She thought there were probably a lot of things the fairy godmother understood that were beyond her own reach.
The night was cold and she was suddenly tired, even though her heart was racing.
‘You’ve got your prince. Now remember your promise,’ the fairy godmother said. ‘Do what I asked of you or none of this will end well.’
Cinderella nodded. Not that she knew how she was ever going to get back into the castle again. The prince didn’t even know her name, and she’d been in too much of a panic to shout it to him.
‘And you,’ the fairy godmother glanced at the driver as a flurry of stardust swallowed up both her and the glittering coach, ‘Remember, it’ll be morning soon.’ By the time she’d finished the sentence, the echo of the words were all that was left of her. Cinderella shivered and glared at him. ‘You were going to drive away without me.’
‘I knew you’d make it.’ He leaned on the wall. ‘Did you get what you wanted? Is true love in the air?’
‘What would you know about it?’
‘I know a few things,’ he said, leaning in closer, one hand teasing a strand of her wild red hair. Cinderella pressed herself back against the kitchen door, but she could feel his musky heat and she still throbbed from her embrace with the prince. He touched her hair. She couldn’t help but shiver slightly and she couldn’t decide if it was revulsion or attraction.
‘I know your hair looks prettier free than trapped,’ he said. ‘Like most things. I also know princes are just men. Mainly not very good ones. And a castle can’t give a girl like you what the woman inside will want.’
‘You don’t know anything.’ Why did he make her feel so uncomfortable and awkward? Why couldn’t he just shut up and leave?
‘I know you’re no court lady.’ He smiled, his teeth white and even against his rugged face. ‘And it would be a shame to see you turn into one.’
‘The prince loves me,’ she said, defiantly.
‘So you say. But do you love him?’
Finally, behind her back, she found the latch to the gate and pushed it open. ‘That’s none of your business.’ He was so arrogant. Who was he anyway? Just some lackey. She stomped down the stairs to the kitchen door. ‘But yes,’ she said. ‘I think I do!’ She closed the door behind her without looking back.
5
‘Help me . . .’
O ver the course of the two days after the prince’s last Bride Ball a black storm raged over the city. A fierce wind blew down from the mountain so hard that they said it was the ghostly fire of the dead dragons’ breath, so long cold in their graves. It blew the snow canopy from the forest into the city streets. Thunder and lightning waged a war in clouds so low that those brave enough to venture out claimed that if they stretched an arm up they could touch them. The sky was a roiling ocean and all the people could do was to huddle round their small fires and wait for it to pass.
The anger of the storm outside, however, was nothing compared to the dark atmosphere that gripped Cinderella’s house. Ivy, like everyone else in the city who had heard of the strange turn of events at the second ball, braved the weather and visited her sister and mother. She didn’t stay long. Cinderella hid while her step-mother railed at Ivy for not helping them more, and then launched into a bitter attack on the pathetic physicality of her noble husband. Ivy slapped her and left. The house stood in silence for a long time after that, the girls staying in their rooms to avoid being caught by a wandering lash of Esme’s tongue.
Rose got everything worst. Her pale skin was constantly blotched from crying and, at every meal time, Cinderella and her father would listen to the digs and jibes and feel the stings with her. Esme was drinking too. It was as if something inside her had cracked. Finally, as she berated Rose once more for being useless and destroying all her dreams of her old life which she’d come so close to
The night was cold and she was suddenly tired, even though her heart was racing.
‘You’ve got your prince. Now remember your promise,’ the fairy godmother said. ‘Do what I asked of you or none of this will end well.’
Cinderella nodded. Not that she knew how she was ever going to get back into the castle again. The prince didn’t even know her name, and she’d been in too much of a panic to shout it to him.
‘And you,’ the fairy godmother glanced at the driver as a flurry of stardust swallowed up both her and the glittering coach, ‘Remember, it’ll be morning soon.’ By the time she’d finished the sentence, the echo of the words were all that was left of her. Cinderella shivered and glared at him. ‘You were going to drive away without me.’
‘I knew you’d make it.’ He leaned on the wall. ‘Did you get what you wanted? Is true love in the air?’
‘What would you know about it?’
‘I know a few things,’ he said, leaning in closer, one hand teasing a strand of her wild red hair. Cinderella pressed herself back against the kitchen door, but she could feel his musky heat and she still throbbed from her embrace with the prince. He touched her hair. She couldn’t help but shiver slightly and she couldn’t decide if it was revulsion or attraction.
‘I know your hair looks prettier free than trapped,’ he said. ‘Like most things. I also know princes are just men. Mainly not very good ones. And a castle can’t give a girl like you what the woman inside will want.’
‘You don’t know anything.’ Why did he make her feel so uncomfortable and awkward? Why couldn’t he just shut up and leave?
‘I know you’re no court lady.’ He smiled, his teeth white and even against his rugged face. ‘And it would be a shame to see you turn into one.’
‘The prince loves me,’ she said, defiantly.
‘So you say. But do you love him?’
Finally, behind her back, she found the latch to the gate and pushed it open. ‘That’s none of your business.’ He was so arrogant. Who was he anyway? Just some lackey. She stomped down the stairs to the kitchen door. ‘But yes,’ she said. ‘I think I do!’ She closed the door behind her without looking back.
5
‘Help me . . .’
O ver the course of the two days after the prince’s last Bride Ball a black storm raged over the city. A fierce wind blew down from the mountain so hard that they said it was the ghostly fire of the dead dragons’ breath, so long cold in their graves. It blew the snow canopy from the forest into the city streets. Thunder and lightning waged a war in clouds so low that those brave enough to venture out claimed that if they stretched an arm up they could touch them. The sky was a roiling ocean and all the people could do was to huddle round their small fires and wait for it to pass.
The anger of the storm outside, however, was nothing compared to the dark atmosphere that gripped Cinderella’s house. Ivy, like everyone else in the city who had heard of the strange turn of events at the second ball, braved the weather and visited her sister and mother. She didn’t stay long. Cinderella hid while her step-mother railed at Ivy for not helping them more, and then launched into a bitter attack on the pathetic physicality of her noble husband. Ivy slapped her and left. The house stood in silence for a long time after that, the girls staying in their rooms to avoid being caught by a wandering lash of Esme’s tongue.
Rose got everything worst. Her pale skin was constantly blotched from crying and, at every meal time, Cinderella and her father would listen to the digs and jibes and feel the stings with her. Esme was drinking too. It was as if something inside her had cracked. Finally, as she berated Rose once more for being useless and destroying all her dreams of her old life which she’d come so close to
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