Five Glass Slippers: A Collection of Cinderella Stories

by Elisabeth Brown

  Marius helped Rosalind into the carriage. Darcy sat up front with the driver, an unprepossessing fellow who appeared inadequate to the task of driving. The other servants rode on the back with the picnic hamper. The carriage coughed and snorted to a start, and soon they were puttering through the city.

  Although Rosalind occupied the same side of the carriage as Marius, she managed to maintain a good three-inch distance between them; she would have sat on the opposite side, but Darcy’s exploding contraption lay concealed under the seat. Rosalind turned away from the device when her stomach began twisting into nervous knots. Instead, she pressed her forehead against the window and watched the people flooding the streets and waving at the royal steam carriage. They approached the outer walls of the city.

  “Where exactly are we going?” Rosalind asked, waving absently out the window.

  “Into the forest, out the north gate,” Marius replied. “I showed you on the map last night, remember?”

  “Oh, yes,” she answered, not very convincingly. The previous night, Marius, Rosalind, and Henry had met to go over their plans. Rosalind’s disconcerting feeling about Henry had only grown stronger. He seemed increasingly apathetic about their plot.

  “Is the forest dangerous?” Rosalind asked.

  Marius draped his arm across the back of the seat. “Why? Are you scared?”

  “No! I just want to be prepared. Will Henry have any weapons on him?”

  “What do you expect? He’s Henry, protector of small, fluffy, harmless creatures. He wouldn’t hurt a dragon if it were about to roast him alive.”

  “That’s comforting,” Rosalind grumbled. “Does he know where he’s supposed to meet us?”

  Marius rolled his eyes. “Yes, Rosalind! I told him last night multiple times.”

  “I’m not sure he was listening. He seemed distracted.”

  Much to Rosalind’s surprise, Marius reached over and caught hold of her fingers, giving them an encouraging squeeze. “This’ll work. Trust me.”

  Rosalind stared at his hand and then, eyebrow lifted, raised her penetrating gaze to Marius’s face. He looked embarrassed, dropped hold of her fingers, removed his arm from behind her, and turned to the window, suddenly interested in the passing landscape.

  After this they were quiet for most of the journey, watching the trees go by. Occasionally Marius tried to crack a joke. Most of these were weak, but against all odds he actually did have a sense of humor.

  “You smiled,” he said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “At my last joke. I thought you didn’t like me.” He grinned at her.

  She growled, “Oh, be still, will you?” but barely repressed a laugh. Still, her stomach fluttered with nervousness. Pull it together, Roz, she thought. Your plans always work. Nothing can go wrong.

  However, she knew very well that many things could go wrong, and it took all her willpower not to imagine herself trapped in the carriage, about to be blown to tiny bits.

  They stopped for a picnic after a tension-fraught hour of driving. Their chauffeur drove the steam carriage to the edge of a meadow, then backed it up to a thick forest of trees. As soon as the engine switched off, a chorus of birdsong surrounded them. A few lazy butterflies meandered between the little yellow flowers dotting the meadow. A light breeze played with the grass, sending ripples across the green sea. But most of the location’s beauty was lost on Rosalind as she imagined carriage debris exploding across the field; it wasn’t hard to picture her body among the debris.

  Darcy opened the door. “I’ll get the device ready,” he said, his voice oily with conspiratorial cunning.

  The servants spread out a blanket and a few silk cushions; another set down the large wicker basket almost overflowing with small, buttery pastries and fruit. The sight of food sickened Rosalind as she sat down facing Marius. Sprawling across the cushions, he beckoned for one of the servants to hand him food.

  “How can you eat?” Rosalind asked, scowling as the servant practically dropped grapes into Marius’s mouth.

  He reached up and caught the next grape mid-fall. “Why not?” he winked at her. “No reason to let a good picnic go to waste.”

  Rosalind crossed her arms. “Considering the circumstances, you could at least have the dignity to feed yourself.”

  “Someone’s in a lovely mood today.” Marius laughed, then lowered his voice so only she could hear. “Good heavens, we’re not actually murdering anyone . . . though if we did, it would be you, of course.”

  Rosalind fingered the edge of the blanket and glanced at the servant. His expression remained blissfully ignorant as he watched a butterfly land on his tray of drinks. Rosalind leaned over to speak into Marius’s ear. “Are you hoping I actually die?” she asked. “Would you care?”

  Marius sat upright and stared at her. “I would! Naturally, I would. Do you think I’m that heartless?” Then he looked closer, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You really are nervous!”

  Rising fear had withered her pride into dust. Rosalind nodded, and her voice sounded quivery as she asked, “What if something goes wrong? What if—”

  “No,” Marius said firmly, taking her hands in his and giving them a warm squeeze. “Nothing will go wrong. I just can’t let that happen. That is . . .” Eyes suddenly wide, he let go and straightened. “Henry would turn into a mud puddle of despair if you died. And then who would beat me in chess? No one at all.”

  Rosalind smiled in spite of herself. “Such a disaster cannot be allowed. Someone needs to keep you humble.”

  “Me? Humble?” Marius raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, lay back on the cushions, and linked his hands behind his head. “Humility courses through my veins. If you looked up ‘humble’ in the dictionary, you’ll find my name as the definition.”

  Unable to sit still, he scrambled to his knees and tossed her a grape. “Here, catch. Eat something to keep up your strength. It’ll take you a while . . . you know.” He jerked his head in the direction she and Henry would be making their escape.

  Seeing the servant give Marius an odd look, Rosalind grimaced then surreptitiously pointed at the fellow. A look of comprehension replaced Marius’s puzzled frown. “Ah, you there—Bartholomew, right?” Marius waved vaguely toward the meadow. “Go and . . . uh . . . catch some butterflies to take back for the queen. Yes. Butterflies.”

  Clearly doubting the prince’s sanity, the servant wandered off. Moments later they saw him pounce and miss an elusive swallowtail. Marius snickered.

  Butterflies seemed to inhabit Rosalind’s stomach, which still wouldn’t bear the thought of food; she let the grape roll out of her hand and into the hamper. “I keep forgetting this is the last time I’ll see you,” she said, reaching over to run her fingers across the grass tips and flower petals.

  Marius tilted his head. “Will you miss me?”

  Rosalind glared at him. “Certainly not.”

  Leaning gracefully on one hand, he sipped his glass of sparkling water and inclined his head toward her. “Are you going to wish me well?”

  “With what?”

  “You know, finding my true love, ruling the kingdom, figuring out how to lie about your disappearance.” He gave her a winning smile. “Just a few suggestions to get you started.”

  “You’ll do fine without my well-wishing.” Rosalind suddenly felt cross. “But maybe when you’re king you can try not to run the kingdom’s coffers dry.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Marius replied with a mischievous quirk of his brow. “That’s a tall order. A king needs to stay in fashion.”

  Rosalind rolled her eyes. “Arrogance like yours will always be unfashionable.”

  He simply shrugged. “I might say the same to you.”

  Just as Rosalind opened her mouth to retort, Darcy approached. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Everything is prepared.”

  All the cleverness drained from Rosalind’s mind as her fears and flutters returned. But she managed to keep her composure. “I’m ready
.”

  Marius extended a hand and helped her up. “Let’s part friends,” he said. “Please?”

  Rosalind shook his hand firmly then let go. “You’ll be my brother-in-law soon enough, anyway.”

  At this, Marius gave her a strange look. “Has Henry proposed yet?”

  Rosalind stiffened. “No. But I’m sure he will.”

  “I see.” He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows.

  She opened her mouth to object, but when he reclaimed her hand and linked their fingers the arguments vanished. Hand-in-hand they traversed the space between their picnic blanket and the steam-carriage. On cue, Darcy ordered the servants to pack up the leftovers and do various other tasks that would keep their attention away from the carriage.

  A noise like pounding drums suddenly filled the meadow. Rosalind and Marius whirled around to face a rider on horseback. As the horse slowed to a trot then a jog, Rosalind recognized the hatless rider’s head of bouncing curls. It was Henry.

  He checked his horse a few feet away and stared down at them, his face full of a determination so foreign to him that it frightened Rosalind.

  “Henry! What are you doing here?” Marius asked with a hollow laugh, as if he were uneasy too. Rosalind hardly noticed when Darcy approached and stood by silently.

  “You don’t need to do this,” Henry announced, dismounting. One of the servants took his blowing horse and walked it away. “I have another idea.” Though his words came out in ragged gasps, he held eye contact with Marius.

  “Talking to father won’t help,” Marius snapped. He took a step closer to Henry. “You’ll ruin our plan. What are you so scared of?”

  “This isn’t right,” Henry replied. “This will cause more heartache to everyone. Have you thought of what this will do to your parents, Roz?”

  “Don’t bring my parents into this,” Rosalind growled. “Don’t you love me? Don’t you want to marry me?”

  A deadly silence dangled between them like a garish piece of washing hung out to dry. It hung there for several long moments. Marius’s grasp on her hand tightened.

  “I don’t know anymore,” Henry finally whispered.

  Rosalind sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re not . . . you’re not yourself,” she said, regaining her composure. She wrenched her hand away from Marius and marched to the steam carriage. “Darcy, open the carriage door.”

  “With pleasure,” he said.

  “I found your girl, Marius!” Henry shouted, his eyes burning with something strange—was it anger? “If you would stop trying to order me around, I could help you! I’m forming another plan. Listen to me for once in your spoiled life!”

  Ignoring the argument taking place between the two brothers, Rosalind leaned into the carriage and surveyed the device. “So I just pull down on the lever?” she asked Darcy.

  He nodded and smiled. The device was an ugly jumble of wires and whatnots. Its mangled appearance was enough to make her feel sick. With a glance out the window, she noticed Marius and Henry were still at it. The lever was cold and slim in her shaking fingers. She pushed down. It began to tick.

  “You can close the door now, Darcy,” she said.

  “Of course.” He leaned into closer. “Best wishes.”

  Rosalind felt a sudden prick in her arm, and watched as he withdrew a small needle.

  “What are you doing?” she cried. Darcy made no reply, only shut the door and smiled. She heard the click. He’d locked her in.

  Frantically she pounded on the window but found her strength slowly fading away. Then she remembered—she had to get out the other door. She was almost relieved . . . until she discovered the other door to be locked as well.

  Waves of dizziness washed over her. Not now, Roz! she thought angrily. Keep your head!

  But her head did not want to be kept. It slowly dropped on the cushioned seat, and as her vision clouded over, she saw the watch ticking down the last seconds. She would die faking her death. All she could think about was how much Marius would laugh at her funeral.

  10

  “You don’t care about Rosalind, do you?” Marius growled, marching up to Henry. The two were only inches apart; Marius could almost feel Henry’s breath on his face. His fingers curled into fists.

  “I do care. But pretending to—”

  “Don’t you dare spoil it!”

  “I will spoil it,” Henry snapped. “Unless you stop this nonsense right now.”

  Marius tensed, ready to strike Henry if he tried anything. But the sound of the steam carriage door closing made their heads turn. The plan was in the final stage; there was no stopping it now.

  This was Marius’s cue. “I’ll go round up the servants,” he said, giving Henry a look of false cheer.

  “Don’t you dare walk away!” Henry shouted, running through the tall grass after his brother.

  “Come along, Henry,” Marius called back over his shoulder. “The servants might need your help choosing butterflies to bring back for mother.”

  Behind him, Darcy drew even with Henry. “I suggest you clear out,” Darcy whispered to Henry. “Don’t cause any more trouble—”

  Then Marius felt a sudden jerk; the ground shook, and a loud bang followed. He whirled around to face the fiery orange explosion just as Henry tackled him to the ground. Small bits of metal shot into the sky. Several servants began to shriek and run towards the three princes; another had his hands full with the terrified horse.

  As soon as he could, Marius pushed Henry off and staggered to his feet.

  “This is your cue, Henry,” he said. “Time to take Rosalind and go.”

  But Henry simply stared at the steam-carriage debris. “Not anymore,” he choked.

  Marius followed his gaze and staggered back. A crumpled body was visible beneath the melted steam carriage’s roof.

  “What have you done?” Henry whispered.

  “Rosalind is dead? You mean to tell me that the carriage just . . . exploded?” Cygnus folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

  “It was an unfortunate ac cident,” Darcy said slowly. Marius and Henry stood on either side of him, their vacant stares fixed on the floor. “The machine itself was defective, I presume.”

  “A defective steam carriage in the palace’s carriage house?” The king stood up suddenly. “I can’t believe it.”

  “You must believe it, Father,” Marius snapped. “Because we saw it happen. Because now she’s—” He choked on his words, his face contorting. Henry gave his brother a sympathetic look. “She’s dead,” Marius finished in a near-whisper. “She’s dead just when I was beginning to realize how much I liked her. And I’ll never get to tell her so.”

  With that, Marius turned and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  “I should go with him,” Henry said quietly. His face pale, his shoulders bowed, he hastened after his older brother.

  Now the room was empty of all except the king, Darcy, and silence. The king slumped into his chair, his head in his hands. “Something is strange about this whole affair,” he muttered.

  Darcy picked up a vase from a nearby table, examining the delicate painting across its white surface. “Like I said, it was an unfortunate accident. It couldn’t have been anything more, unless . . .” Darcy let his voice trail off.

  The king sat up a little straighter in his chair, lifting his head and fixing Darcy with a keen eye. “Unless what?”

  “I don’t mean to cast suspicion or blame in the wake of such a tragedy. Forget I said anything.” Darcy set the vase down and turned, smiling apologetically at his father.

  “No, no, nothing you say will leave this room. You may speak freely to your father.” The king urged. “I’m always willing to listen.”

  Pushing an errant lock of hair from his eyes, Darcy let out a short sigh. “It just . . . it would seem so out of character for him! Yet I had such a nagging suspicion. I was afraid he’d try something stupid.” Darcy hung his head, waiting for the king’s response. He
would want to hear more. He always did.

  “Who, Darcy?”

  Darcy slowly looked up. “Marius,” he whispered miserably. “In the wreckage of the explosion, our attendants found remnants of wires and a watch.” He waited, watching his father put the pieces together.

  “Which means someone rigged the carriage to blow,” the king finished. “Marius was trying to get rid of her.”

  “I should’ve thought of that. Oh, I should’ve stopped them from going on the ride!” Darcy moaned. “I should’ve known.”

  “You can’t blame yourself all the time,” the king replied. “I thank you for your courage in telling me.”

  Darcy gave his father a short bow and turned to leave. “Just . . . if it does turn out to be the worst . . . if Marius did this, don’t be too hard on him.”

  The king’s face darkened. “He will get what he deserves, like any other murderer. No man is above the law; not even the king’s son.”

  11

  Ever since she could remember, Rosalind had wondered what Heaven would be like. Glorious, golden, filled with light . . .

  Wherever she was now, it was not Heaven. Heaven was not musty, dark, damp, and cold. And she was pretty sure you couldn’t feel drugged and achy in Heaven.

  She groaned and sat up. Something metallic clinked as she moved, and her arms felt heavy. A few seconds later, a floating light appeared before her. Then she realized it wasn’t floating—something or someone held it.

  “Hello,” called a voice. It was a strangely timid and sweet voice. And there was a person: a tall, fair girl dressed in a faded silk dress that might once have been pink. The light also revealed the metallic something—chains linking Rosalind to the wall.

  “Am I dead? If so, this is a terrible disappointment,” Rosalind said, slumping against the wall.

  The girl might have smiled, but the shadows her lamp cast made her face look ghoulishly contorted. “No.”

  “Why am I here? What happened?”

  The girl stepped closer, but her foot appeared to catch on something. The light slipped from her hand and clattered to the ground. It sputtered for a moment; then the room was back in darkness.