friend or companion, in spite of his heritage.
“If it’s so important to you…” Cinderella trailed off as she fastened the necklace around her neck. It was long and dipped under her dress, hiding the dragon from eyesight.
“It is. Thank you,” the Colonel said, his smile turning bright.
Cinderella fiddled with the necklace and her pricey book. “I should go,” she said, feeling awkward.
“Yes,” the Colonel agreed.
Cinderella arched a scarlet-red eyebrow. “So eager to get rid of me? How unusual.”
“Not at all. My General and Colonel Merrich-the-goat-foot will be back soon. I would rather avoid you meeting them right now.”
“You feel I will embarrass you?”
“No, it is quite the reverse. I fear they will embarrass me.”
“Oh?” Cinderella asked.
“Darn it, now I’ve intrigued you. Please allow me to assure you my General is a force of nature you would rather not meet right now.”
“And this Merrich you’ve mentioned?”
“Let’s just say I’m the jealous type.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Come along. We can stop at the stables on our way out.”
“As you wish.”
“Thank you.”
Chapter 7
Cinderella was in her room—studying the two good dresses she still owned. The Delattres recently sent her a dinner invitation for the following week. As these were advance invitations, it was likely to be a more formal event, and all remaining Trieux nobility were invited. Cinderella would have to make a greater effort to look presentable according to Trieux standards.
“I think I will grow too hot in my winter dress, but my summer dress…,” Cinderella trailed off and brushed the silk skirts. Both dresses were simple—Cinderella sold her more lavish dresses out of practicality—but Cinderella was reluctant to wear her remaining summer dress as it was the last gift she had received from her father.
Cinderella sighed and turned her back to the nearly empty wardrobe.
Her thoughts were interrupted by three timid knocks on the door.
“Come in,” Cinderella said.
“Mademoiselle,” Jeanne curtsied after she opened the door. “There is an Erlauf man here to see you.”
“An army officer?”
“No. A government official.”
Cinderella sucked a breath of air in and placed a hand on her stomach, as if to hold it in place. Erlauf officials were never a good thing. “Thank you, Jeanne. I will see him now. He is still in the main entrance?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” Cinderella said, dread filling her as she made her way to the entrance.
What could they want? They publically post tax law changes. We paid last season’s taxes. Did we not renew our stall license for the market stand? Cinderella’s mind crawled with possible problems and worst-case scenarios. She was stiff with worry by the time she greeted the Erlauf Official.
“I am Duchess Cinderella Lacreux. You asked to see me?” Cinderella asked.
The official raised his eyebrows at Cinderella’s appearance—shorn hair and servant-length skirts—before he extended a stack of papers. “I was sent by Queen Freja to address your unpaid fines.”
“What?” Cinderella said, plucking the papers from his grasp.
“After the war, Aveyron failed to pay several of the landholding fines. As half of them were paid off, the Crown assumed the rest would be forthcoming, but was never compensated. The interest has accrued quite steeply.”
“I don’t understand. I was never told of landholding fines,” Cinderella said.
“It was a one-time amount placed on nobles newly adopted into Erlauf,” the official said.
That’s a fancy way of saying only Trieux nobles had to pay this, Cinderella thought.
“But I never heard of this, I never re
ceived any notice of it, nor of the compounding interest.”
“I believe the Lord of Aveyron at the time of the fine was Eugene Lacreux. It was his failure to pay off all the fees, but as you inherited his estate, you inherited his debt as well.”
“My father knew about this?” Cinderella said.
The official indicated the papers Cinderella held.
Cinderella flipped through them, taking note of the dates and the signatures. Her Father’s signature was scrawled on some of the paperwork, indicating he acknowledged the fine. The dates all matched up—the fines were from when her Father still breathed.
Why didn’t he just pay them?
“What is the total?” Cinderella asked.
The Erlauf official took the papers from Cinderella and flipped through them. He pointed to a figure on the second to last page.
“What?” Cinderella said. “This cannot be right. That’s half the yearly income Aveyron makes before taxes and expenses are calculated. We cannot pay this on top of our usual tax burden.”
“Should you be unable to pay the fine, the Crown will seize Aveyron itself as payment.”
Cinderella gaped in shock.
“The Crown expects the majority of the debt to be paid off by the end of summer. Do you understand?”
Cinderella nodded.
“That concludes our business. Good afternoon, Lady Lacreux,” the official said. He bowed at the waist and left the chateau.
Alone, Cinderella sank to her knees.
This was it. She was going to lose Aveyron, and fail in her duty to Aveyron’s servants and tenants. There was no way Cinderella could pay off the debt. She could have limped by, paying off the initial fine, but the debt had accrued so much the number was a mountain she couldn’t overcome.
What was Father thinking? Cinderella wondered. What do I do? What do I tell everyone?
“Cinderella? I hope you have a reason for slumping on the filthy floor like a common beggar,” an icy cold voice said. It was Lady Klara.
Cinderella opened her mouth several times before she was able to speak. “Good afternoon, Step-Mother.”
“What did the official want?”
Cinderella plucked the paper out of the packet that detailed the fines and interest due. She handed it up to her Step-mother, too weak to stand.
Lady Klara took it and started reading.
A sliver of hope resonated in Cinderella. Perhaps her Step-Mother would finally be moved to financially help Aveyron?
“You will marry and sell Aveyron?”
“What?” Cinderella said, her lips stiff.
“Your only other option is to entirely lose Aveyron. At least with marriage you will not find yourself penniless.”
Her hopes crushed, Cinderella stared at the ground, her hands clamped into fists.
“It does not matter to me what you choose to do. I will look into alternate housing for my daughters and me. Please tell me when you have made your decision,” Lady Klara said, extending the paper to Cinderella.
When Cinderella didn’t take it, Lady Klara dropped it and walked away, her steps echoing in the empty chamber.
A door opened and closed, and Cinderella’s shoulders shook with rage and misery.
Cinderella roared and picked up the papers. She flung them across the room before she slumped forward and pounded the floor with her fists.
This was it. After everything she had done, she would still lose Aveyron.
This was the end.
“You look terrible.”
Cinderella closed her eyes. She couldn’t deal with him right now. “Go away, Friedrich.”
“Oh no. You just used my name. This calls for a celebration,” the Colonel said, plopping down in the dirt next to Cinderella.
Cinderella was huddled against a fountain in the public gardens. It was early in the day, so the gardens were empty, but there were still patrolling soldiers around to ignore Cinderella’s tears and keep her safe.
“How did you know I was here?” Cinderella asked, covering her swollen, red-rimmed eyes with her hands.
“Several soldiers reported to me that my darling Pet was sobbing her eyes out in the gardens.”
“Could you stop with the jokes? You might be enjoying yourself, but this isn’t funny. If you’re just going to call me silly names would you please leave?”
The Colonel peeled Cinderella’s hands away from her eyes. “Cinderella, what’s wrong?” he asked in a gentle voice.
“I’ve lost,” Cinderella said in a broken whisper. “Aveyron is as good as gone.”
“How?”
“There were fines. I didn’t know about them. They were from directly after the takeover, when my father still…They’re so big now I cannot possibly pay them as well as taxes.”
“Can’t you sell any land, or layoff servants?”
“No,” Cinderella said. “I cannot let any of the staff members go, and the only reason Aveyron survives as it has is because of all the farm land and grazing land.”
“But if you lose Aveyron, all of your servants will be lost as well.”
“Aveyron isn’t what’s important. It’s the servants. Choosing whom to abandon and let go—I can’t do it.”
“So what will you do?”
“Either I lose Aveyron to the crown at the end of this summer, or I sell it. Unless I want to be penniless and homeless, I will have to marry,” Cinderella said, tipping her head back to stare at the blue sky. It seemed wrong that the weather could be so delightful as Cinderella’s world fell apart.
“So marry me.”
“What?”
“Marry me,” Friedrich repeated.
“You must be out of your mind,” Cinderella said.
“No.”
“Then you are joking.”
“I’m not.”
“What could possibly move you to want to marry someone from Trieux?”
“Love?”
“HAH!”
“Aren’t you jaded,” Friedrich said, adjusting his black patch.
“You’re not in love with me. You aren’t even hurt by my refusal.”
“I’m very hurt. Deep inside my heart is crying,” Friedrich said.
Cinderella snorted.
“And although you might fight it, you’re considered an Erlauf citizen.”
“That does nothing to change my situation.”
“I know; I just wanted to be sure you knew. But you’ve gotten me off track. Cinderella Lacreux, please marry me,” Friedrich said. He picked up one of Cinderella’s hands and grazed her knuckles with his lips.
“Friedrich, I’m going to have a mountain of debt on me. You could not possibly pay it off.”
“Perhaps I can’t pay it off, but I have other resources,” Friedrich said.
Cinderella shook her head. “No. I can’t. Unless you can afford to pay this amount as a bride price, my answer is no.” Cinderella said, digging the crumpled paper that listed the amounts Aveyron owed out of her apron pocket.
Friedrich smoothed the paper and whistled. “I hope your servants are worth it.”
“They’re all I have.”
“Well. If I get this amount and present it to you, you’ll marry?”
“If you have it before the summer is over, yes,” Cinderella said.
“Right. Can I keep this?”
“If you want,” Cinderella said, massaging her temples.
“In the meantime, I have something that might bring you a smile,” Friedrich said, shifting so he could unhook a pouch from his belt.
“I cannot possibly take another gift. You’ve already given me more than I can repay you.”
“Then consider it not a gift, but a reward for wearing the necklace,” Friedrich said, nodding at the bit of chain that was visible on the back of Cinderella’s neck before he passed the pouch over.
She opened the bag and peered inside. “Seeds?”
“Flower seeds.”
On a normal day, Cinderella would hate Friedrich for once a
gain being so free and careless with great amounts of money—signifying his financial wealth, or at the very least independence—but instead Cinderella eyed the seeds with new appreciation. Planting flowers might be grasping at straws, but it was better than waiting for the inevitable. “What kind?”
“Sun Skips.”
“I haven’t heard of them,” Cinderella said, swiveling to look in the direction of the library.
“They’re in the book I gave you, you criminally-minded mademoiselle.”
“Oh. Thank you,” Cinderella said. “This looks like a lot of seeds.”
“It’s enough for a field. They’re blasted costly to purchase, so I suggest you save the seeds from your flowers when they die. You could plant some next year and sell the rest,” Friedrich said.
“If they’re ‘blasted costly’ how did you get them?” Cinderella asked, eyeing Friedrich.
“Through legal methods. It’s not like you are in a position to look down on me, Lady Break-and-Enter,” Friedrich said, tweaking the tip of Cinderella’s button nose.
Cinderella laughed. “Thank you, Friedrich,” she said, grateful to be amused even as her world fell apart.
“For marrying you?”
Cinderella rolled her eyes. “For the seeds. For coming,” she said before she stood up and dusted off her dress. She held the pouch of seeds up to the sky. “It’s too early to give up hope. I forgot that. Thank you,” she said, smiling down at the officer.
Friedrich tilted his head. “Does this mean you’ll forgive our lovely queen, her wonderful husband, and her charming sons?”
“Hardly,” Cinderella sourly said.
“I thought as much, but it was worth a try,” Friedrich said as he, too, stood.
He leaned closer and closer to Cinderella, lowering his face towards hers. When he was a hand’s width away, Cinderella asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to kiss you.”
In an instant, Cinderella had both her hands clamped over his lips. “No, you aren’t.”
Friedrich sighed, his breath warm against Cinderella’s hands. “Why not? Don’t I deserve it?”
“Kissing is not a matter of deserving.”
“Then what is it?”
“It is an easy way to express affection.”