Cinderella: Hired by the Prince

by Marion Lennox

  Pack him up and get him out of here… It was a dreadful decree, but how much worse would it have been if the Crown Prince had ordered him to stay? As he was being ordered to stay now.

  Not Philippe, though. Philippe was free, if he could just be made happy with that freedom.

  ‘Tell me about your cat,’ he asked, trying a smile, and Philippe swallowed and swallowed again and made a manful effort to respond.

  ‘He’s little,’ he whispered. ‘The other cats fight him and he’s not very strong. Something bit his ear. Papà doesn’t permit me to take him inside, so he lives in the stables, but he comes when I call him. He’s orange with a white nose.’

  ‘Are there many orange cats with white noses at the palace?’ Ramón asked, and for some reason the image of Jenny was with him strongly, urging him on. The little boy shook his head.

  ‘Bebe’s the only one. He’s my friend.’ He tilted his chin, obviously searching for courage for a confession. ‘Sometimes I take a little fish from the kitchen when no one’s looking. Bebe likes fish.’

  ‘So he shouldn’t be hard to find.’ Ramón glanced at Consuela and Ernesto, questioningly. This place was a farm. Surely one cat…

  ‘We like cats,’ Consuela said, guessing where he was going. ‘But Señor Rodriguez tells us the palace cats are wild. They’re used to keep the vermin down and he says no one can catch one, much less tame one.’

  ‘I’m sure we could tame him.’ Ernesto, a wiry, weathered farmer, spoke almost as defiantly as his wife. ‘If you, sir, or your staff, could try to catch him for us…’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Ramón said. ‘He’s called Bebe, you say? My aunt has her cat at the palace now. She understands them. Let’s see what we can do.’

  Jenny would approve, he thought, as he returned to the palace, but he pushed the idea away. This was his challenge, as was every challenge in this place. It was nothing to do with Jenny.

  As soon as he returned to the palace he raided the kitchens. Then he set off to the stables with a platter of smoked salmon. He set down the saucer and waited for a little ginger cat with a torn ear to appear. It took a whole three minutes.

  Bebe wasn’t wild at all. He stroked his ears and Bebe purred. He then shed ginger fur everywhere while he wrapped himself around Ramón’s legs and the chair legs in the palace entrance and the legs of the footman on duty. Jenny would laugh, Ramón thought, but he shoved that thought away as well. Just do what comes next. Do not think of Jenny.

  Bebe objected-loudly-to the ride in a crate on the passenger seat of Ramón’s Boxster, but he settled into life with Philippe-‘as if Philippe’s been sneaking him into his bed for the last couple of years,’ Consuela told him, and maybe he had.

  After that, Philippe regained a little colour, but he still looked haunted. He missed the palace, he confided, as Ramón tried to draw him out. In a world of adults who hadn’t cared, the palace itself had become his stability.

  Pack him up and get him out of here…

  It made sense, Ramón thought. If the servants’ reaction to Philippe was anything to go by, he’d be treated like illegitimate dirt in the palace. And then there was his main worry, or maybe it wasn’t so much a worry but a cold, hard certainty.

  There was so much to be done in this country that his role as Crown Prince overwhelmed him. He had to take it on; he had no choice, but in order to do it he must be clear-headed, disciplined, focused.

  There was no link between love and duty in this job. He’d seen that spelled out with bleak cruelty. His grandmother had entered the palace through love, and had left it with her dreams and her family destroyed. His father had tried again to enter the palace, for the love of his mother, and he’d lost his life because of it. There were threats around him now, veiled threats, and who knew what else besides?

  And the knowledge settled on his heart like grey fog. To stay focused on what he must do, he could put no other person at risk. Sofìa was staying until after the coronation. After that she’d leave and no one would be at risk but him. He’d have no distractions and without them maybe, just maybe, he could bring this country back to the prosperity it deserved.

  But Philippe… And Jenny?

  They’d get over it, he told himself roughly. Or Philippe would get over his grief and move on. Jenny must never be allowed to know that grief.

  And once again he told himself harshly, this was nothing to do with Jenny. There’d never been a suggestion that they take things further. Nor could there be. This was his life and his life only, even if it was stifling.

  This place was stifling. Nothing seemed to have changed since his grandfather’s reign, or maybe since long before.

  Lack of change didn’t mean the palace had been allowed to fall into disrepair, though. Even though his grandfather and uncle had overspent their personal fortunes, the Crown itself was still wealthy, so pomp and splendour had been maintained. Furnishings were still opulent, rich paintings still covered the walls, the woodwork gleamed and the paintwork shone. The staff looked magnificent, even if their uniforms had been designed in the nineteenth century.

  But the magnificence couldn’t disguise the fact that every one of the people working in this palace went about their duties with impassive faces. Any attempt by Ramón to penetrate their rigid facades was met with stony silence and, as the weeks turned into a month and then two, he couldn’t make inroads into that rigidity.

  The servants-and the country-seemed to accept him with passive indifference. He might be better than what had gone before, the newspapers declared, but he was still royal. Soon, the press implied, he’d become just like the others.

  When he officially took his place as Crown Prince, he could make things better for the people of this county. He knew that, so he’d bear the opulence of the palace, the lack of freedom. He’d bear the formality and the media attention. He’d cope also with the blustering threats of a still furious Carlos; along with the insidious sense that threats like this had killed his father. He’d face them down.

  Alone.

  Once Philippe had recovered from his first grief, surely he’d be happy on the farm with Consuela and Ernesto.

  And also… Jenny would be happy as a muffin-maker?

  Why did he even think of her? Why had he ever insisted that she come here? It would have been easier for both of them if he’d simply let her go.

  For she was Jenny, he reminded himself harshly, a dozen times a day. She was not Gianetta. She was free to go wherever she willed. She was Jenny, with the world at her feet.

  Yet he watched the Marquita’s progress with an anxiety that bordered on obsession, and he knew that when Jenny arrived he would see her one last time. He must.

  Was that wise?

  He knew it wasn’t. There was no place for Jenny here, as there was no place for Philippe.

  He’d been alone for much of his adult life. He could go on being alone.

  But he’d see Jenny once again first. Sensible or not.

  Please…

  Eleven weeks and two days after setting sail from Auckland, the Marquita sailed into Cepheus harbour and found a party. As they approached land, every boat they passed, from tiny pleasure craft to workmanlike fishing vessels, was adorned in red, gold and deep, deep blue. The flag of Cepheus hung from every mast. The harbour was ringed with flags. There were people crowded onto the docks, spilling out of harbourside restaurants. Every restaurant looked crammed to bursting. It looked like Sydney Harbour on a sunny Sunday, multiplied by about a hundred, Jenny thought, dazed, as she made the lines ready to dock.

  ‘You reckon they’re here to welcome us?’ Gordon called to her, and she smiled.

  She’d become very fond of Gordon. When she’d first met him, the morning after Ramón had left, she’d been ready to walk away. Only his shy smile, his assumption that she was coming with him and his pleasure that she was, had kept her on board. He reminded her of her father. Which helped.

  She’d been sailing with him now for almost three months. He
’d kept his own counsel and she’d kept hers, and it had taken almost all those months for her emotions to settle.

  Now…approaching the dock she was so tense she could hardly speak. Normally she welcomed Gordon’s reserve but his silence was only adding to her tension.

  There was no need for her to be tense, she told herself. She’d had a couple of surreal weeks with royalty. In true princely fashion he’d rescued her from a life of making muffins, and now she could get on with her life.

  With this experience of sailing round the Horn behind her, and with Gordon’s references, maybe she could get another job on board a boat. She could keep right on sailing. While Ramón…

  See, that was what she couldn’t let herself think. The future and Ramón.

  It had been a two-week affair. Nothing more.

  ‘What’s the occasion?’ Gordon was behind the wheel, calling to people on the boat passing them. But they didn’t understand English, or Gordon’s broad mixed accent.

  ‘Why the flags and decorations?’ she called in Spanish and was rewarded by comprehension.

  ‘Are you from another planet?’ they called, incredulous. ‘Everyone knows what’s happening today.’

  Their language was the mix of Spanish and French Ramón had used with the lawyer. She felt almost at home.

  No. This was Ramón’s home. Not hers.

  ‘We’re from Australia,’ she called. ‘We know nothing.’

  ‘Well, welcome.’ The people raised glasses in salutation. ‘You’re here just in time.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For the coronation,’ they called. ‘It’s a public holiday. Crown Prince Ramón Cavellero of Cepheus accepts his Crown today.’

  Right. She stood in the bow and let her hands automatically organize lines. Or not. She didn’t know what her hands were doing.

  First thought? Stupidly, it was that Ramón wouldn’t be meeting her.

  Had she ever believed he would? Ramón was a Prince of the Blood. He’d have moved on.

  ‘Is that our berth?’ Gordon called, and she caught herself, glanced at the sheet the harbour master had faxed through and then looked ahead to where their designated berth should be.

  And drew in her breath.

  Ramón wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t. But there was a welcoming committee. There were four officials, three men and a woman, all in some sort of official uniform. The colours of their uniform matched the colours of the flags.

  This yacht belonged to royalty, and representatives of royalty were there to meet them.

  ‘Reckon any of them can catch a line?’ Gordon called and she tried to smile.

  ‘We’re about to find out.’

  Not only could they catch a line, they were efficient, courteous and they took smoothly over from the time the Marquita touched the dock.

  ‘Welcome,’ the senior official said gravely, in English. ‘You are exactly on time.’

  ‘You’ve been waiting for us?’

  ‘His Highness has had you tracked from the moment you left Auckland. He’s delighted you could be here today. He asks that you attend the ceremony this afternoon, and the official ball this evening.’

  Jenny swung around to stare at Gordon-who was staring back at her. They matched. They both had their mouths wide open.

  ‘Reckon we won’t fit in,’ Gordon drawled at last, sounding flabbergasted. ‘Reckon there won’t be a lot of folk wearing salt-crusted oilskins on your guest list.’

  ‘That’s why we’re here,’ the official said smoothly. ‘Jorge here will complete the care of the Marquita, while Dalila and Rudi are instructed to care for you. If you agree, we’ll escort you to the palace, you’ll be fitted with clothing suitable for the occasion and you’ll be His Highness’s honoured guests at the ceremonies this afternoon and this evening.’

  Jenny gasped. Her head was starting to explode. To see Ramón as a prince…

  ‘We can’t,’ Gordon muttered.

  But Jenny looked at the elderly seaman and saw her mixture of emotions reflected on his face. They’d been at sea for three months now, and she knew enough of Gordon to realize he stacked up life’s events and used them to fill the long stretches at sea that he lived for.

  He was staring at the officials with a mixture of awe and dread. And desire.

  If she didn’t go, Gordon wouldn’t go.

  And, a little voice inside her breathed, she’d get to see Ramón one last time.

  Once upon a time Ramón had been her skipper. Once upon a time he’d been her lover. He’d moved on now. He was a Crown Prince.

  She’d see him today and then she’d leave.

  For the Marquita to berth on the same day as his coronation was a coincidence he couldn’t ignore, making his resolution waver.

  He’d made the decision to send his apologies when the boat berthed, for Jenny to be treated with all honour, paid handsomely and then escorted to the airport and given a first-class ticket back to Australia. That was the sensible decision. He couldn’t allow himself to be diverted from his chosen path. But when he’d learned the Marquita’s date of arrival was today he’d given orders before he thought it through. Sensible or not, he would see Jenny this one last time.

  Maybe he should see it as an omen, he decided as he dressed. Maybe he was meant to have her nearby, giving him strength to take this final step.

  Servants were fussing over his uniform, making sure he looked every inch the Ruler of Cepheus, and outside there was sufficient security to defend him against a small army. Carlos’s blustering threats of support from the military seemed to have no foundation. On his own he had nothing to fear, and on his own he must rule.

  The last three months had cemented his determination to change this country. If he must accept the Crown then he’d do it as it was meant to be done. He could change this country for the better. He could make life easier for the population. The Crown, this ultimate position of authority, had been abused for generations. If anyone was to change it, it must be him.

  Duty and desire had no place together. He knew that, and the last months’ assessment of the state of the country told him that his duty was here. He had to stay focused. He didn’t need Jenny.

  But, need her or not, he wanted Jenny at the ceremony. To have her come all this way and not see her-on this of all days-that was more unthinkable than anything.

  He would dance with her this night, he thought. Just this once, he’d touch her and then he’d move forward. Alone.

  The doors were swinging open. The Master of State was waiting. Cepheus was waiting.

  He’d set steps in place to bring this country into the twenty-first century, he thought with grim satisfaction. His coronation would cement those steps. Fulfilling the plans he’d set in place over the last few weeks would mean this country would thrive.

  But maybe the population would never forget the family he came from, he thought as he was led in stately grandeur to the royal carriage. There were no cheers, no personal applause. Today the country was celebrating a public holiday and a continuum of history, but the populace wasn’t impressed by what he personally represented. His grandfather’s reputation came before him, smirching everything. Royalty was something to be endured.

  The country had celebrated the birth of a new Crown Prince five years ago. That deception still rankled, souring all.

  Philippe should be here, he thought. The little boy should play some part in this ceremony.

  But, out at the farm, Philippe was finally starting to relax with him, learning again to be a little boy. He still missed the palace, but to bring him back seemed just as impossible as it had been three months ago.

  Philippe was now an outsider. As he was himself, he thought grimly, glancing down at his uniform that made him seem almost ludicrously regal. And the threats were there, real or not.

  He could protect Philippe. He would protect Philippe, but from a distance. Jenny was here for this day only. Sofía would be gone. He could rule as he needed to rule.

/>   ‘It’s time, Your Highness,’ the Head of State said in stentorian tones, and Ramón knew that it was.

  It was time to accept that he was a Prince of the Blood, with all the responsibility-and loss-that the title implied.

  The great chorus of trumpets sounded, heralding the beginning of ceremonies and Jenny was sitting in a pew in the vast cathedral of Cepheus feeling bewildered. Feeling transformed. Feeling like Cinderella must have felt after the fairy godmother waved her wand.

  For she wasn’t at the back with the hired help. She and Gordon were being treated like royalty themselves.

  The palace itself had been enough to take her breath away, all spirals and turrets and battlements, a medieval fantasy clinging to white stone cliffs above a sea so blue it seemed to almost merge with the sky.

  The apartment she’d been taken to within the palace had taken even more of her breath away. It was as big as a small house, and Gordon had been shown into a similar one on the other side of the corridor. Corridor? It was more like a great hall. You could play a football match in the vast areas-decorated in gold, all carvings, columns and ancestral paintings-that joined the rooms. Dalila had ushered her in, put her holdall on a side table and instructed a maid to unpack.

  ‘I’m not staying here,’ Jenny had gasped.

  ‘For tonight at least,’ Dalila had said, formally polite in stilted English. ‘The ball will be late. The Prince requires you to stay.’

  How to fight a decree like that? How indeed to fight, when clothes were being produced that made her gasp all over again.

  ‘I can’t wear these.’

  ‘You can,’ the woman decreed. ‘If you’ll just stay still. Dolores is a dressmaker. It will take her only moments to adjust these for size.’

  And Jenny had simply been too overwhelmed to refuse. So here she was, in a pew ten seats from the front, right on the aisle, dressed in a crimson silk ball-gown that looked as if it had been made for her. It was cut low across her breasts, with tiny capped sleeves, the bodice clinging like a second skin, curving to her hips and then flaring out to an almost full circle skirt. The fabric was so beautiful it made her feel as if she was floating.