Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella

by Jeanette Matern

  There was no revolution, only life.

  As gradually and inconspicuously as she could, Ella elevated her right hand toward the hollow of her neck. She unclasped the pin that fastened the corners of her shawl; the shawl that Marion had given to her before she left her home that night.

  Swear to me you’ll be careful.

  Wincing, Ella pushed herself up by the heel of her hand until she was completely upright. She could not wait to calculate her maneuvers. If she stalled even a bit Thurlow would surely see her. Gabriel already did see her, making mental note of each movement. The pin was only three inches long; but when it was plunged into Thurlow’s kneecap, it might as well have been a dagger of rusty steel.

  Thurlow grunted and fell back. He did not drop his knife, but he was fumbling to regain a firm grip on it. By the time he did, Gabriel had advanced on him. He rammed Thurlow so brutally that both men fell against the glass window and caused it to crack. Jagged spider webs spread from the point of impact. Thurlow dropped his knife. It hit the ground on its hilt and bounced along the floorboard until it settled an arm’s length from Ella’s body.

  She picked it up.

  She had never witnessed two grown men fight before. She’d only ever imagined it. She’d pictured two men taking turns slinging their fists at one another in an evenly divided, albeit invisible, playing field. How could she have been so wrong, so simple-minded?

  Gabriel was large and exceptionally strong. But so was Thurlow. The momentous adrenaline that both men yielded caused their bodies to hit one another with stentorian effect. Ella was horrified to see it happen right in front of her. For every blow that Gabriel imposed on Thurlow’s jaw, she heard both men grunt and she cringed. She thought she knew physical pain. She knew nothing. How were two people enduring such battery over and over again and still going back for more?

  Thurlow regained his footing and managed to grasp Gabriel’s thick collar and hurl him to the ground. He kicked Gabriel twice when he was down, once in the stomach and again at his chest. Gabriel gasped, struggling to draw breath with so merciless an attack on his lungs and abdomen. Thurlow attempted then to stomp on his opponent, but Gabriel rolled out of his way and shot to his feet, his fists raised.

  Ella held the knife in her trembling fingers. She wanted to help Gabriel, but how? She could barely put any weight on her leg and even nearing the battlefield threatened to knock her body senseless. There was no ebb and flow to their war. At times, to Ella’s relief, it appeared as though Gabriel was taking control. But Thurlow would not go down.

  Gabriel took his foe by the head with both hands and drove it down into his knee. Thurlow struck it and toppled backwards, falling into a medium-sized, stationary marble statue. Gabriel, confident he would soon emerge victorious, walked right into his downfall. Thurlow had picked up the statue and charged it at Gabriel’s face. Gabriel attempted to deflect the assault, but was unable to clear the large object before it struck his right temple. He fell, clutching his bleeding temple desperately. Once Gabriel hit the floor, Thurlow stepped over him, still holding the statue. It was terribly heavy and he could barely hold it.

  “You should have taken your freedom when you had the chance,” he chanted over Gabriel, who still was trying to regain his sight after the blow to his head, “but you’re just like your brother. You can’t leave well enough alone.”

  Ella dug the blade into Thurlow’s shoulder blade. She tried to stab him in the middle of his back, but he’d shifted and she barely was able to get the knife halfway in. Thurlow bellowed in pain. He dropped the statue, which landed with a dull thud beside Gabriel’s body, and took Ella by the neck with one hand. With his other hand, he reached for the knife and, laboriously, extracted it from his shoulder. He threw it to the ground, many meters away from any of them.

  “Wait your turn, Ella,” he goaded, pulling her in and kissing her violently. She tried to pull away but it lasted only seconds. Thurlow released her neck and, when she had taken only step back from him, struck her with the back of his right hand. Ella flew to the side and hit the window, almost exactly where Gabriel and Thurlow had first struck it. Her body collided with the glass and fell limp to the floor. The only thing Ella remembered was the sound of glass breaking and shards of sharp, transparent daggers raining all around her. Then everything went black.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Leopold felt the woman clutch his arm as the double doors to what was supposed to be his private conclave burst open. She screamed and the prince could scarcely believe that he found her needfulness of him so gratifying. He would protect her.

  Halsty led the charge and Leopold was shocked by it. He anticipated Thurlow to be the first intruder. Leopold watched as half a dozen men in matching attire bustled in after him, all donning apparel that boasted the crest of the Hussars: the falcon of golden thread. Thurlow was not amongst them. Leopold became antsy. The last Hussar that entered was escorting a dirty, middle-aged man with a balding head and sunken eyes. The man’s wrists were bound.

  “Prince Leopold,” Halsty said ceremoniously, his sword drawn, “there is someone here who would like to speak with you.”

  “Oh?” Leopold replied. His body and face was so calm, the space around him seemed to shutter in his place.

  “Yes,” Halsty affirmed, motioning with his free hand for his comrade to usher the bound man forward. “It seems our gypsy friend here is none too pleased with you and your father’s edict for their expulsion from Kersey. On behalf of his family and all those who were forced to leave their homes….” Halsty stepped toward Leopold, his sword raised and pointed squarely at the prince’s heart.

  “Aislinn,” Leopold said, “you might want to step back.”

  She complied, her entire body trembling. Am I about to die?

  Leopold did not draw his own sword. “You can understand why I might be somewhat puzzled,” he said stolidly. “For this gypsy who so wants me dead is bound and, by the looks of it, quite starved and malnourished to wreak so terrible a vengeance.”

  “Well, some things just never do make sense, Your Highness,” Halsty laughed.

  “How right you are.”

  “Now, as we sadly do not have a surplus of time, tell me: do you have any final requests?”

  “Just one: tell me where Thurlow is?”

  “Thurlow?”

  “Yes. Captain Thurlow. It concerns me that he is not here. He is the commander of my army and the bodyguard to my family, is he not? It seems a gross failure of his duties that you gained access to this private meeting, even if you are his men. The best of the best, right?”

  Halsty knew he would enjoy this moment. It seemed too good to be true that Leopold was so very generous to the Hussar’s perverse pleasure.

  “Captain Thurlow is otherwise engaged,” Halsty replied to Leopold’s query, “but he sends his regards.”

  Leopold’s face warped into severe astonishment and disappointment. Even the frightened gypsy could tell the attempt was too brazen.

  “You mean to tell me that he masterminded this entire affair and can’t even bother to oversee it?” Leopold exhorted as if in pain. “That is ludicrous! What if something went wrong? What if you fail miserably and he cannot be here to pick up the pieces? How could Thurlow be so reckless; that is not like him!”

  Halsty’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What makes you think he masterminded any of this, Your Highness?” Halsty said cryptically. “How do you know this is not my doing only?”

  “Because he is your leader. I have never seen you so much as sneeze without first getting permission from him, Sergeant Halsty. I’ve always assumed neither you nor any of your compatriots have the audacity to breathe without his say-so. Hasn’t it been that way all along?”

  It was all Halsty could do in that moment not to impale the prince in that instant, right through his heart. But the sergeant so rarely got any opportunities to stew in victory and glory.

  “You want to know where Captain Thurlow is right now?” Halst
y proclaimed. “He is in the eastern wing of the castle trying to woo that little paramour of his. And let me say this plainly in front of God, you, and my companions that Captain Thurlow may have spearheaded our revolt, but he never had the guts to see it through. He is nothing more than a weakling. He is just like you, Your Highness.”

  Prince Leopold grinned. Halsty’s confidence in his impending victory began waning. What was happening? How could a man smile in the face of death?

  “Thank you, Sergeant Halsty,” Leopold said cavalierly. “That was all I needed to hear.”

  Halsty heard the commotion at the rear before he ever saw Miles Gamely. The sword-wielding soldier who had once been Halsty’s teacher was preened in victory, having emerged from behind a secret wall that separated Leopold’s private sanctuary from a concealed compartment behind the cadenza. The antechamber was equipped with weaponry, sustenance, and even tunnels for individuals to escape—or to enter without being detected. Miles Gamely had been forced to wait in complete silence behind the partition while the entire intercourse transpired between the prince and the mystery woman and then his would-be assassin. It was more difficult a feat then Miles imagined it would be when he first met with the prince only hours earlier in the wake of his father’s death.

  “Your Highness, now that your father has passed, Thurlow will try to kill you,” Gamely said sternly but with deep respect. “Of this I have no doubt.”

  “Tonight?” Leopold entreated, his heart still grave from his father’s death.

  “Yes, tonight. As I explained to you this morning, David and Hubert are not only waiting anxiously for you, as the king, to put Thurlow in his place and undo his devastating carnage, they are wary that something might happen that would prevent you from taking the throne. I believe the earls are right to fret, Your Highness. The Hussars know that you are not the king until midnight. They will use this to their advantage. Everything will happen tonight!”

  “Very well, Gamely,” Leopold stated, his grief taking second seat to his revitalized resoluteness. “I have already set certain wheels in motion. I believe I met a woman tonight who may be able to help us bring the Hussars down without a revolt.”

  “But sir—”

  “I will tell you precisely how to I want this evening to go down, my friend…”

  A fleet of Miles’ men, including Oli Roget, quickly overran the Hussars. Sergeant Halsty clung to the hilt of his sword. Oli had been his most trusted ally.

  “Well timed, Commander Gamely,” Leopold said as he went to give comfort to the terrified woman, still cowering in the shadows. “I never expected that our first non-simulated battle would take place in my own chamber. And that it could scarcely be called a battle.”

  “The battle that was not a battle,” Oli chortled as he untied the languid Gypsy.

  “You knew we were coming,” Halsty stated, his eyes withdrawn, aimlessly scouring the room.

  “Of course we knew, Sergeant,” Miles responded, though he had not been directly addressed. “Why else do you think you never saw any of us here in the last few hours? Our beloved king was dead and at midnight, we would usher in a new one. How could the army skip out on such a thing? You didn’t find it odd? Looks like you’ve gotten sloppy, Halsty. That is what happens when you sacrifice discipline for glory.”

  Halsty lunged at full speed, his sword extended, aiming at Miles’ heart. Miles counter-parried fluidly and Halsty tumbled to the ground.

  The battle that was not a battle.

  Miles Gamely stepped firmly on the fuller of Halsty’s downed weapon. Two castle guards just itching to arrest an infamous Hussar flanked him. Before they could, however, Gamely crouched down to meet Halsty’s face; he was so close, their noses almost touched.

  “What a shame,” Miles lamented, shaking his head. “You could have been so much better than you are.”

  Thurlow should not have turned his back to Gabriel, especially after striking Ella so forcefully that her body spliced the window, causing large plates of glass to fall around her unconscious body. He felt the consequence of his short-sightedness when Gabriel’s fist cut into his side. After countless more blows to his kidney, Thurlow feared he was going to retch. But Gabriel did not relent. His left arm wrapped around Thurlow’s neck and tightened like a python until his victim was turning purple. Thurlow mustered the last ounce of oxygen his body could impel and jutted his elbow frantically into Gabriel’s rib cage. Though his desperate act was successful, as Gabriel’s cracked rib caused him to loosen his hold, Thurlow was tremendously compromised. He was battered, bleeding— bested. He’d been foolish to embellish so rapaciously on having defeated King William, his greatest enemy, and bringing to fruition the spoils of a lifelong crusade. Thurlow had nothing else to sting his adrenaline and propel him forward but the intangible entity. It had been given its substance, and, by definition, ceased to be. Gabriel was still seized upon by his demon. His soul was still tortured by the devil. What greater motivation to kill was there?When all physical strength was equal, victory was dictated by something entirely independent of might.

  And so Thurlow fled. He’d only just made it to the doorway when he was set upon, again, by the weight of Gabriel’s body. They both fell to the ground. Thurlow crawled forward painstakingly and pulled his right foot loose. Without hesitation, he shoved it brutally at Gabriel’s face; then he fled again.

  Gabriel eye’s stung with blood and sweat. He looked up and saw that Thurlow was making a run for it. As rapidly as his battered body and shaken mind allowed, Gabriel stood and trailed after him. Thurlow’s knee was badly damaged, thanks to Ella, and it shouldn’t have taken Gabriel long to overtake him. There emerged, however, a few obstacles.

  It looked as though a number of Hussars had come to aid their fearless leader. Gabriel wondered if they’d succeeded in slaying Leopold, but his ambitions and desires were otherwise engaged to fret about the prince. Gabriel would not allow himself to be hindered in his pursuit. Though it was trying, he neutralized his attackers and accelerated his pace to make up for time lost.

  Thurlow had previously praised the intricate network of hallways and corridors that comprised the castle’s architecture. It had often yielded many avenues of concealment for the Hussars. But that night, Thurlow cursed it. It seemed no matter where he turned, there was no end to the warren. Finally, as his body almost expired out from under him, Thurlow saw his own light at the end of the tunnel. A staircase, one that he actually recognized. He was still deep within the castle’s interior, but the staircase led to a series of rooms, each with their own secret corridors and passageways. A maze within a maze. The staircase was several paces ahead, cutting the concourse in half. At the end of hall, many yards past the staircase, a window.

  Outside, Gwent. Freedom. Rebirth.

  Isolda ventured toward the light. It was a beacon in the gloom; the only even remotely bright portion of that whole damn castle. She’d been drawn to it first, however, by the noise.

  Mario had departed to acquire hot water and tea for his misplaced tourist when she’d told him she was suddenly ill. That had been several minutes before and Mario was undoubtedly arriving at the spot where he’d left her. He would be baffled. She was, of course, no longer there.

  She could not bear to just sit there like a mewling lamb even though her life was being torn to shred before her very eyes. Thurlow had deceived her. For whatever deranged reason, he’d forfeited his evening with the object of his obsession and allowed Ella to meet in private with the prince. Who knew Thurlow’s agenda? Isolda didn’t and she no longer cared.

  Ella would win the heart of her prince and would become the queen. The man posing as her uncle, Gabriel, would most likely remain as her secret lothario after she and Leopold married. Isolda would never have thought her niece possible of such scandal and salaciousness, but what did she know? Isolda was a fool. That was all she knew, all she had left. She was a fool to play along with Peter’s charade when she knew in her heart and mind that it was n
ot he. She was a fool to believe that he would want her in the same way she wanted him. She was unforgivably foolish for thinking Bethany would ever choose her mother over her precious Ella.

  And, Isolda reckoned, she was the most pathetic kind of simpleton to believe that Leopold was different from any other red-blooded male in the whole godforsaken world. They could not resist her. Ella was the siren, Venus, that sweetest nectar that few dared dream they would ever taste. And the entire time, the girl had sulked about like she was some poor victim of all that was so unfair in life.

  Isolda screamed in her head. You have no idea just how unfair life can be, Ella!

  Isolda resumed her trancelike stroll toward the pale yellowness of the mysterious room. It called to her from only a few more feet away. There had been so many clamors and activity buzzing from that nexus that Isolda had been drawn to it before she even saw it. But the bustling had dissipated. Still, she moved onward.

  What in the world had happened in this room?! Isolda could hardly believe what she was seeing: furniture overturned, decorations displaced, priceless trinkets destroyed, an enormous window broken in its corner. It was as if a tidal wave had swept in and demolished everything before disappearing into the air and taking every last vaporous explanation with it.

  Then Isolda saw it. She saw her. Ella…her mortal enemy. Bruised, bleeding, and beginning to wake from her inexplicable slumber. Even battered she was regal in beauty. The breeze that flowed from the night sky through the broken glass teased the strands of her flaxen hair. Ella had come into the world, just like the tidal wave that had destroyed the vast great room, and decimated everything that Isolda loved. She’d reduced her own flesh and blood to nothing more than a cipher. Ella Delaquix…the name was seared into Isolda’s brain.