‘Cinderella is prettier,’ the prince said. It sounded weak. From her place at the door Cinderella couldn’t decide if he was defending her or himself with the statement.
‘Listening at doors so early in your relationship? Where’s the trust?’
A hand suddenly reached in front of her and closed the door and Cinderella jumped backwards, her heart racing. The driver, the fairy godmother’s servant, leaned against the wall. He smiled but she was sure he was laughing at her. ‘I didn’t take you for the sort.’
‘I just wanted to . . . I just . . .’ She couldn’t finish the sentence. ‘It’s none of your business anyway. And how did you get in the castle?’
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’ Even in the gloomy corridor she could see his eyes twinkling. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘So how’s true love working out?’
She turned her back on him and started to walk away. She didn’t have time for him now. What did he know about anything anyway? She thought he’d stayed by the door until she rounded the corner and then glanced back. She jumped again to find him right behind her.
‘You’re not the only one who can move silently, you know.’
Close up she could see the roughness of his tanned skin, and was struck once again by how different it was from the prince’s smooth pale face. Even though she was sure he wasn’t very much older than her, creases had formed on his cheeks and she wondered if they’d been made where he smiled. His dark hair flopped slightly over one eye, and she knew that, unlike his skin, it would be silky soft to the touch. He was standing so close to her she could smell him; warm and almost musky. He reminded her of the forest and all the wild things that lived there.
‘What do you want?’ Her voice was cold and she stood tall. He was not going to intimidate her. The king’s words still rang in her head. She’s a pretty little thing. They stung her and she wasn’t entirely sure why.
‘Just reminding you of your promise. To search the castle.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten.’ Cinderella lifted her chin. He irritated her. It was the way he spoke. The way he was so confident. He irritated her a lot. ‘I don’t need a lackey to remind me.’
‘Good.’ This time he was the one to turn and walk away. ‘I’ll meet you at the back kitchen door tomorrow night at three. Don’t be late.’ He didn’t even look back.
Cinderella crept to her room, crawled into her bed and stared at the ceiling. It was a warmer and more comfortable bed than she’d slept in for years, but she couldn’t sleep. When she finally did her dreams were plagued with nightmares of running endlessly through the castle trying to find a way out.
7
‘He was so very beautiful . . .’
Over the next few days things seemed to get better. The prince began to court her properly and amidst the dress fittings and wedding preparations he lunched with her and walked her through the frozen maze gardens that were so beautiful, even in the grip of winter, that they almost took her breath away. They became more familiar with each other and while she told him stories of her childhood, the prince regaled her with tales of his adventures abroad. She would watch him and sometimes have to pinch herself that her arm was linked with his and that they were going to be married.
He kissed her often and his lips were soft on hers, but she ached to feel the passion they’d shared on the night of the Bride Ball. Much of her time though was spent learning everything that was expected from a royal bride – how to walk, how to sit, how to speak to dignitaries, how to treat servants and how to dance – while all the time having her lack of noble grace bemoaned. Oftentimes, she just wanted to cry from the effort of it, and then Rose would find her and help her and that would make her feel worse as she remembered her own selfish actions from what seemed like a lifetime ago. Her father was busy setting up the new national newspaper and her step-mother was helping him and when the two young women did see them they were full of such excited happy talk that it made the small empty space inside Cinderella grow.
She was also tired from her nightly explorations. The castle might not have been as large in reality as it always had been in her imagination but she’d begun to realise it would take her several weeks to search every room. Often she couldn’t escape from dinner until after eleven, and then had to go through the pretence of going to bed before sneaking out again. She was also surprised at how many people seemed to live here. Although she was light on her feet she often had to duck behind curtains or hide beneath tables as servants or soldiers toured the building checking it was safe. What surprised her more, however, was the discovery that she found her secret task quite exciting – far more than her new life as a princess – especially when she came close to getting caught. On those nights she would arrive at the kitchen door with her face flushed and so high on the thrill that the huntsman would laugh out loud; a rough, earthy sound, and she would laugh with him even though she had nothing to report.
One night her search brought her to the prince’s apartments. That afternoon they had played chess together and she had won and he’d looked at her in such surprise, as if seeing beyond the pretty little thing she was to the woman beneath. The woman she was growing into. Her heart had surged with the possibility that he might love her after all.
As she stood outside his bedroom, the floor cold beneath her bare feet, she couldn’t help but push the door open a little to look inside. She didn’t want to wake him, just to see him sleeping and imagine herself next to him, their naked bodies entwined in life as they often were in her fantasies.
The bedroom was empty and the covers still perfectly made. She stared for a long moment, the cold from the floor suddenly nothing next to the chill in her heart. Where was he? It was nearly three in the morning and he’d said at dinner that he was tired. Slowly, she closed the door. She tried to turn her mind from the only logical reason for his absence but she couldn’t quite manage it. He was somewhere in the castle with another woman. She felt sick. Suddenly, she wanted her old bedroom with his picture on her wall where she could look at him and imagine him perfect. She’d been stupid. A stupid little girl. She turned and ran, her heart a little more broken.
‘I still haven’t found anything,’ she snapped at the fairy godmother’s man, waiting as he was for her by the kitchen door. ‘But it would help if I knew what I was looking for.’
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘You’ll know when you find it.’
‘Trust you? I don’t even know you.’ She knew the words were harsh but she couldn’t help it. She felt sick. Her prince was in another woman’s bed. He hadn’t even tried to get into hers – even after everything at the Bride Ball. She thought of the fairy godmother. What had she said? She’d make sure Cinderella got her prince, but she couldn’t guarantee true love? How arrogant she’d been to think that love wouldn’t be a problem. She thought of the third dark nut tucked into the folds of her dress. What would happen if she cracked it? Would life go back to as it was before? Her stomach tightened. Even if she really wanted to – and she wasn’t sure she was ready yet – she couldn’t escape before fulfilling the fairy godmother’s commands. She’d made a promise to search the castle. She had to see that through.
‘You know me well enough. As I know you.’
‘That’s not true. I don’t know anything about you.’
‘I’m a huntsman,’ he said. ‘One who is very tired of royal games. Will that do?’ She felt his dark eyes studying her. ‘Why did you fall in love with the prince?’ he asked eventually.
The question came so far out of the blue and cut through the pain in her heart so suddenly that she found herself answering without any thought. ‘He was so very beautiful.’ She didn’t think about the past tense. She didn’t think about what that meant.
‘I suppose he is, if you like that kind of thing,’ the huntsman said. ‘But tell me,’ he leaned against the wall in his easy fashion, ‘didn’t you wonder for a moment how foolish and self-absorbed a man must be to only recognise the woman he c
laims to love from her foot fitting a shoe?’
‘No,’ she said, her face burning. ‘No I didn’t, because I’m a stupid, stupid girl. Is that what you want to hear?’ She spat her anger at him with tears stinging her eyes, and she turned and ran back inside. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. She wouldn’t cry in front of anyone.
‘Cinderella,’ he called softly after her. She turned. He was merely a shadow in the night.
‘I would have recognised you. I’d recognise you always.’ The shadow moved and then he was gone, leaving Cinderella staring after him wondering what exactly he meant.
She was tucked up in her bed, her heart still heavy, when the interconnecting door opened and Rose came in, leaning on her stick.
‘Where have you been?’ she whispered. There was no accusation in the question, only curiosity. She walked towards the bed, and Cinderella noticed how elegantly she moved, even with her limp.
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘Were you with the prince?’
The tears came then, she couldn’t help it. She cried for all of them, but mainly for her and Rose and all the trouble her childish dreams had caused. ‘He wasn’t there,’ she whispered.
She leaned against Rose who wrapped her arms around her and rocked her gently back and forth, just like she had done when they were both little girls and Cinderella couldn’t sleep.
‘You put too much importance on love, little sister.’ Rose said. ‘He is a prince and he will be a king and they always do as they please, even if they love their wives as he must love you. There are things you must learn to ignore. You will be the queen and that’s what matters. You’ll be the mother of his children. The rest, well, the rest of it won’t really matter.’ As Cinderella listened, she felt the walls of the castle close in around her. Rose made it sound so easy, this royal life. But how could you live without love? Without passion? She’d rather be dead.
‘I don’t know that I can,’ she whispered.
‘Of course you can. I’ll help you.’ Rose stroked Cinderella’s hair as she talked, her hand running gently over the thick red curls. ‘But it might do you well to love him just a little less. Life will be easier that way. You know, if you play it cleverly, you could do some good for the kingdom. Make life better for people.’
‘I don’t want to play anything,’ Cinderella sobbed. ‘I just wanted to fall in love and live in the castle.’
‘Well, one out of two isn’t that bad,’ Rose said. ‘Life isn’t a fairy tale, Cinderella. I wish it was, but it isn’t. And perhaps he will love you as you love him. Who can tell?’
Rose stayed in her room until she eventually fell asleep, Cinderella relishing the contact and affection. She’d been so lonely. Rose must have been too.
‘I love you, Rose,’ she whispered, as the knot in her stomach finally unfurled and sleep claimed her.
‘I love you too, Cinderella,’ her sister said.
The prince continued to be attentive to her but she found it hard to maintain her facade of joy when he was clearly keeping a lover secret from her. She checked his room twice more in the following nights and neither time was he there. She’d asked him how he slept and whether his apartments were comfortable. He always replied yes, and she kept the smile on her face even though she wanted to shout at him and call him a liar. By the third day, she took refuge in her room claiming fatigue at all the wedding preparations and ordered the maids to fill her a hot bath.
It was only when they’d left did she notice the little brown mouse that had followed them in. A scar ran along its back and she was surprised at the sudden surge of affection she felt at the sight of the little familiar creature.
‘How did you get in here?’ she asked. She crouched and held her hand out to it and laughed delightedly as it ran onto her palm, its tiny feet tickling against her skin. ‘You’re quite the little adventurer, aren’t you, Mr Mouse?’ She placed him carefully on a cushion on her bed. ‘Maybe you should be Mrs Mouse, actually,’ she said, undoing the laces of her dress. ‘Women are more reliable.’
Her dress slid away to the ground and as she peeled off her undergarments it was good to feel the air on her skin. Even though it was warm, she shivered slightly with the pleasant sensation. The mouse stood up on its hind legs, its dark eyes studying her. It was a strange little thing, but she was glad of its company.
‘Where do you think he goes every night?’ she said, softly, lowering her naked body into the hot bath, and closing her eyes. ‘Am I so terribly unlovable?’ She sighed and then opened her eyes to pick up the sponge and soap. The little mouse was sitting on the edge at the other end of the large tub. It really was a remarkable little thing. She soaped the sponge and ran it over her small firm breasts and flat stomach. Her skin tingled. The prince had awoken something in her at the ball and although she was realising that love was elusive, that fire of lust still burned. ‘Was it all just the shoes? Really? Why would she do that to me?’ Her voice grew softer as her body responded to her own touch. ‘Some fairy godmother,’ she murmured as she grew lost in her fantasy.
She closed her eyes and shut out the little mouse and the castle around her and she was back on the balcony at the Bride Ball and the prince’s hands were exploring her. Her hands moved across her body. In her mind, his hands were tanned this time, however, and rougher, and when he kissed her she could feel rough stubble rubbing her cheeks. She gasped as her fingers worked, imagining his mouth down between her legs, and then him moving up and inside her, and as she moved towards a climax she was surrounded by the scents of the forest.
The shouts of ‘Thief! Thief! The thief has been caught!’ woke her suddenly from her fantasy and, barely noticing the mouse scurrying away, she got out of the bath and wrapped a robe around her wet body before padding to the window, pulling back the thick rich curtain and looking down on the courtyard below. Castle life was kept relatively quiet at the request of the queen who was always suffering from some headache or ailment or another. But this morning there was a huge amount of fuss outside as an Earl’s carriage, identifiable by the blue flag hanging from the front, drew up and a fat man with impossibly thin stockinged legs climbed down awkwardly. Behind the carriage was a cart carrying what looked like a wooden cage. Cinderella frowned. Was that the prisoner? She was sure there was someone inside it.
As the Earl was escorted inside, four footmen ran down the stairs and lifted the cage down. Several of the ordinary servants and merchants who had loitered nearby rushed forward as soon as the Earl had disappeared inside. ‘Thief!’ one shouted at whoever was locked in the box, jabbing a stick in between the bars. ‘They’ll send you to the Troll Road!’ The footmen shooed them back, but still the jeers and catcalls continued.
Cold flooded Cinderella’s stomach. A thief. Her nerves jangled. It couldn’t be, could it? There must be hundreds of thieves in the city? She pushed the window open and leaned out into the cold morning air.
‘Buttons?’ she called down, not caring about the heads that all tilted upwards, staring at her in her clingy robe. ‘Buttons? Is that you?’
From between two bars, a pale hand appeared and waved weakly.
‘Oh no,’ Cinderella muttered, stumbling backwards into her room. ‘Oh, no.’ She grabbed at her clothes. ‘Rose!’ she shouted. ‘Rose! Something terrible’s happened!’
8
‘Take the Troll Road . . .’
The evidence against Buttons, or Robin as it turned out was his real name, was overwhelming. Caught red-handed stealing two of the earl’s silver spoons – from a collection of one hundred and twenty three which should have been a collection of one hundred and thirty – it did not take long for the masters of various households to marry up visits from the castle boy with small items going missing. It was true in the castle itself, too, where the kitchen staff confirmed that there had been many instances of fresh loaves and cheeses vanishing along with occasional bottles of wine from the cellar. Even those items that had simply been mislaid were being added to the lis
t of Buttons’ crimes.
There was no trial to speak of. He was, after all, accused of crimes against the king. Although judges did exist for the common people – albeit the trials were always a speedy and rather haphazard affair – in this instance Buttons was dealt with behind closed doors in the presence of the king, the prince and the council of nobles. It was no surprise when he was declared guilty and sentenced to take the Troll Road.
Cinderella and Rose had waited in the corridor outside, clasping each other’s hands, until the nobles in all their fur-trimmed finery filed out, already discussing the fine lunch that awaited them and Buttons’ fate forgotten. The two girls looked at each other and knew what had to be done. Rose would try and talk to the king; Cinderella would tackle the prince.
Cinderella’s heart was beating fast when she knocked on the apartment door and stepped inside. She was used to seeing the main bedroom at night and in the dark, merely shapes in the gloom, but the vast space was beautifully decorated in creams and whites with trim in blues and purples. She noticed her diamond shoe had been tossed carelessly on top of a wardrobe so high that it could barely be seen. She wondered when it had no longer merited the velvet cushion.
‘What are you doing here?’ The prince asked, surprised to see her. He was changing out of his formal clothes, and was stripped to his waist. ‘Excited about the Troll Road?’ He clearly was, his eyes bright and face flushed. ‘Have you ever been?’
Cinderella shook her head and stared at his chest; broad and smooth and exactly how she’d imagined it in her fantasies. A silver chain glinted against his skin. She swallowed and tried to focus her thoughts. ‘No, I’m not excited. I’m here to plead for mercy for the servant boy.’
‘What?’ he frowned. ‘You are joking, aren’t you? He’s a thief. What does he matter to you?
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