Chapter 15
Cinderella felt ill-prepared when the carriage entered Werra. In less time than Cinderella would have liked, the mice-horses pranced to a stop in front of the palace, which glowed with the setting sun.
The carriage door opened, and the goat girl helped Cinderella exit the pumpkin.
The palace entrance was lined with soldiers and guards. Cinderella looked for familiar faces among the men—although she didn’t see any—as she climbed the stairs. They did not blink or even acknowledge her presence. They stood stiffly, their swords unsheathed but lowered.
Cowed by the silence and swords, Cinderella followed the burgundy runner rugs that lined the floor and led the way to the ballroom.
As the palace—and thus the ballroom—were built and designed by Trieux, the architecture was over the top with extravagance.
The ballroom was two levels—the main floor housed swirling dancers and an orchestra. The second floor was nothing more than a balcony that edged the perimeter of the room, although it held over a hundred guests who strolled, murmured, and admired the views from the full-length windows. On both floors, there were patios and terraces made of the finest white marble that allowed attendees to enjoy the cool evening air and afforded them a lovely outlook of the royal gardens.
The ceiling was vaulted and covered with ornate Trieux murals—typically hunting scenes, the Trieux unicorn rearing beautifully, and meadow scenes. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling like glittering webs, and the floor was Trieux blue, made to compliment the night sky and set off the white marble.
The biggest feat of the room was the throne. The Trieux throne was a monstrosity of white and blue marble, set off by Trieux lavender cushions. The throne was placed on a platform created by the merging of three staircases. Two of the staircases cascaded down from the second floor, and the biggest rose up from the first floor to support the smaller two.
Chandeliers, blue curtains, and candelabras were arranged around and below the staircases to make the throne look as if it were rising up out of the stars.
Before Cinderella always thought it was beautiful imagery. Now, a member of the working class and responsible for the livelihood of all her employees, she felt the throne—beautiful as it was—was a tacky show of poor spending.
Queen Freja stood on the platform, some paces in front of the throne as if to distance herself from it.
The two Erlauf Princes stood at the base of the stairs that breeched the first level, standing in a military style and speaking to those who shuffled forward in the long line, waiting to speak to the queen. The consort was nowhere to be seen.
Cinderella considered joining the line until she caught whiff of the refreshments. “Food,” Cinderella said, abandoning her goal and following her nose.
Tables of food were laid out in a connecting room. There was stuffed cabbage, five kinds of smoked sausage, poppy seed rolls, crepes stuffed with nuts and chocolate sauce, chilled cherry soup, sweet plum dumplings, and many more traditional Erlauf dishes Cinderella did not have a hope of recognizing.
There were also tables of wines, brandies, and beer to consume, as well. None of the food or drinks bore even the vaguest hint of Trieux influence.
Cinderella bit her lip before she sampled a piece of sausage. It was fantastic. So fantastic that Cinderella gathered the courage to try the dishes she did not know. She nibbled on the delicious food, wondering if she could smuggle some home, when she grew aware of someone standing next to her.
A young man dressed in the uniform of a Major bowed when Cinderella finally looked at him. “If you would pleasure me with a dance, Lady,” he said, extending his hand.
Cinderella stared at the soldier.
This wasn’t part of her plan.
Besides Friedrich, she was used to being ignored by males from Erlauf. Why was he asking her to dance? Did she look pitiful?
Cinderella looked nervously around and swallowed the last bit of food she was chewing—an excellent sampling of cheese. “Of course,” she said, taking his hand and allowing herself to be led back to the ballroom and to the dance floor.
Cinderella tried to study her new companion—wondering if he was one of Friedrich’s men and, thus, had recognized her—but his mask covered at least half his face.
The Major swept her into the dance—which was, surprisingly, a dance Cinderella recognized as originating in Loire. It was simple, thank goodness. All Cinderella had to do was hold her dress with one hand and the Major’s shoulder with the other.
The Major was a competent dancer. He swept Cinderella across the floor, keeping time with the other dancers.
Attempting conversation seemed awkward, so Cinderella allowed herself to be silently guided along. When the song finished, she dipped in an elegant curtsey.
“Thank you for the dance,” Cinderella said.
“Thank you, Lady,” the major said, bowing over Cinderella’s gloved hand and kissing her knuckles.
After Cinderella reclaimed her hand she muttered, “Perhaps I have not given Friedrich enough credit. Maybe all Erlauf men are the grabbing type.”
She directed her attention to the line of those waiting to address Queen Freja. The queue curled around the stairs. “Still too long, back to the refreshments,” Cinderella said.
When she turned around, she nearly smacked into an elegantly dressed male.
“I apologize. I did not look to see where I was going,” she said.
“No harm done,” the man—he was perhaps a decade older than Cinderella—said, straightening his jacket. “Skirts, I have been told, could almost be considered a weapon. Would you care to dance?”
“Certainly, thank you,” Cinderella said, once again allowing herself to be pulled into a dance.
Her second time on the dance floor was slightly more difficult, as it was an Erlauf dance Cinderella rarely took part of. She did not mind the lack of conversation as she focused on moving her feet.
The beat was faster, and by the end of the song, Cinderella knew she was flushed.
“Thank you, Lady, for the wonderful dance. You are very skilled,” Cinderella’s partner said when it was over.
“You are too kind,” Cinderella said, breathing heavily. “But I thank you for the compliment, and for the dance,” she curtsied.
“The pleasure was all mine,” the man said, kissing Cinderella’s knuckles like her previous partner.
Glad she was wearing gloves, Cinderella glanced at the line to the throne—it was still long—before she slipped through the crowd, making her way towards a patio.
“Lady, I beg you to forgive my impertinence, but would you grant me the pleasure of dancing with me?”
Cinderella almost ignored the request—he couldn’t possibly be talking to her—before she realized she was the only one standing near the man—a middle-aged soldier. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. It was difficult to guess thanks to his half mask. His uniform was…different.
Cinderella couldn’t put her finger on it, but the cut of his jacket was unusual, and he wore no identifying badges or medals.
“Of course,” Cinderella said, allowing herself to be led back to the dancers and musicians.
“What do you think of the ball?” her companion asked.
“It is lovely,” Cinderella said.
“What do you enjoy most? The dancing?”
“The food. It is exquisite,” Cinderella said with feeling.
Cinderella’s dance partner released a bark of laughter, drawing glances from some of their fellow dancers.
“I am glad to hear you think so,” the man said.
Cinderella noticed that as they swept past a group of soldiers, the men saluted.
Am I dancing with a general?
“The music is skillfully played, of course, and everyone is dressed beautifully,” Cinderella added, slightly insulted by the humor he found in her choice.
“And what of the venue?”
“No one can say the Trieux Palace is not grand.”
“And the throne?”
Cinderella was silent for a few beats. “It is mostly an eyesore,” she admitted.
The solider—or in all likelihood, officer—smiled at Cinderella. “It is certainly gaudy. You could feed an army for at least a few months with the funds that monstrosity cost.”
“Or you could buy a year’s supply of seed and hay. Perhaps more,” Cinderella said almost dreamily.
“You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” Cinderella’s dance companion said, his voice colored with approval.
“Thank you, sir. I would like to think I do.”
They chatted for a few minutes more, until the dance was over and they parted ways.
“Thank you for the splendid dance, sir.”
“No, thank you, Mademoiselle. You have done me a great service,” the officer said. He bowed over Cinderella’s hand but did not touch it with his lips. He clicked his heels, nodded at her, and disappeared in the crush of the crowd.
Encouraged by the fun, Cinderella once again tried to fight her way to the refreshments. Halfway there, another young man found her and begged her for a dance.
This pattern continued for some time. Cinderella could scarcely understand her popularity among the men—masked and parading around with the fair skin of a Trieux lady as she was—but she rarely had a moment alone and did not have time to grab more than a few morsels from the refreshments before a new man would request her to dance with them.
After hours of dancing, Cinderella was hot and thirsty. She stole off to the refreshments, doing her best to dart behind ladies with large skirts and men of immense bulk. When she reached the tables of food, she greedily took several pieces of sausage—having discovered she had a fondness for it—and approached the table awash with drinks.
She stood there, trying to decide between a wine or an odd, sweet-smelling juice, when she heard male voices strolling in her direction.
“—barely made it back in time for the ball. My valet was dumping water on my head to get the goblin slime out of my hair as we rode back.”
“How many goblins were there?”
“Three packs—which was an unexpected surprise. We thought there would only be one.”
“Did you lose any men?”
“No. Several were badly wounded though. We left them at the Semonè fortification for medical attention.”
Cinderella chewed her snacks and considered the voices and the implications of their conversation. Goblins moved in packs, but typically the packs didn’t group up together due to the petty natures of the creatures. Furthermore, the last time goblins were seen in Trieux was over a century ago. The black mage hadn’t lied. Darkness was coming. Wondering who would discuss such a thing at a ball, Cinderella risked a glance over her shoulder and choked on her sausage.
Colonel Merrich and Lord Diederick—both mask-less and grim faced—strolled in her direction, heading for the drinks.
“That was smart of you.”
“Indeed. So, what have I missed? Have any fist-fights broken out?” Colonel Merrich asked.
“The hour is not nearly late enough, and no one has had enough to drink, yet,” Lord Diederick said.
Cinderella thumped herself on the chest as discreetly as possible to clear her throat before she snatched up a glass of the unidentifiable juice, glided—even when hiding, it was not good for a lady to scurry—behind a support pillar, and faced the entrance to the ballroom.
“Have the mothers of eligible daughters hounded you all night?” Colonel Merrich asked, selecting a brandy.
“Not so much. I suspect they were combing the crowds for you. An army officer is a better prize than a lord, after all,” Lord Diederick said.
Cinderella peeked around the pillar. She needed to get out of the room without drawing their notice (as they were quite possibly the only two beings in the room capable of recognizing her) and, more importantly, she needed to find out what hour it was. Balls could continue until the wee hours of the morning, but Cinderella only had until midnight, and she still hadn’t talked to Queen Freja.
“If you are so jealous of my status, you should have ditched the books in school and joined the Army with Friedrich and me.”
Content they were absorbed in their conversation, Cinderella started for the door.
At that moment, a young man Cinderella recognized because he had already danced with her three times that evening and complimented her loudly during every dance, entered the refreshments room. He looked back and forth through the room, searching for someone.
Cinderella slid behind a woman wearing an elaborate mask and headdress designed to look like a sun. She couldn’t catch the man’s eye, or he would loudly greet her, drawing attention to them.
She could still hear the men talking from her new position. “I pride myself that I will never sink so low as to be jealous of you.” Lord Diederick said. “I am not in my position for the glory, but the power. I have no use for social niceties, but having an entire financial administration at my beck and call? That is what I live for.”
“Mmm,” Colonel Merrich said, drinking his Brandy. “You always were stiff-necked.”
“I will remember your words the next time I approve your payroll.”
Cinderella gawked at the pair for the moment. Lord Diederick was in an administrative position? Why in the blazes was he her finance contact at the palace?
The young man/dancing enthusiast gave one last look around the room before he left. His exit was not a moment too soon, for Colonel Merrich and Lord Diederick started to turn their backs to the alcoholic drinks and face in Cinderella’s direction.
Still carrying her drink, Cinderella cut in front of a couple and minced out of the room. Once in the ballroom, she downed her juice to moisten her dry mouth. “I can’t believe I escaped that,” she said before setting her empty goblet on a tray.
A nearby bell tower started to ring, and Cinderella listened to the tolls as she moved to join the reception line.
Cinderella winced when the tolls stopped. It was eleven. Thankfully the line to see Queen Freja was shortening—it started at the base of the stairs where the princes stood rather than winding around behind them—but depending how long it took, she may not have time to speak to the queen before midnight came.
Cinderella started estimating how long it would take her to reach the front of the line, counting on her fingers.
“Is something wrong, Mademoiselle?” asked a muffled voice.
The voice sounded familiar, so Cinderella automatically raised her eyes.
A young man dressed in black with a gray mask that covered his entire face addressed her. A crown was perched on his head. It was smaller and less ornate than the queen’s, and was made of copper or bronze and had only a large ruby surrounded by polished beads of onyx to decorate it.
The air left Cinderella’s lungs as she realized she was addressing one of the Erlauf princes, and she had no idea what either of them were named. “Prince…”
“Cristoph. The older one,” the prince said, his voice sounded amused rather than offended.
“Prince Cristoph,” Cinderella awkwardly repeated. “I thank you for the attention, but I am fine. I was merely taking note of the hour.”
“You were wondering if the wait was worth it to meet Mother?” the prince said. His mask had no opening for his mouth, and the eyeholes were covered with white netting, so Cinderella could see no part of his face. As such, it was hard for Cinderella to tell if he was being sarcastic or not because the mask muffled his voice and made him sound flat. Additionally, he seemed to be speaking oddly, as if he were pitching his voice extra low.
“I am sure Her Majesty Queen Freja is worth a wait of any length,” Cinderella firmly said. “But I am not certain I can stay long enough to speak to her.”
“Then speak with me, and when you return home, you can report to your family that you did speak to a member of royalty,” Prince Cristoph said.
Cinderella considered the offer.
He’s not the queen. But I suppose speaking to the Crown Prince is an excellent start.
“Very well, if you are not opposed to spending some of your time on me.”
“Not at all,” Prince Cristoph said before directing Cinderella out of the line.
The second prince—who wore clothes and a mask identical to Prince Cristoph’s—watched them leave, his face trained in their direction.
“Was there anything you wished to discuss with my mother?” Prince Cristoph asked.
“Yes, actually,” Cinderella said as she strolled with the prince.
People cleared the way for them, opening up a walking path wherever Cristoph went. Oddly enough, considering the way men had been kissing her hand and taking up her arm with no hesitation, the Prince did not lay so much as a finger on Cinderella, nor did he offer his arm as they walked.
“Did you wish to scold her over the rising taxes?” Prince Cristoph asked.
Cinderella frowned. “I would not be so rude and poor mannered to address that topic, Your Highness.”
“Then what did you plan to discuss with her?”
“Trieux.”
Prince Cristoph stopped walking for a brief moment. “I see. And what are your concerns?”
Cinderella took a deep breath and tried to calm her fluttering heart. “I feel the attitude of Erlauf and the remaining Trieux citizens must be addressed. The people are locked in a struggle against each other, and it is not good for a country—even one as strong as Erlauf—to have a portion of it divided.”
“You think Queen Freja should reestablish a Trieux government?”
“Stars above, no.” Cinderella said.
“Why not?”
Cinderella paused for a moment, composing her reply. Well, he hasn’t made fun of me yet, she thought.
“It has come to my attention that Erlauf is under attack, not by another country, but by sheer evil. Trieux cannot stand against an enemy of that caliber. Releasing Trieux will only bring waste to the land,” Cinderella said.
“That sounds melodramatic.”
“Of this I am aware, but it cannot be denied.”
“What proof do you have of this supposed evil?”
Cinderella grimly considered the question. She had great proof—her own experience, and Friedrich’s words. But she would like to avoid identifying herself. Taking a chance, Cinderella said, “It is no used to pretend otherwise, Your Highness. I have heard of the various attacks against the Erlauf Royal family.”
Prince Cristoph neither confirmed nor denied Cinderella’s accusation. “What do you propose?”
This was it!
“The separation between those of Erlauf and those of Trieux must be done away with. It is more an operation of attitude than action, but to succeed Queen Freja will need to make a conscious effort,” Cinderella said.
“You expect her to heal the divide with kindness?”
“Hate cannot drive out hate,” Cinderella said, echoing Friedrich. “As long as hate is shared, Trieux and Erlauf will be in an eternal struggle.”
Prince Cristoph was silent. “I would not argue that,” he finally said. “But it seems our lovely Queen will be footing the bill for this forgiveness you desire.”
“Not so,” Cinderella said. “I know people of influence among Trieux. They will do their best to offer forgiveness on their side, as well,” Cinderella said.
She knew Julien was already on her side; Marie and her husband would be easy to sway—there was something to be said about being a merchant who was more interested in profits than bad blood among nobles. Perhaps the Girards could be convinced, and if they were, the Delattre’s would not be far behind. Also, Cinderella had a strange inkling that the half-deaf Lord Leroy might agree with her without any sort of persuasion at all.
“Would the lady care for a dance?” Prince Cristoph asked, shattering Cinderella’s thoughts. “We can still converse as we dance. Your conversation intrigues me.”
“Very well,” Cinderella said.
Prince Cristoph bowed before he approached the orchestra and spoke to them. They abruptly ended the slow song they played, and switched to a different tune.
“Have you ever danced an Erlauf circle?” Prince Cristoph asked.
“Yes,” Cinderella said, slow to commit. It was a dance that required absolutely no touching, although the dancers were still organized into couples. They moved around each other in a circular pattern, sliding close but never touching.
Cinderella’s Father once told her the dance was meant to mimic the movements of the Erlauf Calvary with the horses sliding forward and backward in matched patterns.
“So what does this forgiveness look like?” Prince Cristoph asked after he found a spot on the dance floor and lined up across from Cinderella.
“Like love,” Cinderella said.
Prince Cristoph almost missed the musical cue to step around Cinderella. “What does that mean?”
“It means Trieux nobles and shopkeepers hire people from Erlauf who immigrated to Werra. It means Erlauf soldiers are gentle with people from Trieux and do not treat them with suspicion,” Cinderella said as she and the prince side-stepped each other. “Erlauf citizens can share their knowledge of flower farming, and the Trieux vendors in the market could teach Erlauf folk how to barter.”
“This forgiveness of yours does not sound like the standard forgive and forget arrangement,” Prince Cristoph said as he bowed to Cinderella and she curtsied in tune with the music.
“Forgetting is not at all what forgiveness means. Forgiveness, in the case of our country, is forging ahead together. People from Trieux should intertwine with people from Erlauf. The Erlauf Royal Family should acknowledge they are in what once was Trieux. If they are seen eating a Trieux dish, or using a Trieux word to describe something, I can guarantee Trieux citizens will ponder what goods and crops they can sell that people from Erlauf would like,” Cinderella said, her shoulder almost brushing the prince’s.
“In other words, we should make an effort to adopt Trieux customs and culture into our lives?” Prince Cristoph asked.
“In a way, yes. Right now our countries are saturated with bitterness. If we try being a little less selfish, I think the bitterness can be purged,” Cinderella said, ducking under Prince Cristoph’s arm.
“I see. And you are willing to make some of the sacrifices you mentioned?” Prince Cristoph asked, stepping back with Cinderella before they came together again.
“Of course, or I wouldn’t have the nerve to make these suggestions,” Cinderella said.
“I fear there is too much bad blood between Trieux Nobles and Erlauf Nobles for friendship,” Prince Cristoph said.
Cinderella twirled, her skirts swishing around her. “Perhaps. But there is something you must understand. The hearts of the Trieux commoners are ripe for the taking. For the most part, the upper class did a poor job caring for them. There were some exceptions, but I do not think any of the common class has strong feelings for Trieux nobility. If you can win over the entire commoner class, the remaining nobles and what few Trieux government officials are still alive will have no choice but to follow.”
“I see,” Prince Cristoph said, clapping twice, in synch with the male dancers.
“Additionally, you underestimate the next generation of Trieux nobles,” Cinderella said, side-stepping Prince Cristoph again. “Several of the houses have young lords and ladies who are poised to take over their parents’ titles. They do not have the same grudges and stubbornness of their parents. You might be able to win them over, if you strike soon,” Cinderella said.
“Your thoughts intrigue me,” Prince Cristoph said as the dance came to an end.
“But you do not support them?”
“I never said that. I am merely withholding judgment. It is warm in here; shall we continue the conversation outside?”
“As you wish, your Highness,” Cinderella said.
Prince Cristoph led Cinderella through the crowd—which opened up before him like magic—and out to a balcony.
It was of Trieux design, so naturally the balcony was beautiful. There was a white fountain placed perfectly so when silver moonlight struck the trickling water, the surface glowed. Sculpted, well-trimmed plants—the only sign of the Erlauf takeover, Cinderella suspected—made a stark contrast of green among the white balcony, fountain, and benches.
There were three soldiers on the balcony, but as soon as they saw Prince Cristoph, they leaped to their feet, bowed, and made a speedy exit.
“Your argument is well thought out,” Prince Cristoph said when they were alone.
Cinderella left him at the fountain and seated herself on a nearby bench, sighing in relief. The glass slippers were comfortable, but her feet ached from all the dancing. She hadn’t danced this must since her dance instructor declared her accomplished at age fourteen.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Cinderella said, smoothing her dress over the bench.
“But why such passion?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Prince Cristoph gestured widely. “Why subject yourself to such cares and worries? You are a beautiful woman. You could marry and wash your hands of the affair, forgetting the matter. You do not have to save Erlauf.”
As tired as she was, the Prince’s words propelled Cinderella into standing. “First of all, I resent the idea that if a woman marries, her lot in life is to be empty-headed and pampered.”
“I did not say that,” Prince Cristoph said.
“You implied if I married, things like the country would no longer worry me. Why wouldn’t they? No one is bothering themselves to address this issue. Marriage would not change that, nor would it blind me to the truth that there is much work to be done, and everyone is too selfish to compromise or give up any comforts to see this situation changed,” Cinderella said, her voice hot and angry.
“Make no mistake, whether you and your great mother decide to help me or not, I will face this problem even if I must go at it alone,” Cinderella said, clenching her hands into fists.
Prince Cristoph pushed off from his perch on the fountain. “Your passion gives you much credit,” he said, stepping close to Cinderella. “And your dedication is admirable. I apologize for any offense my thoughtless words gave.”
Her temper cooling, Cinderella shook her head. “I am afraid, Your Highness. If we don’t make amends, will Erlauf survive?”
Prince Cristoph extended a hand towards Cinderella’s face. “We will—,” he cut himself off when Cinderella jerked away before he could graze her cheek with his fingers.
“I apologize again for my apparently offensive act,” Prince Cristoph said, his words slow and carefully pronounced.
“Oh, it isn’t—you misunderstood,” Cinderella said, clasping her hands in front of her. “It’s only…,” she trailed off, aware that she was starting to blush.
“You already have a man you care for?” Prince Cristoph guessed.
Startled, Cinderella fixed her eyes on his mask. It was to her shame, but he was right. Before she pulled away she hadn’t thought of her marriage prospects, as was her usual concern, but of the disappointed face Friedrich was sure to give her.
“How did you know?” she said, her eyes wide.
“Just a guess,” Prince Cristoph said, his voice cool. “A Trieux nobleman, I assume? Together you would have a better chance of molding the minds of Trieux commoners.”
“What? How would—what time is it?” Cinderella said, her heart freezing over when she realized she did not know the hour.
“I am not certain. So he is from Trieux?”
“Where can I find a clock?” Cinderella asked.
“What?”
“A clock! Where can I find a clock?”
“There is one above the ballroom entrance, but—,”
Cinderella was already scurrying into the hot ballroom. She covered her mouth to hold in a shriek when she saw the time—she had fifteen minutes before the magic would fade. In that time she needed to leave the palace, and get out of Werra!
Cinderella ran back to the threshold of the balcony and curtsied. “I thank you for your time, Prince Cristoph, you have been most gracious,” Cinderella before she turned on her heels and ran.
“Mademoiselle, wait! Mademoiselle,” Prince Cristoph shouted.
Cinderella ignored the calls and slipped her way out of the ballroom, apologizing to anyone she ran into in her hurry.
“My lady!”
Cinderella fled the ballroom and ran down the hallway. She was shocked when she heard the prince call to her. “Can’t you wait, Mademoiselle!”
She just reached the palace entrance when she heard the Prince order “Wait, stop her!”
Cinderella gave up running like a lady. She picked up her skirts and ran down the long line of stairs where her carriage waited.
The walkway was lined with soldiers, who started to move towards her, but as soon as Cinderella gathered up her skirts they lunged backwards, as if she had hit them, and avoided looking at her.
At the bottom stairs Cinderella’s mice-horses neighed to her and twitched their noses twice as fast as usual. The carriage driver baaed at her, and the goat-footgirl had the carriage door open. The orange interior of the carriage glowed in the night.
Cinderella was almost clear. She picked up her pace, but one of her glass slippers slipped and skid out from underneath her. Cinderella fell into a soldier, who steadied her by her waist before practically pushing her away from him.
In the bustle, Cinderella’s foot slipped from a glass slipper, but Cinderella was too terrified to care.
“Go, go, go!” she shouted to her unusual attendants before stuffing herself into the carriage.
The goat-footgirl had just enough time to leap into place behind the carriage before the horses took off, jostling and bouncing the round carriage.
Cinderella stuck her head out of the window to see Prince Cristoph claiming her abandoned glass slipper and shouting at the soldiers.
One of the mice-horses let out a shrill neigh—which sounded suspiciously like a squeak, and Cinderella looked ahead to see patrolling squads convening in their pathway.
“Don’t stop,” Cinderella shouted to the goat-driver.
The horses bolted down a side street, the sudden turn knocking Cinderella back into the carriage. “We’re taking a different route! The mice won’t know how to get back, and won’t be able to slip out,” Cinderella winced.
Soldiers shouted; whistles were blown, and Cinderella’s carriage rolled on.
One soldier leaped onto the carriage and managed to cling to the door before the goat-footgirl kicked him in the face, dislodging him with great effectiveness.
The soldiers seemed unwilling to use weapons against Cinderella, her attendants, and her great round carriage, but they showed an unfortunate deftness in building barricades out of crates and barrels.
“No, not that way,” Cinderella cried when the mice-horses took another turn that faced them in the direction of the palace. She leaned out of the window to direct her brave steeds and driver. “Quick, take the side street on the left—the one that has the empty beer keg by it—yes!” Cinderella said before pulling herself back in the carriage, for it was a tight squeeze, and in several spots the carriage grazed the alley walls.
“As soon as the alley opens into a main road, take a left—perfect!” Cinderella said. “Now RUN!”
Soldiers on foot pursued them, but thankfully none were mounted. Yet.
Cinderella’s heart thundered in relief when she saw the city gates. “We’re almost there! We can lose them in the woods and fields!” Cinderella told her mice-horses and goat-attendants.
“Close the gates!” soldiers shouted, blowing their whistles.
“We have to get through!” Cinderella said.
The great wooden gates of Werra creaked and moaned as they were unhinged.
The bells in the city bell tower started ringing, their clear tolls sounding ominous to Cinderella’s panicked ears.
“We’re not going to make it,” she said, shutting her eyes as her carriage thundered along.
The mice-horses snorted, their hooves clattering on the stone streets. Whistles echoed from all over Werra, and the gates inched along as soldiers pushed against them.
The city bells tolled, and Cinderella’s mice-horses slid through the open gap between the doors. The round carriage got stuck—pinched between the doors—but the mice-horses threw themselves against their black harness, and the coach popped free.
“We did it! We did it! I can’t believe that we made it! Mice, I will feed you from my hand for the rest of your life!” Cinderella vowed as the doors swung shut behind them.
Even from behind the city walls, Cinderella could hear the soldiers working furiously to open the doors. A soldier standing watch on the wall blew his whistle and motioned in Cinderella’s direction.
“Quick, into the trees,” Cinderella said. They had come out on the wrong side of Werra and were reasonably far from Aveyron’s lands. But Cinderella was satisfied they were out at all—and the different location was a blessing, for the land surrounding the gate was heavily forested for hunting purposes.
The city bells still rang as Cinderella and her entourage disappeared into the trees. Cinderella threw herself out of the carriage just as it started shrinking, collapsing around her. The black harnesses dropped from the horses, who were temporarily shrouded in smoke with the driver and footgirl when the last bell tolled.
When the smoke cleared, the elderly goat baaed at Cinderella. The four mice arranged themselves at Cinderella’s feet, shivering, and the young goat stumbled and shook her head.
Cinderella’s fancy dress was gone. She hadn’t noticed when the white and gray fabric transformed back to her servants clothes, but she was grateful it had. She hurriedly took her apron off and ripped it in half. She ripped the ties off the bottom half and tied them around the leather collars the goats wore. She took the top half of the apron and tied it to her head, covering her hair. She placed the glass slipper—the only reminder of the entire mad evening—on the remaining square of apron fabric. She tied the fabric around it like it was a sack of food that she carried.
“Hide for a moment,” Cinderella said to the mice.
They scurried off into the underbrush, doing as they were told.
When the soldiers entered the woods moments later, they found only a servant girl toting two goats instead of the fleeing coach with the agile carriage horses they were looking for.
“Spread out and see if the dogs can pick up the trail,” a lieutenant riding a black horse shouted, holding a torch above his head.
“Yes, sir!”
The lieutenant dismounted and approached the girl and her goats—who were baaing and shying at the soldiers and their dogs.
“Good evening, miss,” the lieutenant said, dipping the brim of his hat at the girl. “I apologize for the interruption, but did you happen to see a round, gold carriage come through these woods?”
“A round carriage?” the girl said, yelping when her buck goat tried to headbutt a dog that was sniffing an unripe pumpkin nearby. “That would certainly be an odd sight. Nope, I haven’t seen anything like that ‘round here,” she said, her eyes wide.
“Are you certain?” the lieutenant asked.
“I think t’would be rather hard to miss, if you excuse me for saying so,” the goat girl said, a little breathless as her goats yanked her around.
“Very well, thank you for your time,” the lieutenant said before he returned to his horse and blew a whistle and addressed his soldiers. “Red Dogs, follow the road with the dogs and search for tracks. Gray Boys, search the woods on both sides. Don’t depend on the dogs. Look for tracks, and keep an eye out for any side trails they may have taken. She can’t have gotten too far, or our scouts on the walls would have seen her leave the trees,” he said.
As the soldiers organized themselves, they ignored the wide-eyed servant girl and her white goats. They didn’t even notice when the girl stopped to let four mice crawl into her sack before she started off, her shoulders stiff and her chin held high.