You have power, just like I do.
But how much power did Rowland have? His parents still wouldn’t let him sit on the Privy Council to discuss political matters. She didn’t know if he could get in the prison. She assumed he could. She was going to try again. This time she had more confidence. She would order the guard to take her to see Eolande. He would not dare defy her or she would threaten him with... she had no idea.
Lowering her light, she continued on. Guards stationed along the corridors looked up and bowed as she passed, bending slightly at their waists.
She descended a flight of stairs, then another, and another. The air grew colder. Through the soft slippers on her feet she felt the rough stone floor and loose pebbles that clattered down the steps when she moved too quickly.
Then the smell. It was worse than before—urine and rotting food, even death, like the fur on her bed, sour and cold. She wondered how many people had died down here.
A cold breeze rustled past her and her candle blew out. Standing still, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the lesser light. The sconces along the walls allowed her to see the rest of her way to the guard station—a small, brightly lit room. She stopped in her tracks.
A boy, inspecting his fingernails as he leaned against the wall, looked up. He was thin and small, and the sight of him instead of the burly guard from the night before made her happy. She stepped closer and he moved away from the wall and bowed low, his voice trembling as he said, “Your Highness.”
“Are you the guard tonight?”
“I’m here until my father returns, Your Highness.” He kept his chin lowered. “Can I help you, Your Highness?”
“Open the prison for me. There is someone I wish to visit.”
The boy lifted his chin and his eyes went wide. “I’m not allowed to let anyone in the prison, Your Highness.”
“When will your father return?”
“I’m not certain.”
After a moment, she realized she was touching her crown, thinking of the grease on Marion’s chin as she ate her food and told Rowland things weren’t fair. She wondered what kind of punishment she might receive, if any, for ordering the boy to open the prison. It was silly that she wasn’t allowed inside. Or maybe it was more suspicious than silly. Perhaps William and Marion were trying to keep her from Eolande. The whole thing was strange.
“I’m not asking you to open the prison door,” she said. Her heart started to pound. “I’m ordering you to open it. Now.”
“B-but, Your Highness, I’m not allowed—”
She stepped closer to him and raised her hand as if to strike him. “I said now.”
Her heart felt like it might beat through her chest, but something about the sensation was oddly satisfying. The boy fumbled with the keys hooked to his belt and stepped over to the door. In the center of the door was a window with three thick metal bars. Cinderella looked through the bars into darkness. The thought of seeing Eolande again excited her, even if it meant seeing her in such a desperate position.
“What’s going on here?” a loud voice boomed behind her. She spun around. Her crown shifted.
Standing at the foot of the stairs was the guard from the night before. He walked straight to the boy and backhanded him across the face. “You don’t open the door for anyone!” he shouted, and then turned to face Cinderella. She almost cowered, but kept herself standing tall.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but you can’t go into the prison.” His eyes blazed as white-hot as the candles burning around the small room. “By order of the king, I must ask you to leave.”
Tonight there was no fear in his expression, and this worried her. He might have told William about her visit from the night before. She reached up to adjust her crown.
“I’m going to take this up with the king,” she said steadily. “I’m going to report your behavior as well. I don’t like to see such things.” She pointed to the boy, who knelt on the floor cradling his reddened cheek. She reminded herself that she had been prepared to hit him only a moment earlier, and turned away. “I will return.” She grabbed a candle from a nearby table.
As she climbed the stairs, her heart slowed its frantic pace. She had no idea how she would get to see Eolande. Rowland was her only chance now, if he was allowed. Or she would have to speak to William, which she knew wouldn’t happen.
She hurried up the stairs, the swish, swish of her dress echoing loudly off the walls. Then she heard another swish, swish of fabric aside from her own. She stopped and looked up the stairwell where a young woman appeared from around the corner.
Isabel.
Cinderella had never spoken to the woman, but she had seen her at every meal for the past four months, always standing beside William’s chair.
Dressed in her servant clothes, she held a candle high as she stepped onto a short landing. When she spotted Cinderella, she let out a small gasp and said, “Your Highness!” and immediately lowered herself into a curtsey.
“You don’t need to do that,” she said. Curiosity filled her to the brim, bubbling over until it poured out her mouth. “Why are you going down to the prison? You know you aren’t allowed in there.”
“I’m not?” Isabel stood straight. Her candle flame shone on her face at an odd angle, keeping most of it in shadow. “I come down here every night, Your Highness. Tonight I’m later than usual. William, I mean His Majesty, he had to wait for his wife to, I mean, oh...” She put a hand to her mouth and looked at the ground. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I don’t know if you know about any of this. I should never have said anything.”
Cinderella stepped up to the landing and lowered her voice. “You can tell me whatever you like, Isabel. I promise to keep anything you say private.” Then, taking a chance on her instincts, she touched Isabel’s hand. “Is everything all right?”
Isabel looked down at Cinderella’s fingers. “I’m here to see my father.”
“Your father?”
“He has been imprisoned here for the past three years,” she explained. “I haven’t been allowed to see him until recently, until William made an arrangement... between himself and me.”
The smell of death settled itself on Cinderella’s shoulders. “Oh.”
“I must go now.” She stepped down from the landing. Her shoulder brushed against Cinderella’s. “May I go, Your Highness?”
“Of course.” Then, before she had a chance to escape, Cinderella grabbed her arm and leaned into her face. “Have you seen the old woman named Eolande? She’s imprisoned there, and I’m not allowed inside.”
“Eolande?” Isabel’s eyes were dark as coal. “You mean the witch? The one who keeps saying your name?”
Cinderella nodded. “Yes, but she’s not a witch.”
“I have seen her, yes.”
Cinderella tried to think of something else to say, but she didn’t know what to ask. Isabel couldn’t possibly get her inside the prison.
“Your Highness?”
“Nothing, I’m sorry. You may go.”
“Thank you.” Isabel rushed down the stairs, but then stopped and turned around. “Are you all right, Your Highness?”
“I will be.”
“Do you need help getting into the prison?”
“You can do that?” Cinderella let herself hope as a smile spread across Isabel’s lips. It was sweet and resembled nothing like the smiles she gave William. This one was filled with honest warmth, and it shined brighter than the candles.
“I’ll help you get in,” she said. “Tomorrow night.”
As Cinderella had imagined, Princess was pure white. Her mane, as spotless as the fluffy clouds in the blue sky, rippled in the air as she carried Cinderella along the road at a canter. Rowland, riding a deep chestnut-brown mare next to her, looked more majestic than Cinderella had ever seen him, even on their wedding day. He seemed to be in his element on a horse. Ahead of them rode three guards fully dressed for battle, and behind, three more. Cinderella thought the precaution sill
y until they passed by several burned cottages, wisps of smoke still curling up from the embers.
“We’re near the end of the main road.” Rowland said, his horse cantering next to hers. “We’ll pick up our pace when we hit the moors. Let’s go at a good gallop.”
Pick up their pace? Cinderella gripped the reins more tightly than before. She was side-saddle, her ridiculously elaborate dress rippling with the same movements as Princess’s mane. Cinderella had only ridden horses as a child, so climbing onto Princess and taking off with all the grandeur she could muster had been difficult enough. She hadn’t dared tell Rowland she was uncomfortable riding. He might not take her out for such a long ride if he knew. But she needed something to pass the day as quickly as possible. Tonight she would see Eolande, and if all went as she hoped, that would bring her one step closer to feeling the stranger’s love again. She had to know what it felt like compared to her feelings for Rowland. She would not sleep well until she knew. That, and she longed to see if it was possible to release Eolande.
The cold air felt good on her face, and being outside the castle walls was more freeing than she had imagined. She had forgotten how the winter air could sharpen her senses, especially as it rushed past her face when Rowland’s horse began to gallop and Princess followed suit.
The moors were flat and wide and allowed for a level ride along a smaller, less traveled road. It was lined with scraggly, dry bushes and patches of snow. She imagined the new grass fighting to push through the frozen soil.
Bouncing in her saddle, she let her senses envelop her. She concentrated on the th-wump, th-wump, th-wump of Princess’s hooves, the horse’s body moving in perfect rhythm as Rowland’s horse gained speed ahead. In her mind, she saw a river covered in ice. She heard an angelic voice singing to her, a mouth like a rose. The stranger was beginning to haunt her even in her waking hours.
When they reached the sea cliffs, her breath caught in her throat. She had heard about the sea, had held shells in her hands, tasted dried seaweed in dishes Fortune prepared, but she had never been to the shore or seen the sparkling waters. Leading to the cliffs, the dark maroon ground spread itself straight to the edge and then dropped hundreds of feet to the waves below. The watery horizon in the distance churned.
Rowland helped her down from Princess and walked her to the cliff edge. Her pointed black boots scuffed along the rock. She took tiny steps as she held Rowland’s hand. He hugged her waist, and trusting in his grip, she let herself lean over the edge to see the crashing waves. She held her breath. Hundreds of feet down, the foamy water broke along the cliff, slamming full force with thundering booms.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Rowland asked.
“Yes, it is.”
Their voices fell to the water and died in the noise. A wind began to blow, and Rowland steadied her as she stepped away from the edge. He held out his arm. “A walk, my love?”
“Yes.” She took his arm and they walked in silence, Rowland a protective barrier between her and the cliff edge. After the rough gallop, she enjoyed the still earth beneath her feet, and smiled when Rowland bent down to pick a white flower. It was the size of her little finger, and he tucked it behind her ear, snugly, so the wind didn’t blow it away.
“Thank you.”
“It’s beautiful against your hair,” he said with a laugh, and took her hand. “I’ve never seen blooms this early. Maybe the weather responds to you.”
She squeezed his fingers. “That’s silly.”
“No, it’s not.” He led her to the edge again and pointed down to the waves. “I used to feel like that,” he explained. “I know it’s beautiful and impressive, but before I met you I never felt connected to anything. I was lost and empty.”
Cinderella stared at the waves, not sure if she believed anything he said. She liked the sound of the words on his lips, how he praised her and loved her, but she wasn’t sure if it was genuine or left over from Eolande’s magic.
“How do I make things better for you?” she asked as they continued on. She stepped lightly, trying to avoid the lichen and plants. “Rowland?”
“See?” he said, looking up at the sun as it broke free of some clouds. “You do affect the weather.” He stopped and pulled her to his chest, kissing her softly on the mouth. In her mind, she saw Princess’s mane, the clouds, patches of snow. She touched the white flower in her hair.
Amie was waiting for her when she returned to the castle. Princess’s neck was damp from the gallop home, and Cinderella’s skin felt damp as well. As the stablemen helped her out of the saddle, she shivered in the cool air.
“It’s time for court,” Rowland said as he kissed her cheek. He smelled of leather from his doublet. His jaw was scratchy. “Would you like to observe today?”
“Observe court?” She looked to the front of the castle where carriages were dropping off finely dressed men and women. She had not learned who everyone was yet, or what they did, although Rowland kept telling her she would learn eventually. She was, however, familiar with the lower stations. Along one of the roads leading up to the castle, small bands of peasants walked or rode horses. “I think I’ll go rest,” she said, and hurried to Amie. They walked together toward the castle.
“Have you been to court?” Cinderella asked as people parted for them on their way inside.
Amie smiled. “No, but I have heard it is monstrously boring, Your Highness. Nothing but arguments and laws thrown about.”
“I wish you would call me Christina,” Cinderella said as they headed down a quiet hallway. “Even Fortune in the kitchen calls me Christina.”
“It would not be proper, Your Highness, when others are around.”
She laughed and gestured to the empty stairway they had reached. “Do you see anyone around?”
“No, but you never know.” Amie smiled as two guards came around the corner at the top of the stairs. They bowed to Cinderella and continued on. “It is not that I don’t appreciate your request, Your Highness,” she said as they entered Cinderella’s chambers. “I came from the French court, and it is very proper there.” She began to unlace Cinderella’s dress. The bottom hem was covered with mud.
Cinderella stood still. “How did you end up here?”
“Oh, that is a long story.”
“I can listen. We have plenty of time.”
She sucked in her breath, pausing. “I do not feel up to it, Your Highness. I am sorry.”
“Quite all right.” Cinderella pulled off her riding gloves and stepped out of her dress. She watched Amie drape it over a rack in the corner where servants would pick it up later.
“Which dress, Your Highness?”
Cinderella walked to her wardrobe room and threw open the doors. She was constantly amazed by the array of rich fabrics and embroidery, thick, shiny threads and layers stitched carefully together. Even Amie’s dresses were more extravagant than most Cinderella had seen before coming to the castle. “Any will do. I’m not planning on going anywhere else today besides supper.”
A quick rap on the door startled her. She watched Amie disappear into the outer chamber. A male voice spoke rapidly, and Amie answered, “Yes, yes, in a moment.” The door closed and she reappeared.
“We must hurry, Your Highness. You are wanted in court.”
“What?” She looked at the many dresses, stacked one on top of another on long stone shelves. She saw them in a new light now and felt instantly lost, wondering what the king and queen expected of her. Was she supposed to speak in front of everyone? The thought made her take a step back, her breaths coming more quickly. Her mind turned in circles. She looked at Amie and asked, “What do they want?”
Amie remained silent and Cinderella returned to her vanity and sank into the oak chair. It reminded her of a night not long ago when she had opened her pewter box to apply color to her cheeks. She had sent all the servants away. She had felt empty. She pulled the white flower from her hair and set it on the vanity with her riding gloves. “I feel lost since c
oming here. Rowland says he wants to help me learn things, but he’s so busy. Sometimes we only see each other at night, and I’m too tired to ask him such silly things by that point.”
Amie walked into the wardrobe, taking a small lit candle from a table. “Do not worry, Your Highness. I will choose the perfect dress for you.”
The dress was one she hadn’t worn before, but trusting Amie’s choice to drape her in jewelry, her crown, and the stately dress, she entered court with her breath stuck in her throat. A long carpet lay before her, straight to Marion and William on their thrones. On a smaller throne, Rowland sat next to William, and Cinderella’s throne sat next to Marion. The chair was frighteningly empty as Cinderella proceeded toward the royal platform. People, mostly peasants, bowed and curtseyed as she passed through. She took her seat and sat as straight as she could.
The king said, “Now we may see the widow Plimmswood and her two daughters.”
Cinderella stiffened at the sound of her maiden name, which still belonged to her stepmother, Rose.
Lucy and Edith appeared first, elegantly dressed, their dark hair piled on top of their heads. Curls spilled around their dainty faces. They looked like twins, but Cinderella knew better. They were two years apart, older than Cinderella, and as loud as a set of chattering birds when not in the company of royalty. Now their lips were pursed shut.
They stood straight from their curtsey and looked at Cinderella. She stared blankly at them as emotions roiled inside her. She remembered the morning Lucy had poured cold water on her feet to wake her up. The moisture had molded the hay that made up her bed, making it necessary for her to throw it out and sleep on the cold floor until summer came and more hay was available. Edith’s favorite trick had been to spill her own food during meals and demand more—when oftentimes the “more” was Cinderella’s portion.
Bonded: Three Fairy Tales, One Bond Page 3